The grass is always greener

"When do I get to go to daycare?" asked Lily.
It was the eve of the first day of kindergarten and the topic of conversation had been about all the exciting things she could anticipate the next day.
"What do you mean daycare? You're going to kindergarten." I was truly perplexed by this question.
"But I want to go to daycare. Where your mommy and daddy go to work all day and you get to take naps at daycare and stay all day," she explained, with a serious look of anticipation waiting for any facial expression of mine that would reveal an answer.
After thinking for awhile about my answer I replied, "Sweetie, you're never going to go to daycare. You're so fortunate to have a mommy who can stay home and be with you every afternoon." I said it as sweetly as possible, thinking that surely she would see how lucky of a little girl she is to have such an awesome mom to hang with everyday.
"But, I want to go to the daycare..." trailing off in a full lip-quiver while real tears began to well up in her five year old eyes.
I gave her a look and changed the subject and the conversation ended there. Kindergarten was a success and no tears from anyone, even Mommy.

But that conversation played over and over in my head the past few days. And it evoked lots of emotion in me. I was a little ticked actually. How ungrateful, I thought! Doesn't she know how big of a deal it for me to be at home? You see, I just officially became a stay-at-home a few weeks ago after a very slow exit from the working mom world.
For the past 10 years I've worked for Barnes & Noble and although retail can have it's fair share of stressful moments (i.e. Black Friday, Christmastime, every time a new return policy was enforced..) I really enjoyed my time there. The people I worked with are awesome. They came to my wedding, threw me baby showers, and helped me with my schedule when I became sick. They really have become like family to me.
In the year after my daughter was born she did attend daycare while I worked as a manager full-time. I had such issues with the quality of care she was receiving that it caused a flare up. One day I walked in to pick her up and I felt her diaper was so soaking wet that it had soaked through her clothes. When I asked the daycare employee about it she said. "Oh, we're out of wipes." What?? The only thing the daycare provided besides some questionable care (a few of the women were wonderful, don't get me wrong) was baby wipes. And they ran out? Send someone to the store! Don't leave my daughter sitting on the floor with urine soaked clothes! I left the room and told the director we were done.
My flare up got worse and I ended up having to take some more time off work. When I returned to work part time (not as a manager anymore) my mom watched her for the time I worked which was such a blessing. It gave them some quality time and afforded us the savings in childcare so we could withstand the huge pay cut I had just received. After I had my son I went back to work even more part time. I worked one night a week anticipating that there would be a day when I could logistically work more hours again. This past spring I tried to work a little more and it was pretty much terrible for our family dynamic. I would only see my husband in passing as he got home from work and I would throw him the reigns as I headed out to the store. Some nights we even met at the store and I had to hand them off. It got crazy and it wasn't working anymore. So I told my manager I needed to take the summer off and that I would be back in the fall when the kids start school.
But as the start of school approached my husband and I both knew that we couldn't go back to being two ships passing in the night. The truth is, I have a full-time job. Yes, I'm a mediocre maid, a chauffeur who can't park (or backup) worth a lick, a chef with good intentions, a boxing referee, a short-tempered teacher, and a play date coordinator. And now I can officially say I am a stay-at-home MOM! 
For so long I have been toeing that line and keeping one foot at my job and one foot at home and not fully being available to either. No matter which side I stood on the other side always looked like the better option. When I worked I longed to be at home and playing with my kids and watching their milestones. When I was at home I looked forward to the nights I worked so I could have adult conversations without having to keep one eye on my kids. The grass on the other side was always greener and maybe a bit better maintained, too. So we decided I needed to stay home for this season. And it was certainly the right decision. But right away I began day dreaming about my new steps, my next season. My imagination trailing to what 'could be'.

On Thursday, with both my children at school, I was blessed with some quiet time on the beach beginning a new book, The Resolution for Women, by Priscilla Shirer. In the first chapter I was hit like a ton of bricks when she discussed how she hadn't been fully engaged in her life and how she wanted to change for the upcoming year.

"Only for the coming year would my husband be exactly like this. Only for these fleeting moments would my children talk, look and act exactly like this. And if I chose to hurry through them in an attempt to avoid the parts I didn't like, I'd simultaneously miss all the things I did like about this season." 

Wow. So powerful. That's what I was doing! After I finished the chapter I closed the book and looked up to see an elderly woman probably around 70. She was walking down the beach at the surf's edge with a cane, clutching her hip as if it was bothering her. Her right hip. The same hip that bothers me. Tears started to stream down my face. As I watched her slowly make her way down the beach God reminded me of how fleeting this life is. James 4:14 popped in my head: 

Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes. 

Tomorrow I may be that older woman clutching my hip, slowly making my way down the beach, and laughing at how much of a hurry I was in when I was 33. Wishing I had slowed down and enjoyed the season for all it held. 

Given my life the past few years I shouldn't be the least bit surprised that my daughter is standing on one side of the fence and looking over at the other side thinking how green and well-groomed their grass may be. 

For this season I am making a commitment to be fully present and engaged and have a grateful heart. Those are all traits I want for my children, but I have to truly model it first. 

Did you know that?

As I explained in my last post, after my recent autoimmune flare-up I knew that I could no longer continue to gloss over my disease to my daughter. She saw her mommy in pain, in tears, and her world wasn't as stable as I usually try to make it. Let me give you a little backstory on previous times this little angel has seen me in tears.

Last winter my grandmother had been having some health problems. I just got off a phone call with her finding out she may need to have some risky open heart surgery. I was upset so I retreated to my bathroom and started crying. Lily, age 3 then, was in the other room playing, but she heard me. She always hears me. I realize that now. She came into the room with her little play princess cell phone and handed it to me and said, "Mommy, call God, he'll answer you." You see we had recently started memorizing scripture with Truthcards and the previous week our verse was Psalm 120:1, "I call on the Lord in my distress and he answers me." So naturally, as I stared at that little princess play phone and I looked up at Lily with her eyes so full of hope and knowing that she had the answer for me... I cried even harder, but then I laughed and hugged her and told her how very, very right she was. And we sat on that bathroom floor together and prayed for my grandmother. She ended up needing a more minor surgery and is doing well.

Several months later, right after Lily tuned 4, I was packing the kids in the car to head to a meeting at church. I was startled to see a dead baby deer on my neighbors front lawn. It had apparently gotten stuck in my neighbor's fence in his backyard and died, but he brought it up front when doing yardwork to bag it up. Great. Thanks for that. And when I saw it I screamed out loud so I brought my kids attetion straight where I didn't want it to be. Nice job, Mommy. Then as we pull out of the driveway, Lily asks me why that man was putting the sleeping baby deer in a trash bag. Was he trash? I felt an urge to make up a story about how deer take naps in trash bags instead of beds, but thankfully that's not what came out of my mouth. I explained that he was dead. We had never known anyone who was dead before and she was too young to remember our cat who died when she was 2, so it was hard to explain what dead meant. I found us having a very sweet conversation about heaven.
"Who goes to heaven, Mommy? Will I go to heaven?"
"Yes, but not for a long time."
"Because I have Jesus in my heart? Will Jesus come with me in my heart to heaven?"
"Jesus will always be with you. No matter where you go."
"Mommy, let's pray about it right now."

So in that 5 minute ride to church my 4 year old was praying for Jesus to come into her heart so he could be with her in heaven. Not quite where or how I had planned on discussing salvation, but there was a reason for that dead baby deer that morning...
3 days later my grandfather suddenly passed away. We found out about it at night, but the next morning I came downstairs before anyone was awake to call my dad and see how he was doing. After I got off the phone the realization that Gramps was really gone hit me hard and I cried. I was crying so hard I didn't hear the pitter patter of little feet come down the stairs. Lily. She had heard me. Of course.

"Mommy, what's wrong? Why do you have water coming out of your eyes?"
"Sweetie, Gramps died last night and I'm sad about it because I'll miss him very much."
"But mommy, why are you sad? That means he's in heaven with Jesus."
More tears, more hugging, more blown away by this little angel.
"Yes, sweetie, he is. You're right."

Gramps and Lily picking beans from his garden

Sometimes I'm not ready to have these conversations with my daughter. I'm sure the time will come when I have to experience all these things with my son as well ina different way. But I've learned that its not my timing. It's God's timing. 

So after my flare up I felt a Holy Spirit nudge that I needed to explain to my almost 5 year old what's wrong with Mommy. So my mother watched my son that day as I picked Lily up from vacation bible school and took her out to lunch. After we had ordered, I explained to her that mommy is okay. I said that I have a disease, a sickness that sometimes makes my body hurt even though you can't see a boo boo. I explained that it was just the way God made me. And I said that the disease will probably never go away, but it can be controlled by medicine. She almost cut me off mid-sentence when the word 'control' came out of my mouth. 

"No, no mommy. God is in in control. Did you know that?"

The eagerness behind her words showed that this was something that she has just learned and she couldn't wait to share it with me. Naturally, I started crying. I said, "You're right sweetie. Sometimes Mommy forgets." 

Thank God for this little angel in my life who can keep Mommy in check. I get goose bumps every time I think of these conversations. The Lord has given her such amazing spiritual gifts and I am so excited to see how she uses them in the years to come. 

The past two weeks when I have gotten bummed about my disease I hear those words. 

"God is in control. Did you know that?"

It's a reminder we all need sometimes. And you never know what messenger God is going to use. So be on the look out. 

Trying to gain control...

I've opened up before about the health issues I've been dealing with going on 5 years now. I've also shared about some things we are doing to change our eating habits to hopefully change the course of our health. So I wanted to share with you the journey I am now taking.

Several weeks ago I visited my doctor's office to discuss tapering off my meds. It just doesn't sit well with me that I am angst ridden over the origin of every piece of food that crosses my lips, but then I inject myself with a medication each week that actually weakens my immune system. Intentionally. I want to gain some control of this disease. That shouldn't be so hard, right? 

So my doctor gave me his blessing to start on this path. And he actually prayed with me about it. My doctor is awesome like that. We both believe in the Great Healer. We decided I would try to go 2 weeks in between shots and the 3, etc. until I figured out the lowest dose I could comfortably take. 

I was so gung-ho about it! The day I should have taken my medicine came and went without the least bit of pain or inflammation. And then I went on to day 8 and day 9. On day 10 I felt tired, but nothing more so I laid down to rest during naptime. I felt a strange cramp in my foot as I rested, but thought little of it. And then I got up to get the kids up from nap. And I couldn't walk. I couldn't put any weight on my foot without seering pain coursing throughout my body. I had to crawl to my kids rooms to get them up and then crawl down the stairs on my bottom like a 2 year old. Next to my 2 year old who was thinking we were playing a game. Then I put ice on it as my kids watched a movie while we waited for Daddy to get home. 

The pain got worse and worse until I was crying from the pain. They were tears born not only from the pain I was experiencing then, but the pain I had experienced almost 5 years earlier. Tears born out of pain, frustration, fear, anxiety, uncertainty, anger. Very familiar tears. 

But this time my tears didn't fall on the face of a newborn baby who was blissfully ignorant to her mother's situation. This time they were witnessed by children who were fully aware that something was indeed wrong with Mommy. I tried to explain that my foot had a boo boo, but you just can't see it. My son told me to get a Band Aid. So sweet. But there was fear in my daughter's eyes. Real fear. And I felt horrible. But it only fueled my tears. 

I crawled to the refrigerator, then to my bathroom and gave myself my shot. Once my husband got home, he fed the kids and put them to bed. Then I called a neighbor who is a great friend who came over to hang with my sleeping kids while my husband took me to the ER. 

We waited for 2 hours, but the girl with the autoimmune flare up understandably took the back seat to the real life-threatening emergencies that came in, so I kept getting put to the end of the line. As we waited my foot slowly started to feel better as the shot started to work it's magic of destroying my white blood cells. So I decided to go home. My husband wheeled me out and I told the triage nurse we were leaving. 

The next couple of days my foot continued to improve and I felt confirmation that my body is in fact not ready to come off my medication that quickly. I need to take slower steps and this week I went 7 days and 12 hours between doses. Maybe next week I can do 8. We'll see. 

But the real story here is that the next day I was faced with telling my almost 5 year old that mommy has a disease. 

Please join me in my next post as I discuss how that conversation went down. You won't want to miss it! It reminded me who is really in control in this situation...

Here's the next post!

SpiderMom

Ahhhh, spring!! It abounds with newness! Birds sitting on egg-filled nests, flower buds swollen with the promise of vibrant blooms, even the insects seem to to have descended upon us with a smile on their multi-eyed faces. And the eight-or-more-legged crowd seems to be fruitful and multiplying as well.

This past weekend we attended a birthday party at a county park. The kids had a great time and were playing well with all their friends. But at one point my daughter alerted me to the fact that there was a spider under the see-saw, teeter-totter, whatever it's call.

My little insect detective

My natural inclination is to tell her to leave it alone. Spiders are our friends. They eat mosquitoes and annoying bugs. I am actually unlike most 'girls' in the fact that I like spiders. Yes, that's right. I like spiders. For the reasons that I mentioned, but also because I find them fascinating. We have a backyard with lots of trees and every spring we see an abundance of golden silk spiders (or banana spiders as some may call them.) Before I had children I would work outside in the yard and watch these spiders throughout the season. The large female spiders reach 3-4 inches in diameter and are beautiful. One year I watched one through it's whole life cycle. She would spin her large web daily and then sit on her perch in the middle waiting for any food to find it's way into her web and then she would attack it. She would leap down and stun the critter and quickly begin wrapping her golden silky web around it until it was immobile. She would then leave it hanging there until she was hungry so as to not ruin her petite orb-ish figure. I actually was so concerned she didn't have enough to eat that I went and bought crickets at Petsmart and threw them into her web. No kidding. She was kind of our little pet that summer. And when she wove a little egg sac to our siding I couldn't wait to see little baby spiders. And I did get to see them! They jumped right out of that egg sac and flung themselves all over the backyard riding on their tiny yellow silky strands. A few hung out in the web for a few days.

Charlotte with a baby riding piggyback

After she birthed her babies Charlotte climbed back into the trees where she was born to live out the remainder of her days. She was a beautiful creation of God's and it was a privilege to watch her.

So fast forward a few years to that moment this weekend on the playground. I looked under the see saw where my children had been playing and saw this:

I see you!

Sorry for the fuzzy picture, but I was kind of freaking out a bit. It was a brown widow spider momma hiding behind 3 spiky egg sacs in her web. I knew she was a brown widow, because that same summer I loved watched Charlotte I also eradicated many other poisonous spiders after I googled them to find out what they were, kind of a spider genocide, but poisonous venom is a deal breaker for me. Also, I knew she was protecting her little babies so she would be defensive. But guess what? I was protecting my little babies, too. So I cleared the kids out of the area and got a stick for my weapon of choice. I scraped her off and she was fast and furious running around on the stick so I threw the stick into the woods. (Or so I thought) I got the egg sacs and stepped on them. I was kind of proud of myself, Supermom, for saving the day. Go ahead kids. Play on. Supermom saved the day.

So... after I got home that afternoon I noticed a strange bug bite on my shoulder. Kind of like a mosquito bite, but with 2 bumps in the middle instead of one. Great, I knew what that meant. Spider bite. I guess she had the last laugh after all. The next several days my muscles had a inflammatory response to the bite. First my shoulder, then my elbow, then my neck. It's really a bummer that my body always fights back with inflammation instead of super powers. I guess when Peter Parker talked about his spider sense tingling he probably wasn't talking about a burning, radiating pain down his arm. Finally I went to the doctor and started some antibiotics and the bite is just about healed. But I am sharing this with you so that you know to be careful and look under playground equipment to see what lurks out there! And most importantly- get one of the big, strong dads at the birthday party to go spider wrangling!

My days of being fascinated by spiders have come to an abrupt halt (I hear my mom cheering!) Charlotte and I will always have the summer of '05, but now I am the protective, defensive momma and spiders better watch out! Instead of eating bon bons and watching soap operas in their web all day, they should keep just one of their many eyes looking out for me! Because I do walk softly and carry a big stick... covered in Raid.

Flashback Friday, Island Style

Can we just sit back, sigh, and praise God that it's finally beach weather again! Ahhhhhhhh!! If you're reading this up nawth, just know that I am praying for you. I spent my first 18 springs under a fine dusting of snow. I empathize. Really I do. But those days are over for me! So rejoice with me! The handful of times we've been to the beach this spring have been downright renewing. I sit down and can actually relax and watch the kids play (and they get along 10 times better than at home).  I can almost hear a church choir inside my head singing 'It is well...it is well... with my soul!'

First beach night 2012
Kids actually forgot what sand felt like on their feet.
It was hilarious. 

Now this wasn't always the case. Several summers have gone by where there was a lot of extra kid anxiety, some real, some self-inflicted.

"Yes, you need to walk to the beach so I can use the other half of the double stroller for beach toys. Step it up. Let's go."

"Did I put sunscreen on you yet? What number did I use? Did I get your face? Is your cheek red? Is that sunburn? Oh whatever, let me reapply everywhere. Is this bottle empty ALREADY?!"

"No, don't eat the sand, I brought really food. What is that crunching sound? Is that a shell? What?! Is that a dead crab?!"


"Kids, be nice and share. We have enough shovels. No, there is only one green shovel. Go play with the blue shovel. Ok, we can't play with the shovels at all if you're going to hit your brother in the face with it. Go find a stick."


"We have to leave this very second if we're going to have nap on time. Drop those shells and put on your shoes. I'll change your wet, soaking diaper as I push the stroller through the sand dunes. Let's move. Oh no, naptime is ruined. We're off schedule now. Great!"

You get my drift. The beach hasn't always been blissful. We have earned this summer! 2 & 4 seem to be the perfect beach ages for my kids. The hubs and I are giddy with delight that our most favorite place on earth is now their most favorite place on earth. I am fast and furiously couponing for my sunblock stockpile and last year's style of Crocs have been purchased on clearance and are headed to my house! I won't even be miffed when the UPS guy rings my doorbell during naptime!

So here are a few pics and a video from the past few years to celebrate this Flashback Friday... island style.

And then there were 4. 

This video was from 2009 when I was pregnant with Davis. I love it, but can't watch it during the winter or towards the end of summer. It gets me sad. But now that we have a whole summer ahead of us I can enjoy it!

Hi. My name is Stacie. And I'm a hoarder.

I made the mistake of watching A&E's reality show "Hoarders" for the first time sometime last year, late at night when I couldn't sleep. I was enthralled at the perverse nature of these people to save every single item, every newspaper article, every knick nack, one woman even recorded every show and stashed the VHS tapes. Yes, VHS tapes. She apparently missed the news when they announced the digital revolution. After the show was over, my eyes were wide open. No sleep for me. No time soon. My brain was still wrapping my mind around how these people collected stuff until they no longer had room to walk, eat or live in their own homes.
Then my mind drifted to the rubbermaid container in our attic of old VHS tapes, and the box in my closet of old newspaper clippings, and the other box of knick nacks from my childhood.

Meet Freddie Bear. He is 33 years old and deserves to be on display. 

Holy moly! I'm a hoarder!! I mean, these people had to start somewhere, right? It didn't just happen overnight! That night I collected 3 trash bags of things and took them to Goodwill the next day. And then a little more the next week and then a little more the next week. My addiction has been getting better and I can safely say that the A&E producers will probably not be knocking on my doors for at least the next 5 years, maybe 10.
But the past 2 weeks I have been doing some spring cleaning and getting ready for a local children's consignment sale. I've been sorting through old toys, clothes, shoes, baby items and deciding "Consign, Donate or Keep" Every single item I looked at brought on an onslaught of memories. I have never been one who wants to go back in time. So many of my friends say, "Oh, I just miss the newborn stage" or, "Don't you miss being pregnant?" Uh, no and no. Don't get me wrong. I loved those stages (mostly), but I never want to reverse the flow of time so I can do it all again. Call me in 20 years and I may sing a  different tune. But for now I am fine with having moved past the prelude and into the chorus of life.

So imagine my surprise when I found myself surrounded by old things wanting to relive all these moments of time. I wasn't even just wistful, but downright nostalgic. And I haven't been the only one. My husband's face said it all as he took out the last (after potty training) of the dirty diapers from the Diaper Genie. Lower lip pooched out, frown line in the eyebrow. We are moving into a new season of life whether we want to or not. More children may or may not be in God's plan for us and we may have changed our childrens' last dirty diapers (let's hope). I scoffed at his sad look and said "C'mon. Gimme a break. It's NOT sad." But yesterday when I dropped the Diaper Genie off at the consignment sale (yes, you could be the proud owner of a used diaper genie!), I felt the smallest tear well up in the crease of my eye. And then I laughed at myself. Out loud. A few women looked at me, but whatever.

But what I've realized is that 'hoarding' can also be genetic. As we've been cleaning out things and digging to the bottom of the toy box, my daughter has been clutching, nostaglic, wanting to keep things and breaking down in tears. I did the exact same thing as a child! I can recall selling my Berenstein Bears books in a garage sale and screaming and crying that night as if we lost a family pet. Guess what was on my wish list for my 16th Birthday? The complete Berenstein Bears library. Sentimental much? But my mother wasn't wrong in wanting to clean things out, move onto the next phase of life. Now I am on the other side of that drama. I guess I am being paid back!

Now please don't think I'm completely hard hearted. There are certain things we won't ever give up. And they are random toys, worthless to others. For example, we still have the cake toppers from Lily's first birthday cake. 3 plastic Disney princesses. She loves them and still plays with them during room time! We even had a scare with Belle on a couple of occassions. She broke in the bathtub so we tried to glue her back together, but glue and baths don't work, so she is now held together with a screw through her sternum. We found her just the other day wedged into the couch cushions smooshed a bit, but still resilient as ever. My husband and I exchanged a knowing glance. Ahh the memories. So, we hoard cake toppers. Who doesn't hoard something?!

Belle is now forver bending over to smell the Beast's rose thanks to a stint in the couch. 

Personally, I am a hoarder of smells. Yes, that's right smells. The power of a certain scent can bring on a downright tsunami of memories. I still have the perfume I wore in high school. I don't wear it anymore and I'm sure it's technically gone bad, but every once in awhile I will pop the cap to my little bottle of Ralph Lauren Polo Sport for Women, take a long sniff and reminisce.

This past fall we lost my grandfather suddenly. We had to travel to Louisiana and pack up my grandmother and 65 years worth of memories and move them and her back here. It was an emotional task for certain. I took my grandmother through each section of the house and asked her what she wanted to bring. Did she want to expensive china? No. The crystal? Please. The things she had us pack were the things that had memories attached to them. She was flooded with memories the same way all of us are at one time or another. When all was said and done I had to go through the rest of the things and decide what I wanted to take home to remember my grandfather, to remember the house they called a home. I chose a few random things that also had memories attached to them. But the one thing I brought back that I have treasured is a old nightgown of mine that my grandmother kept in an old cedar chest. The nightgown itself doesn't hold a lot of memories for me. I do have a picture or two of me in it as child. I thought I would pass it down to Lily and let her wear it since it's her size. But when I unpacked it at my house I noticed it had THE smell. The smell of Grand & Gramps' house. A distinct odor of cedar, mothballs and a little something else. Something undefineable. Something sentimental.

So, naturally the nightgown went directly in a plastic bag and I take whiffs from time to time to permeate my memories. So I don't forget my grandparents. Their house. The hot summers in Louisiana. The crawfish boils in the backyard. My grandfather's garden. Fishing at dawn. Old candy in a dish. Coffee in bed as a two year old. Eating cake until I threw up. Friday nights watching "Murder She Wrote". It's amazing what a smell can do for me.

As I sifted through all our children's belongings the past two weeks I kept reciting this verse over and over.

Do not store up for yourselves treasures on earth, where moths and vermin destroy and where thieves break in and steal. But store up for yourselves treasures in heaven, where moths and vermin do not destory, and where thieves do not break in and steal. For where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. 

Matthew 6:19-21 

Now, I do interpret this as being about wealth and assets and probably not knick nacks and newpaper clippings. But I do so desperately want to impart the importance of this onto my children. I want them to know that our identity is not in things, in toys or even in the momories of this world. That our identity is that we are sons and daughters of Christ and there is a treasure more than all we can ask or imagine waiting for us in His kingdom. 

So I am slowly figuring out how we do that while still preserving our family history and memories. It's a fine line, I can tell you that! The line between living in the past and living for the future while still enjoying and learning from the present. 

You all may see me on a future episode of Hoarders kicking out the psychiatrist from A&E while clutching my cake toppers and smelling my nightgown. Pray for me, y'all. 

Hi. My name is Stacie. And I'm a hoarder. 

The unexpected...

There are plenty of unexpected moments involved in motherhood.
Ahhh, the unexpected joys! The flutter in your belly that you thought was a result of bad fish tacos, but turned out to be little baby movements soon to turn into swift Pele-style kicks to various organs and nerves. The first time you hear your child clearly utter 'Momma' instead of incoherent baby babble. The first time your toddler poops in the potty and you dance around the bathroom like a teenager at prom, complete with doing the running man (ok, yes, that was me this week).
But there are unexpected pains, too. The sound of your baby crying hysterically at 3am and nothing you do will soothe her. When you first hear of your child being excluded on the school playground and you know you probably can't track down the child's parents and straighten them out. When your nose realizes your son has had his first potty training accident in your kitchen pantry while playing hide-and-seek (yes, also me this week).
Most of these are things that other mothers will experience in one form or another. But sometimes motherhood can deliver something entirely unexpected...
My first pregnancy wasn't all that wonderful, but I made it through and was induced at 37 weeks. A healthy, happy baby girl was the result and all the craziness of 6 weeks of bedrest and 80 pounds of baby weight was forgiven and forgotten.

We experienced the same things most parents experience the first few weeks. Like the sleep deprivation that people warn you about, but you can't even possibly understand until you've experienced it for yourself. Then you realize why that's used as a torture method for prisoners of war. And the agony of making sure the baby is eating enough. Which side did I last feed on? What time was that? How long was the feeding? What day is it? How many poopy diapers? What? Are you talking to me? Oh, sorry, I think I fell asleep.
But, we also experienced the intense joy of being parents. In all seriousness, while we were still pregnant we looked at our 75 pound mutt of a dog and said to each other, "How can we possibly have rooms in our hearts to love someone more Willie?" Seriously. We were those dog people that didn't understand what was so great about kids. So we got to experience the amazing love that grows inside your heart and blossoms between husband and wife to where you realize,"Oh, we created new life. That was cool."

But while basking in that afterglow, my journey into motherhood was thrown a curveball. In the middle of the night I woke up to feed Lily and noticed my ankle hurt. I thought I must have stepped on a dog toy going to her bassinet. "Stupid dog", I thought. The next morning I woke up and could not even stand on the ankle. It was swollen and extremely painful and I just couldn't believe my luck that I had somehow broken my ankle with a 4 week old baby to care for. My husband stayed home from work and we went to the hospital and after x-rays no fracture was found. I bounced around to several different doctor's and was put on a crazy dose of steroids to relieve the swelling. Then the pain and swelling travelled to the rest of my body. My knees, my hips, my fingers and wrists. I got to where I was afraid I may drop my baby and didn't quite trust myself to take care of her. Fortunately my parents live close by. My mother was almost a surrogate mother to her new grandbaby and my caretaker for a few months. I couldn't get out of bed to even change a diaper at one point. My mom brought her to my bed so I could feed her and try to be a mom. Once I could get out of bed I couldn't walk up or down the stairs without sitting down and going down one at a time on my bottom like a 2 year old. I couldn't sit down or stand up without grabbing onto the walls and using my arms to pull my weight. My mom and my husband were like my right and left arms. Without them I don't know what would have happened to me.

Lots of couchtime! 

Those were some dark days. I cried a lot. I cried at every doctor's appointment and yelled and wanted answers and was frustrated and confused. What disease do I have? Am I dying? Why can't you fix me? I have a baby! Don't you see I need to be a mom? Why me? Why now? What did I do wrong?
Then it became a game of treating the symptoms without a diagnosis. Just get the joint swelling the go away and then we'll figure it out. If you've ever been unfortunate enough to go on prednisone for anything, you know that it is a crazy drug. It makes you hungry, irritable, unable to sleep, emotional and fat. Yes, fat. My face puffed up like I was having an allergic reaction to bee sting. So, instead of losing weight after having a baby, all the weight stayed on and I actually looked fatter! How encouraging for a postpartum first-time mom!

My balloon face...

A few months later I started to slowly ween myself off the steroids and started methotrexate, a drug used in chemotherapy for cancer patients. It's highly dangerous to breastfeed while taking this drug so I had to weigh all my options and finally decide to quite breastfeeding, cold turkey, so that I could give myself a chance at being healed and be a better mother to my child. I fed my daughter for the last time in my mom's car in the rheumatologist's parking lot. It was a terrible decision to have to make and I was angry about it and I'm crying right now even thinking about it. But I would do it again in a heartbeat. It was a leap of faith. I was lucky enough to find a doctor who would pray with me for my healing at each appointment. I knew that God was able to do immeasurably more than all I could ask or imagine so surely he would heal me.
Well, it took several months and a few more medications, but I was finally able to return to walking up and down the stairs, driving a car, changing diapers, rocking my baby and returning to work full-time. I was lucky enough to go to the Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville and see one of top rheumatologists in the country. But he concurred with my local doctor that I did indeed have a HLA-B27 associated undifferentiated spondyloarthoropathy. Say that 3 times fast. I dare ya.Well, it's basically treated the same as rheummatoid arthritis, so that's usually what I tell people so I don't get the head turn of confusion look. I'm blessed to have the opportunity and the health insurance to take an extremely expensive medication once a week which has prevented any joint damage. I deal with chronic pain on a daily basis and moderate flare-ups from time to time. I faired better during my second pregnancy, but I almost went blind in one eye towards the end of the pregnancy because of an acute case of uveitis. Another fun symptom I didn't really know about until it happened. But it was nothing a steroid shot in the eyeball couldn't take care of! No biggie!
And I share this with you not so that you feel sorry for me or pity me in anyway. I mean, I probably wasn't going to climb Mount Everst or run a marathon, but I did enjoy it as being a possibility. In fact, I have altogether stopped praying that God would miraculously heal me from this disease. My prayers have shifted to:

Father, if you are willing, take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done. Luke 22:42

That God would use my brokeness to glorify Him in someway. My point in telling you all about this is because I think there are so many other women out there who have experienced the onset of autoimmune disease as a result of pregnancy. I have stumbled upon many of them since going through all of this. Some of them may never develop symptoms as severely as I did. Some my go through exactly what I did. But the desperation and frustration and confusion that goes on during that crazy time of unknowing can be helped by being in community. I had no community at all. If fact, I had almost no mommy friends at all. I searched all over the internet to reach out to anyone who may have gone through this to try to find answers. So hopefully this story isn't told in vain and can help someone out there who needs hope, who needs community during a dark time. And if you of an online community for this please leave it in the comment section!

And to those who are in my shoes,  let me pray with you. Pray for you. Pray for your family.

And eat a Bon bon, of course.

Or a cupcake, perhaps

Praise and the Potty

So I had a lot of motivation to potty train my daughter. I was about to birth a new child who was going to also be wearing diapers. Just the thought of having two kids in diapers makes my hair turn gray, so big kudos to those of you who have to go through it and do it with grace and your natural-born hair color. So we potty-trained my daughter and switched her bed to the big-girl bed around the time she was 2. A few months later I had my son and we had a little regression with the potty, but nothing major. Only one in diapers. Hooray! Done and done. 

Our little Stinker Belle

But my son's second birthday came and went and we had no desire to shake things up. We don't have another little diaper-wearer on the way. But finally I had a few glaring signs that it was time to kick this potty training thing into high gear. For one thing, he kept taking his diaper off during his naps. Like, every nap for several weeks. That was some fun laundry, let me tell you. Also, my perfectly cheap Amazon Mom Subscribe & Save diaper program increased their price by $6 a box. If you want to get me to make a change, hit me in my pocketbook. I am a frugal momma and hate paying more money for something than I absolutely have to, especially if there is a way I can get around using that product at all. So we decided to tackle potty training. We put it on the schedule during a holiday and I committed to staying home for at least 2 days so we could give it a fair shot. I was so eager we even started half a day early. We were home sick anyways so why not make use of that time. On Sunday, after nap time I took Davis' diaper off and we left it off. (Sorry Pull-Ups, you aren't welcome here either.) I offered him lots of yummy drinks and showed him the new treats he would get if he stayed clean and dry.  

My son is strong-willed! He drank and drank and drank and refused to go potty for several hours! Finally, as we sat down for dinner he ran in to go potty and went just the tiniest bit. The look of joy that overcame his face was priceless! He figured it out! He understood what we meant! He was rewarded with a high five and chocolate cheerios! Yay! hooray! A light at the end of the tunnel! The excitement was felt from every member of the family! Two minutes later.... off to the potty again. Tiniest little amount of potty, huge reward and excitement! This happened about 20 times in that hour! This little boy had discovered a gold mine. We had praised him for staying clean and dry up to that point, but he saw our excitement when he actually went in the potty! He wanted to harness that praise and energy

and repeat it over and over again!

I'm not going to bore you with all the details of our potty-training. (I hear a huge thank you out there!) Ask details if you want them. And to my family members who have received all the details, every step of the way: You're welcome. If you are interested in the method we used I highly recommend reading On Becoming Pottywise which provides a lot of great tools and several different ways to train. It's the book we used with both our children even though we trained them differently. 

I am kind of amazed at how well my son has done. The past several days haven't been without accidents. Just this afternoon we had a huge accident. Pantry and potty apparently sound similar. But I digress... This process has been more for me than just training my son to stay clean and dry. He is at that age where every day seems to contain new frustrations to me as his mom. I am constantly amazed at my lack of patience. By the time naptime comes around I usually have a few more gray hairs than I started with that day. This process of potty training has given me opportunity to celebrate and dance around in joy and praise my son. He is probably confused as to who is this happy woman who has invaded his mother's body. 

I had a moment of clarity today. No one claps for me, when I go #2 on the potty. But if I didn't the world sure would let me know it's expectations. Why is the world such a harsh place when it comes to praise and recognition? As parents we do have to prepare our kids for a world that's like that, yes. But as parents we also have to introduce more opportunities where we can praise and recognize our kids achievements. When we sit down at meals we praise God for the food he has provided with a blessing, but then we may not continue that praise into family mealtime. I know I am guilty of highlighting the day's faults like it's the evening news of who got time-out for what. There are plenty of opportunities for correction and consequences naturally built into the day of two-year-old, but at this tender age I seem to have to make it a point to seek out the positive and highlight the good.  I am going to challenge myself from now on to look for more opportunities to praise and reward my kids more often. To praise my family, my friends, my cashier at the grocery store. Wouldn't the world be a nicer place to live if we all clapped and high-fived every-time someone exited the rest room? Kind of a weird place to live, yes. But you get my drift! 

You have so much to say...

"It's so easy to keep up with you on Facebook"

"I like how you post pictures throughout your entire date night"

"You should really start a blog, you have so much to say"

So, I think these are people's way of telling me, "Ok, enough already with the social media!" But I'm going to take it as a compliment that I have so much going on between my two ears that I can't possibly get it all out in 140 characters or less! So I may be late to the party, but I've decided to try my hand at this blogging thing. (And I really have no idea what I'm doing tech-wise so forgive any future cyber blunders.) At the very least it should help to better articulate this word-vomit that is a product of being home with 2 children much of the day.


 And speaking of stay-at-home moms, let me tell you how off my perception was of them. Before having children I had very few friends with children. Actually, I think the 'very few' could be replaced with 'one'. So, its fair to say I didn't have any idea of what I was getting myself into. I saw stay-at-home moms at the grocery store in their yoga pants pushing around the extra-long race-car cart (that always seemed to run over my toe) with total envy. I snidely thought, "How nice it must be to actually be able to go to the gym in the middle of the day instead of reportong to work for 8 hours like the rest of us." Then I thought, "I'll bet when she gets home she opens up a box of Bon Bons and watches All My Children while her kids take naps. She has got it made!" (I'm not proud that these thoughts entered my mind, but they did, so I'm being real here.)

My wedding day 2004

July 2007. Back when I could still play house.
By the way, I gained 80 pounds my first pregnancy. seriously.

2009- Davis, my 2nd, at 36 weeks.
Umbilical cord wrapped around his neck twice.
But he turned out just perfect!

                                         

2010- My silly little family 

So.... 4 years and 2 kids later I think back to that perception and I want to slap the old me across the face. That poor woman may have very well slept in those yoga pants and not had the time or energy to even get dressed that day. And having those kids strapped in that impossible-to-push-around-enter-curse-word-here-cart was probably the most 'break' she got that day. If she did eat a Bon Bon, it was probably one her kid refused to eat for dessert because he had asked for the lollipop, not the Bon Bon. And she probably had to hear it on the news that All My Children had actually been canceled so she would never be able to know how many husbands Erica Kane would actually end up having!

This was my favorite husband of Erica's- Jackson Montgomery.
I mean, he looks like a Ken doll. How could she not be eternally happy with him?

(side note: Yes, I did watch All My Children for YEARS before I actually had children. Ironic? Perhaps. But year to date I have never eaten a Bon Bon though my husband filled my stocking with them at Christmas this year. I gave every one of them to the kids.)


And by the grace of God, here I am. Slowly, and humbly discovering what it means and how it actually is to be a mom.

Some random thoughts for future posts:

• What happened to me when I woke up one morning with a 4 week old baby and couldn't walk. 
• How social media has kept me sane as a mom and is my naptime 'happy hour'. (side note: I met one of my real-life best friends on Facebook)
• When I realized that raising a successful, productive citizen in this world would be for nothing if I didn't show them Jesus along the way. 

So join me or don't, but I will be here attempting to clean up my word-vomit and form some sort of story. And my hope is to connect with other reformed closet-mom-loathers. Maybe we can share stories over a Bon Bon one day.