Happiness is...

...being reunited with the love of your life the day after your 2nd anniversary after he'd been gone at war for nine months.

Oh my gosh, don't you just love it? Miraculous.

Congratulations to my two wonderful friends who got to be together again today after a grueling nine-month separation. (In case you don't recognize her, this is my favorite photographer, our family go-to, Emma from RoseWheat Photography with her lovely hubby, Jeff.) 

I wrote about another reunion of theirs less than a year ago, the beautiful waiting, the longing that built up and the moment of togetherness. How it feels like our yearning for Jesus. 

A few months later, I dreamed a dream he'd make it back to us, safe and sound.

And today, here they are, together, having conquered an entire deployment already. And now, back together and stronger than ever.

Aw, man. Will you look at that? Just perfect.

All the 1940's postcards I've seen in the bookstores pale in comparison to the heart-melting emotion of their reunion. I've been staring at these photos every chance I get tonight. Their incredible photographer from Hello, Gorgeous. Photography captured the intensity just right.

Don't you just love love?

Weekend Happenings: A Rustic Pink Vintage Baby Shower

I hosted a shower for one of my very dear friends this weekend. She is the first of my close friends to have a second baby, and this one is a girl so I am thrilled to give myself the title "Aunt Sarah" so I can have official access to purchasing all the pink, fluff and tullage a girl could want.

My lovely friend modeling a rubber ducky with an attitude.

Let it be known that I am not the cute, crafty mom that blogs about showers and parties and crafts. In fact, I don't even like cooking or baking. Fortunately, three of my friends helped me with food so all I had to do was whip up Mama Jean's amazing coffee cake, and I was done. That way I could focus on the part of the shower I enjoy most: decorating and design.

I throw showers and parties for friends fairly often, and although it makes me a little crazy in the process, I do enjoy gobbling up design blogs to see what other people have done. I always end up with a million ideas at the last minute. Like the idea to make party favor bookmarks from lace, ribbon and my Victorian scrapbook paper. Too late for that idea - not enough time, but maybe next time. 

I'm imaginative, but I'm also on a budget so I opted for the mostly pink fabrics and textures I already had around the house. I wanted to have a little Victorian touch to the rustic chic already in our home. Here is a tour of what I came up with:

Picking fabrics and textures is always fun, especially when your friend's baby girl is involved.

I don't really like games at showers or parties. The fun always feels forced, contrived and inauthentic. It's a bad feeling. Instead I like to pick activities or crafts for guests. I had a Barbie princess puzzle laid out on a table for guests to work on. I also picked this idea below as an activity for guests and way for them to give my friend a happy wish or prayer for the baby.

I call it The Blessing Tree, a combination of ideas I found on the blogs, specifically this idea from Baby Lifestyles. I am quite proud of this so feel free to steal the idea. I found a few small branches with some character in the yard, and used tulle to help them maintain position in the vase. Then I cut out leaves and birds from Victorian-style scrapbook paper and used clothes pins to clip them to the branches. 

Guests were directed to "write a prayer, wish or blessing for the baby" to be used to decorate the baby's room. I'm really excited for this to materialize in the decor of the room, although we're not totally sure how we will incorporate it yet. 

I will definitely be using The Blessing Tree at other showers though. Such an easy, pretty and fun idea.

The Blessing Tree 

Here is the Victorian paper again, this time with the baby name written on it. These are spin-off of a super cute baby girl shower theme, again from Baby Lifestyles.

In the bathroom, I classed up the towels by providing individual hand towels for guests with a small basin to disgard used towels. And there's the Victorian paper again. It goes with everything!

I love this glass lantern/cage my aunts and mother-in-law bought me for my wedding. I use it for decorating for the seasons and to display simple decor for parties and showers. Here I rolled dried flowers in pink tulle and placed it in the lantern. So easy. 

"Put a bird on it" door hanging. I love this too. I used these birds at a bridal shower earlier last year and repurposed them with a branch as a door hanging with the baby's name written on the birds. Also used the Victorian paper and extra branch from the yard at the top.

And here is my friend, opening one of her many gifts. She is very loved! Can't wait to meet this little girl. She is going to be one amazing little woman, just like her mom.

New Year's Vis-olutions: Learning to Dream Bigger

I know it's already Wednesday, January 16. And you think I forgot to talk about vision, goals and resolutions for the New Year. But I did not. I was quietly refining my hopes and dreams in my head and in conversations with God and with Josh. Because this is scary, grand and wonderful stuff here. And I don't take it lightly. 

I got nervous because resolutions always make me nervous. What do I want to change? Everything. I want so many areas of my life to improve. But that was the wrong place to start. And I always think too small that way. 

I decided to try something different this year, ask myself a new question. Below is an excerpt from my journal. his is basically a (clear) stream of consciousness on what I want my life to manifest, and what I hope for in this year, and in the next five years. As I wrote, my mind expanded. I let myself think bigger, dream wider. 

[photo cred: http://suhasagban.com/]

So for today, these are my goals, my vision and resolutions. I am going to be using Ron Edmonson's Life Plan steps to work out the details, but here you have it. This journal excerpt reveals what I want to be when I grow up. 

"I've been trying to figure out what I want to change, what I would like to be different in this next year. It's hard to start there. I guess I will start with the Miracle Question. 

What if I woke up in the morning and everything was perfect. What would it look like?

I would wake up in the morning EAGER to spend time with God. He would would meet me there. I would pray, worship, write, encounter him, and get great ideas.

I would not leave for work until 7:45 because I have a local office where I can go work on my book. I am writing a book and keeping my blog up to date. I have social media to manage part of the day. I have meetings. I have a trip to plan. 

My blog is successful. I find my niche and people are listening, getting impacted, lives changing, regularly having ah-ha moments. And they come to read because they know they will find hope and inspiration. They hear wisdom and get new insight. It's easy to write because I know what God is saying people need to hear. It's not a stretch anymore. 

And I dress like this. And look like this. [www.vi.sualize.us]

I would return home for lunch where I would have time with my family. 
OR

I would hunker down in theWELL prayer room and spend an hour with God.

I would come home between 3 and 4 to play with my kids - because my work day is done - and get caught up on their day. We would do basic life things: laundry, play and get ready for dinner. 

I have a meeting that night, but it is energizing: a conversation with pastors, an outreach to the poor, an art showing or concert. But God is present, always present, and I never want to miss it.

In the evening, I have quiet time with Josh and more time in the IHOP prayer room web stream. I end the day with the peace and presence of God, just like I started it. 

Our money is not tied up in debt (school loans or credit cards) so we can do awesome things with it: we buy wells for villages around the world, we send children to school, we back missions and justice movements around the world that we want to see thrive. We support the ending of abortion and the ending of human slavery. We sense the power of our finances and instead of choosing to eat out often or do frivolous things, we see that our money can purchase the freedom of a 10 year old girl in Cambodia. Our priorities are right on. 

Trips to the grocery store or restaurant are consistently intriguing. God shows up because I bring him with me. It's fun to see what he does. He heals, he speaks prophetically, people give their lives to Jesus.

theWELL is a fun place to be because the Spirit of God is evident. There is a thriving Prayer Room working towards 24/7 impact, with multiple ministries springing up from the burdens on people's hearts: partnering with other churches to reach out to the poor, single parents, family ministry, powerful counseling ministry, children who come Sundays and get powerfully impacted by the Word, by the Spirit and meet God. People who come to theWELL regularly encounter the presence and the Word. They are prophetically ministered to. Healings happen often. We staff the Prayer Room with little difficulty. 

theWELL is responsible for the development of the arts in the city. First Fridays is well attended with a good reputation and extends to the secular world as a ministry. People come because they know they will meet God, and the artistry is second to none. Amazing artists, musicians and writers spring up in the community and come to be near the creative God who is the source for all the best ideas. Some of them hear crazy stories of what goes on and they come. They are changed, and they stay, or are launched intentionally into their callings around the world.

Transformational art. [Work by Jazzy Chun Earl]

The Army of God's people volunteer in this day. Our church is well pastored, well cared-for, and volunteers are easy to come by. There is a strong purity and holiness among God's people. They know truth and easily identify deception. Division has no hold and leaves easily. Same with witchcraft, manipulation and control: out before they even get a hold. And bitterness, hatred and murder will all bow in the presence of Jesus, never taking root or causing trouble.

Missions is active and strong. The church does not know how to keep quiet. Stories of God's movement open doors. Everyone who is part of theWELL has a story to tell, and everyone wants to serve, innovate, be on adventure. It's easy to organize mission trips locally and across the globe. Prayer and missions are intrinsically tied and everyone in theWELL knows it and serves the cause."

Coming soon...

Developing your vision: If you're stuck and don't know how to create a life vision, or you don't even know why you're here on this planet, try these tips on for size. Check back later for more on this.

Hospitality and the Ministry of Stuff

I grew up with a Mom who lived a humble hospitality. Holidays were acknowledged but without fanfare. Tasteful decorations indicated to visitors we knew which season it was, but no one thought we were trying to get into the home show. 

My folks were a conservative bunch. Generous with the least of these, our resources were not meant to stop with us. I experienced this philanthropic value throughout my childhood, although it was never clearly stated, and for many years resented how my parents chose to spend their money. It was not on extras for us. 

In college though, I took up the Poverty Equals Christianity banner and carried my family's history as a badge of pride. I took care to minimize my own possessions, secretly believing there was a special place in heaven for those who could cram all their belongings into only one vehicle. Annual trips to Salvation Army to purge the closet were my pilgrimage to the Mecca of Light Living.

Then I got married. My mother-in-law is a misplaced southern belle who likes pretty things. Her frequent visits to home decor sales were a pilgrimage of her own. 

The first three years we were married, she brought poinsettias, wreaths or other home furnishings to help me make our apartment a home. I did my best with what she offered, but I told her I just didn't do much decorating. I'm friendly; my hospitality is in my personality, I thought. 

That was, until a vase of flowers changed my mind.

This year we started Second Sunday Community Meals at church. Everyone brings something, and we all crunch together at sprawling round tables to eat. It's rowdy and delightful. 

One day my friend Emma skipped bringing food and brought flowers instead. She tucked tiny buds into vases and stowed them in the center of each table. The room transformed.

That was the day I realized that stuff isn't bad. Furnishings and decor in a room create the ambience: an environment of austerity and sucking in your gut, or a habitat of relaxed homecoming. 

The flowers were a welcome sign that day. A symbol to say, "We want you here so don't pack up and leave so quickly."

[comefillyourcup.wordpress.com]

This year, all the Christmas decorations made it out of the attic. The Nativity scene. The tasseled red table runner. The  centerpiece I meant to create last year but never got around to it. Even the silly stuffed Santa doing a handstand. And this year, it looked like Christmas at the Siders' House. 

But it's not just things for things' sake. It's the Ministry of Stuff, the environment I create to welcome others into my life. It says "We want you here, and we made this place nice because you matter to us." 

Emma didn't know she taught me this lesson. She didn't know because this is just a value she intuitively gets. She doesn't say it out loud, but it's in her life. And I want it in mine. 

But I bet if Jesus had a house down here, he'd hang a pictures on the walls and a wreath on the door. Maybe a star on the tree. Candles would warm the corners with flickering fragrance. Hot cocoa in hand, we would all feel snug and welcome, knowing we're right where we belong. 

Five Things I Need to Remind Myself About Parenting (and Toddler Schedules too)

[Toddler Schedules: Examples and Tips from my very limited experience.]

Toddlers are in a funny but often frustrating stage. While they are learning like crazy, they have an attention span the size of their pinkie finger. 

If I had to guess, we make it harder than it is. I always want my son to be listening to Pavarotti or learning Farsi, but he only wants to eat dirt and kiss the dog. What's a mom to do? 

We moms know if a toddler isn't entertained or engaged, they will find something to engage with. Don't we know? The curiosity makes for an excellent student, if you can make the most of it.

Here are a couple pieces of advice I need to give myself about toddler parenting:
1. Schedules are good. Our brains naturally run according to rhythms. We set our kids up for success - as in, good moods and better behavior - when they know what to predict. Spontaneity is great, but your whole life shouldn't be a guessing game.

2. Like your child and have fun with him. If you are always putting out fires and find that you don't really like your child most of the time, your relationship will be adversarial and you won't build the trust you need to keep your toddler listening to you as he grows. Play is the primary communication kids have with the world. Stop your working, get on the carpet and have a tickle fight, play trains or dolls and let your inner kid out for a bit. 

3. Plan ahead. It's related to schedules, I guess, but it's good to take time early each week to think about what you want to accomplish and how you want to do it. If you want to develop your child's artistic skills, work on the alphabet or counting, you will need planned activities. And you won't do them if it's a last-minute idea. Planning ahead also goes for trips to the store or any venture out of the house. I forgot snacks at Target once, right around dinner, and you can believe I will never do that again.

4. Make getting out of the house or play dates a regular thing. Sometimes kids get cooped up or isolated and then they get bored more easily, or simply can run out all the energy they have. Going to the mall, the park or even the store feel like a nice change from the ordinary for him. I also feel like my son does better when he is with other kids his age, rather than just at home with the parents. He learns basic social skills, problem-solving and sharing, and his communication improves. 

5.Be nice to yourself. I have totally unrealistic expectations for my son and me most days. I am far too influenced by what I see on the Internet, and I'm not even on Pinterest. I am not a super cute crafty mom, and I know it looks like there are hundreds of them out there, but there are probably only three, posing as different women with different names and families. And they are making a killing. Nevermind that. I value my sanity. If we do one cool craft project a week, that is awesome!. 

Below are a few toddler schedules I find helpful. You can take what works for you and mix and match based on your own family and lifestyle. As you can see, one of the schedules are from a childcare center, while the others are personal schedules created by parents. Our schedule is still in creation mode, and it will get re-worked again when my work schedule changes in the new year. My husband stays home with our son so a lot of their activities depend on Josh's pastoral commitments. (But if we're going to raise a pastor's kid, I love that he gets to grow up with Daddy.)

Anyway, as I said, planning is a must. Unless I have my activities lined up in advance, I can almost guarantee we will be watching Netflix half the day, with me scratching my head for ideas and wishing for nap time to get here already. 

Great places for activities:
The Nurture Store - sign up for the weekly play planner via and get an activity planner each week 
Hands On As We Grow - 50 activities for toddlers 

Schedule Away. [Each image is linked to its origin.]

An Ounce of Prevention, or All the Things That Don't Happen

When John was born, he had the wobbliest head. I mean, that thing couldn’t stay in one place if it tried. It wasn’t trying, for the record. It was tedious work keeping the head lined up with the body, not too far to the right or left, front or back. All the veteran parents shout to the newbies, "Support the head! Support the head!" as if it might just tip too far and roll right off. 

There were plenty of times where I had control, where I knew where the head wanted to wobble so I secured my hand behind that tiny noggin, and there it stayed. Some days it got away from me though. A sudden spark through his not-quite-formed neurological pathways and jolt! There goes the head again.

One hand in front, one behind the head. Good mama. 

One day I was holding him on the couch, and he was doing the bouncy head thing like usual, but all of a sudden, his whole body flung backwards. It was all I could to keep him from crashing out of my grip and smashing his head on the coffee table. But I caught him, wobbly head, spazzy body and all.

And at that moment, I realized that I saved him from a solid head knocking, a significant, nasty ouch that never happened because of my alertness and adept parental response system. And you know what? He is never going to know about it.

There were countless moments like these, which changed as he grew. Like all the times I put a pillow down near the couch so he wouldn’t bonk his head on the furniture, or when I covered the underside of the coffee table with my hand as he crawled underneath so he wouldn’t end up with a goose egg on his forehead on his way out.  

He’s like a born stunt man with no training. Here we are, the parents, flailing after the kids, holding our breath and trying to prevent severe maiming or death. It’s exhausting. And he’ll never know how much breath I lost, the touchdown catch dives across carpet, down hallways or through the living room, all to save him from himself.

This little dude is hardcore. And he keeps me running. 

He only knows about the times he does fall, when the chair he is standing on is more tilty than normal, and off he goes. Or when he careens through the nursery and pops his head on the table. The ouch turns rainbow colors and swells up nice within minutes.

Weeping ensues. It’s tragic for all of us. I missed one. I catch a million "almosts", but this one was an "actual". 

But what of all the times it doesn’t happen? When I caught John’s wobbly head that day on the couch, I realized there are a million times where I almost get hurt or emotionally wounded, where a bruise or a major injury, even death, were sure to happen. And then Father God or his angels step in, puts a hand behind my wobbly head, prop me up while I’m stepping, and then I’m okay.

I don’t even know about these times though. It’s prevention, and prevention never gets the cred it deserves.

Who knows all the diseases you avoided by taking your daily vitamin and exercising 30 minutes a day? Who knows the car accident you avoided because you turned around to be sure the oven was off? Who knows the falls and bangs and near-death experiences you’ve narrowly escaped because your very capable Dad and his angels were toodling right alongside you, ready for another jerky moment where you lost control? Think of the stunts you still pull as an adult, you know, applying makeup or making phone calls or composing your latest novel…while driving. How many times have we been saved and yet we’ll never know? 

Yet it’s the wounds that do happen, as rare as they are, the rejections, the “No” answers to tearful prayer, the rude lady in line at the grocery store or the friend who hurt our feelings, the jobs we don’t get, the phone call that “it’s cancer”, sad, long nights where we’re alone. It’s all the stuff we don’t like, the wounds and pain we do feel – these we remember. Whether it’s his fault or not, God gets the credit for these things.

No, God never gets credit for the prevention. I think he should.

I wasn’t good at recognizing God’s protection before I was a mom. I blamed God for the bad stuff and didn't see all the preventing he was breathlessly performing with such skill. Now that I am a mom, I see it much more, or I simply assume it’s happening. “I’m alive, aren’t I? It must be working.”

I can see now that there are a hundred almost-bad things that could have but did not go down in any given day. Too many to count. I’ll never know about them, but I know God is good so I know he is keeping the almost from being actual.

So thank you, God. Thank you for the excellent protection job you’ve been doing. Thank you for keeping me and my family safe again and again and again. Thank you for your hand around our little heads and tiny, fragile bodies, preventing, preventing, preventing. I hope you get more credit for all the diving after us that you do. Thank you. 

Favorites and Bests from the Week

I'm in a sharing mood. Which also happens to be a promotional mood. (I still think I could be a rockstar at PR if the opportunity afforded itself.) Reading blogs and surfing the web allows me to happen upon a million new places I didn't even know existed. And I'm not even on Pinterest - I refuse. Anyway, here are a few of my favorites and bests: things I've been using, listening to, reading, enjoying lately. 

Best new gadget:
The iPad - yes, I finally got one. It's the 2 so don't think I'm all elitist or anything. The babe will get the Kindle - last year's Christmas gift to me  - regifted. He doesn't know yet, but something tells me it won't surprise him much.

Fave new app:
Flipboard - this iPad-friendly (and iPhone too, I think) app funnels your social media through some mystical beautifying system and makes reading through Twitter, Facebook and other news a far more aesthetically pleasing experience. 


Best band:
The Blackbird Revue. We're all sad about the Civil Wars and their internal conflict leading to tour cancellation and a bunch of other fallout. But if you're in love with that hauntingly lovely, folksy sound, you're going to just dig the freakishly talented, musical storytelling duo of the Blackbird Revue. They're local to the Midwest so you can catch them playing at venues around KC on a regular basis. And when you decide you can't get enough of their work, you can buy all their albums. Like you should. 

Best Jesus music for kids:
Little Songbirds. This light-hearted, spunky music is performed by the whole Fa'agutu family of singers, including the children. With almost a reggae feel to the sound, you and the kids are sure to be bouncing and singing along in no time.  

Best play and education ideas for moms:
NurtureStore. I'm telling you, the Brits know how to raise children. Or at least, this particular one, Cathy, does. When you subscribe via email, you can get the super helpful Weekly Play Planner which is, for the most part, stuff you could and would actually do. Or at least it gets your brain going for new ideas. Play and learning projects for all ages abound. Yes, even babies and toddlers. Since we're all thankful this time of year, I'm so thankful for this site. It's been helping me relax and helping me remember to include John in my daily tasks and reminding me of his developmental stage. 

Fave Toddler Schedule:
Montessori's Toddler Schedule. Over the holidays I found myself grasping for activities for John to do to engage and educate him, but also keep him busy. It occurred to me that the combination of our ever-changing routine with Josh's job and mine, the fact that he stays home with a working parent without peer interaction, plus the added switcheroo of holiday travel, was probably not helpful to a little tike. So onward with the newest idea: get John on a schedule. I had no clue where to start. What kinds of activities should be included in his day? I'm sure many moms, especially SAH moms, need these kinds of ideas. I thought this schedule was one of the most intriguing and helpful I found. 

Best inspiration for writers: 
Jeff Goins. His blog and weekly newsletter are chockfull of tips on writing, inspiration to get your bum off the couch and your fingers to the keyboard. He's connected with the leadership and writing spheres around the web-o-sphere so he offers freebies and discounts on lots of resources. He loves to motivate and share. Follow him on Twitter, subscribe to his newsletter and fall in love with writing again. 

Favorite thing I did this week: 
Gave the message at church. We're in the middle of a series on Controversy in our culture where we polled the "audience" to see what people are talking about, struggling with and what they really wish someone would answer. We've tackled big topics such as LGBT issues and the church, the end times, Christians and tolerance, and today I had the privilege of addressing the pop belief that there are many paths to God. Which of course is illogical, but that's not the point at the moment. I will post the podcast later in the week once it's up, but it was really enjoyable to share the thoughts and research I've had in my brain for the past 13 years. 

Favorite book I'm reading: 
Operating Instructions: A Journal of My Son's First Year by Anne Lamott. So painfully, hilariously, breathe-a-sigh-of-relief-you're-not-crazy honest about parenting the first year. And really, the truth of it lasts through all the years of parenting, from what I can tell. Anne always makes me laugh so hard I cry, which I find delightful, and these daily musings on mommyhood don't disappoint. In one entry, she recalls loving and adoring her sleeping baby one moment, only to fall asleep and wake to his cry, furious and resentful that he is awake and keeping her from precious sleep. If you're a mom or thinking about being one, this book will help you give yourself a bit more wiggle room on the perfection scale. Thanks, Anne. 

It Would Be Easier Without the Crazy

Parenting is one of those things. It's impossible. 

Sure, there are days where I forget. Okay, not days - minutes. Me and the tiny guy are laying there giggling about something, coloring, imagining, where we both pretend I understand the Baby Swedish. It's fun then. 

The switch flips when he insists on watching various household items swim in the toilet, or when he performs the limp-noodle act in the street as I try to shout, cajole, lift his floppy, rebel body into the driveway. 

Yes, these moments reveal a sad truth about me. I am sometimes crazy.

I would like to be less crazy. I would like to be calm, a floaty, happy mom with lots of self-control whose children listen, or if they don't, she has a neat, prepped response for their folly. But as most people who parent will admit, if they're not lying, "I never knew how (insert negative character quality here) I was until I had children." 

For me, I didn't know the anger was there. Man, so angry. So irrational. (Uh oh, starting to sound like a two year old in a tantrum, right? Cue some empathy for the two year old.)

In my ongoing (ahem, never-ending) efforts to self-reform, I learn, read, listen and even shamelessly copycat people who are good at parenting. Whatever that means. Cause from what I can tell, most of our parent friends are as befuddled as we are. 

I also pray. Squeak out, "Help me have patience, please. Please. Help me respond with grace." And so far I think prayer has been the biggest miracle worker on my actual responses to the maniacal, death-defying stunts and general obstinance toddlers seem to choose. 

But how in the world do you do this parent thing? Not just do it, but do it well.

John might argue, perhaps this is the problem with my parenting. [Photo credit]

A year ago I read Loving Our Kids on Purpose, which flipped my world upside down with the premise that - get this - you cannot control other people. I wish it hadn't taken me 30 years to figure discover this, but hey, I'm here now.  

I love their philosophy: "You can't control anyone but yourself. If you find yourself getting angry and raising your voice with your kids, then you're giving your emotional control to someone who probably still poops their pants. And then you're in a bad situation."

Ah yes, the truth rings. But the personal reform takes a while. The acting right instead of acting wrong. The digging up of the old, crusty ways of yelling and demanding and trying to control and replacing them with the less offensive, happier ways of self-control. 

I need to read the book again. I just listened to the Loving Our Preschoolers audio seminar, which was all a great refresher. John is old enough for choices now, and he's going to be making a lot of them. They might be mostly timeout, but that will be his choice. Not mine.

A review of the thoughts for my benefit, and perhaps yours too: Choices. Attitudes. Mine is mine, and yours is yours. I can't change you; you can't change me. I am in control of me, unless I give it up. But that's no one's fault but mine. No one can take my choice from me. No one can take my self-control away. So empowering, isn't it? 

In a family, we can influence each other, protect each other, enjoy each other, but we can't control each other. The more I realize this, the happier mom/wife/employee/human I will be. 

Being Two in a World of No

The days begin and end sweetly. Hugs and kisses and sweetness exchanged. Great expectations in the morning, forgetting the troubled days past. And there's quiet in the evening, prayers and blessings, and volume-down silence. 

Many nights as I tuck him in, I close the door quietly rehearsing the ways I will not parent him tomorrow. More regrets than I'd like to admit. 

The mornings and evenings are the thoughtful spaces, the hopeful snapshots, the looking forward or looking back when clarity is, well, more clear.

But these are the bookends, and in between is the life. The reacting and preventing, the coaching and teaching, the thinking out loud, the kindly saying it quietly, the redirecting, then the shouting and regretting. The laughing, tickling and chasing. And the No. Please, No.

He knows he is two. One and one equals...

Even as I've been writing this post, he poured a cup of water out on the table and drenched the newly-washed tablecloth. I reacted with nearly all the grace and patience of a drunken lumberjack. Then I returned to my post and continued writing. 

Ten minutes passed and there was quiet on the floor again. The kind that made me uncomfortable. I heard a tiny munching sound, so silent only a mother can hear it. "What are you eating, John?" I called pointlessly into the kitchen. "Mmmmmm," is all he responded. It could be anything, I thought to myself with a moderate level of dread. But I didn't get up. He sauntered into the living room with a leftover birthday cupcake. At least it's actual food, I thought to myself and continued typing. 

Although I rarely take time to imagine myself in his tiny shoes, I'm sure it's hard to be two. To want to see, hear, touch, taste, smell the world, every last fiber of every. single. thing.

Then there's the parents. They're nice and all, but when you're about to make a mind-altering discovery, just then they arrive to snatch it away, rushing in with wild and unsubstantiated claims like, "Don't touch it; it's hot!" Or "You cannot put a basketball in the toilet," "Towels do not belong in the sink, sir" Or "Only papers are for coloring, not walls, please." Outrageous. 

I do wish he could think of me though. I am tired at the end of the day. Exhausted and achy from snatching away sharp objects from uncomfortably close to the outlets, or moving the kitchen chairs away from the stove (again) or plucking plastic, paper, dirt and various rubbish from his salivating chops. 

Thoughts like, "Please, for the love, stop with the stunt man thing," or "You're killing me, Smalls," daily pass through my mind. And often, leave my lips.

But we're at the end of the day again, the time when I can see with 20/20 vision the good and the bad of how we live. And however selfish and ignorantly experimental he may be, one thing is undeniable: he's great with forgiveness. Forgets real or perceived offenses almost immediately. I wish he cared more about stuff I care about, like my feelings, for example, or things that should not be wet. But I appreciate that he's not holding my wrongdoings over my head. Because there are many.

If he spoke better English, we would have a heart-to-heart, and I would say, "I know we make each other mad some times, but we really have a lot to learn from one another.  You take some cues from me on where household items go and which places in the house standing and sitting is appropriate, and I will follow your lead on laughing more and that forgive and forget thing you've perfected." He would nod with a light bulb kind of look, and then we would give each other a hug and walk into the sunset. 

It'll be a great day when that happens. Until then, I'm just going to have to pray for patience. A lot. 

Good night. And here's to a thoughtful, prayerful, peaceful and on-purpose tomorrow. 

When You Were a Teeny Baby: For John

I wrote this little poem a couple lines at a time for a few weeks after John was born. I imagined it with pictures, if I was ever that creative, and I could see myself reading this book to him, showing him how much we loved him and enjoyed him before he ever said a word or did a thing. I've had babies on the brain again so I went back to re-read my and my doula's versions of my labor and remembered this little treasure. I thought I would share it with you too. Enjoy.

When you were a teeny baby.

When you were a teeny baby

I liked to give you big hugs, even though my arms could wrap around you a whole bunch of times.

When you were a teeny baby

You weighed less than a watermelon and you were way cuter!

When you were a teeny baby

I used to give you lots of kisses, even when you were mad or crying, just because I could.

When you were a teeny baby

Your dad and I would just look at each other and say, “Isn’t he the cutest kid?”  We thought all the noises and sounds you made were so adorable.

When you were a teeny baby

You would lay on your dad’s tummy and look around the room with your big, blue eyes wide.  You especially liked the ceiling fan and lights.

When you were still in my belly, I used to pat you on your little bottom.  So when you were a teeny baby, I patted your little bottom and you seemed to like it.

When you were a teeny baby

You smiled when you were eating and going to sleep.  We loved your smile so we always smiled back.

When you were a teeny baby

We liked to watch you sleep.

When you were a teeny baby

I loved just looking at you, even though you couldn’t talk or hug me or do anything.

When you were a teeny baby

I let you fall asleep on my lap instead of putting you in bed because I wanted to be with you as long as I could.

When you were a teeny baby

Everyone said you looked just like your dad.  But you looked just like my baby pictures.  We don’t know who you look like yet, but everyone says you are very cute.  And they’re right.

When you were a teeny baby

You had a head full of dark, brown hair.  I loved your hair so much I never wanted to put a hat on you, even though it was cold, because I wanted everyone to see your adorable head.

When you were a teeny baby

Bear gave you lots of sniffs and licks.  He called them kisses, but we asked him to stop, please.

When you were a teeny baby

Your clothes were so small, I couldn’t believe a human could fit in them.  But you did.

When you were a teeny baby

I loved you so much.  And I still do.

Sometimes Babies Are Rude

I just let my son borrow my phone. He asked, so I obliged. It's locked so all he can really do is make pretend calls while listening to the iTunes feature that pops up automatically, and take pictures of himself. (I’m always a little concerned about the fact that he could theoretically make an emergency call, but hey, every kid has to accidentally call the cops at least once in their lives, right?) So I’m sitting here being super benevolent with this $400 piece of technology, letting him run up and down the hall, and of course he needs to taste the phone, and let the dog have a lick too. And I’m tolerating all of these gross bodily fluids rather well. But then he’s trying to come over to the laptop where I’m writing, and he’s tapping on the caps lock and so suddenLY I’M WRITING LIKE THIS before I realize it, and I change it back. Then he sneaks in a bit of punctuation ‘’’’’’’’’’’’ before I notice, and then I pause, again, to try to distract him.

At this point, I’m feeling guilty because this is probably a sign that he needs a sibling or that I am not being the most attentive mother. But hey, it’s also a sign that my child is not terribly socially intuitive. In other words, rude. 

This morning we ate Cheerios for breakfast. Well, I did. I ate them neatly and didn’t spill a one. John, on the other hand, was inspired. He joyfully slapped and spun a Jackson Pollock with gusto, scattering the hapless Cheerios to the four winds. Soon, the tiny oat circles carpeted the kitchen floor. His attention span for clean up lasts approximately 34 seconds, so I would be the one cleaning it up. I’m sure it was intentional. As my brother and I chatted on Skype today, I gave him a survey of the kitchen floor. He laughed. “Babies have no morals,” I warned. He should know the truth. Sometimes I think, “Where is your mother?” And then, you know, I realize the obvious. That I am the mother, and I really should do something about these tantrums and selfish behavior that would never work on a playground or in a boardroom.

Yes, this is someone else's kid. But don't you love that this is a universal baby activity. [Photo credit: onenjen.com]

Babies are indeed rude. And sometimes, I get upset. A little flustered, frustrated, flabbergasted at the situations I find, we find ourselves in. Rightfully so, I think. There are a couple reasons for this. The foremost, I think, is that I’m simply not used to being treated this way by regular humans in my daily life. Usually my roommates do not run off with dirty dishes, stolen from the dishwasher, begging me to chase them. Most days I am not being assaulted with a spatula or attacked from behind for a hug or piggie back ride. But I never see it coming. Most people do not want to drink out of my beverages, stir the insides or pour them on the hardwood (laminate) and splash in them. It’s absurd behavior. I’m not used to it.

The second reason for my more frequent bouts with anger is just the inconvenience of it all. If I’m honest, sometimes it’s out of the frustration for the fact that I am stopping my perfectly reasonable activity to pull an electrical cord out of a mouth, prevent a nose dive off the couch into something thick, solid piece of plastic. Or try to reason with this little wonder about how that toothbrush is yours, not that dogs, and there should be no sharing.

First world problems, I know. But these moments of domesticity can try the most patient and peaceable maternal instincts. They bring out the deeply rooted anger and impatience we didn’t know was in us. Really. I had no idea I was an angry person until 1) I got married and 2) I had a child. Parents and married people always said this to each other and nodded knowingly in return. I stared at them from a distance in disbelief. “You people are really screwed up.” It was incredible they didn’t know they needed therapy.

But alas, it is true. The rudeness and absurdity and inconvenience of the mess is annoying and angering, but thankfully, I see my true self in it. I would have no idea of these character issues if it were not for my son, and my husband, here to point them out. Thank you, Boys.

The hardest, hardest part of all this is not the mess though. It’s realizing that I am the problem. Because indeed I am. My selfishness and small-minded laziness gets me in trouble. They are not pretty, the worst ugly sides of me. My impatience and anger are there in a moments notice when I need them, or rather want them, and where is my patience and grace? Well, I am only now starting to make a practice of using them. This refining process is slow and searing, but it is good. All these little deaths leading me into the reflection of Christ. I know it’s worth it.

{And perhaps because God loves a chuckle, and I know I do, I had to stop this blog temporarily here at the end to clean up milk from my cereal bowl that I spilled. I’m sure it had nothing to do with the fact that I was writing in the dark. Very funny, God. But I get the point.}

How To Know You're Not Pregnant

[Pregnant or think you might be? Visit the resource listing on this site for help.]

It wasn't long after I wed my knight in shining armor that I realized something new and strange about myself. I changed my mind - I wanted a baby. 

This was a complete 180 degree turn from the weepy meltdown I had in the car on the way home from premarital counseling in March 2008. That was back when I was a first-year baby protester. But at this premarital counseling session our pastors made a compelling argument against the pill, and we couldn't argue. That afternoon Josh and I decided that we were not going to use birth control pills, which was precisely the day I knew for sure we were going to have a baby on our honeymoon. And I was going to cry. It was all planned out. 

I proceeded to cry-whine uncontrollably for the hour between Kansas City and Topeka. It was a long hour...for Josh.

It didn't help that Cozumel, our honeymoon destination, was known as "the Mayan island of fertility". The airline attendant gleefully warned us of this as we boarded our final plane. I pondered the strong possibility that this "blessing" might also apply to non-Mayans. I rebuked it, just in case.

Not that anyone's asking, but one of the the details that matters a little here is Josh and I were not sexually active before we got hitched. So a baby was never a worry, never a thought. I had a vague thought that I wanted to wait at least a year, but never in my life had this been an issue. As the big day approached, I visited the doc and got a pill prescription, went to the pharmacy and picked it up. I remembering taking that little brown bag back to the apartment, and I knew I was a big girl now. 

Big girl pills. [Photo credit: scientificamerican.com]

Then the pastors told us their story about non-pill use and it was just terrible because we agreed with their logic. Something about how the pill makes the uterus unfriendly to a fertilized egg, which to Josh and I (because we're armed with archaic, fundamentalist science), is a human with a soul. And even though they weren't trying to convince us of anything, they did precisely that. I couldn't handle the thought of meeting a bunch of my kids in heaven. "Oh hey, I didn't know about you...um, this awkward. Nice to meet you." (For the record, I am still not really sure about when humanity begins, but do you want to be the one to find out you were wrong? I don't want to be.)

So anyway, the moral of the story is that in my pre-marriage opinion, the worst thing that could have happened to me would have been a pregnancy, a human life growing inside me, a (gasp!) baby. 

Then I got married and something changed. I had thoughts about babies that didn't involve me turning into a pool of disappointment and rage. This was new. I wrote about it here, about how I could feel the biological clock had turned on. And I could hear it ticking. It was making me want a baby. Darn you, Mayan Cozumel water. If they couldn't get you pregnant, they were going to make you miserable until you wanted a baby so bad you just went ahead and had one. 

I started investing in those little white sticks that tell you if there's a human growing inside of you, pregnancy tests I think they're called. (Right, like I don't know. In reality, I can tell you the ratings of most of them and which ones are most likely to give you a false positive. Or I can tell you where to find out.)

Every few weeks, I started paying attention to the symptoms they listed as pregnancy symptoms on WebMD. I quickly became convinced each month my symptoms indicated that if I didn't have a horrendous case of stage 4 uterine cancer with complications in my thyroid, that I was in fact pregnant. 

Cramping? Check.

Soreness in certain unmentionable locations? Check.

Cranky, irritability? Got that one on lock.

Nausea? Did you know you can make yourself nauseous on cue? Well I can. Special talent.

Fatigue? Um, sure.

Frequent trips to the bathroom? You bet.

So every month I was pregnant. Or almost pregnant. Some months I took more than one test, just to be sure. Those symptoms sure were tricky. You can get them almost any time, like after running a 10k, or drinking 2 gallons of water. Or eating week old pasta. So you just have to have a box or two of them around, just to be sure. 

I took a picture of it so I could show my friend. And myself. Yup,  this one was real.

Well, one day when I had quite given up, run out of tests in fact, my friend at work gave me her extra ones. She was pregnant and didn't need any more convincing. I took the freebie test one Saturday morning when Josh was at work, just for fun. Because at this time it was a hobbie like kayaking and scrapbooking are for some (normal) people. 

But this one was positive. And wouldn't you know it, being pregnant felt exactly the same as almost or not at all pregnant, which warranted a second test-taking venture four weeks later, just to be sure. 

The second moral of the story, because I can have two, is that I am quite adept at knowing when I am not pregnant. And darn right rotten at knowing when I am. So if I ever seem a bit off, a little wobbly perhaps, or a little snarky or rude, tired or glazed over, if it looks like I had one too many drinks the night before, you can assume that I am pregnant. Or that I think I am. 

But really, until I am, I am not.