tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53169513476510631042024-02-21T05:52:49.566-08:00Love is the ocean wide.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.comBlogger46125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-6670925787182989292015-02-07T20:59:00.001-08:002015-02-07T21:00:00.180-08:00One Last ThingHey friends, mamas, biased relatives:<br />
<br />
It is bittersweet to share my last post on this page. Thank you all so much for the journey you've taken with me over the past four years: for your patience with my ramblings and your encouragement when something resonated with you. For holding my hand when our little family left home and found so many things. Selfishly, I'd like to ask for you to join me in a new journey as the writing takes on a slightly different and hopefully more regular tone. If you'd like to come alongside me for this season, please head on over to the new site:<br />
<br />
http://betweenhallowedbreaths.com/<br />
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God bless, sweet readers, hope to see you there!!<br />
<br />
-LindsayLindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-51038247332527000802014-12-06T14:56:00.000-08:002014-12-06T14:57:02.491-08:00A life less ordinary. This is another anniversary filled with busy. You just kissed me bye and ran back out to get some part of a uniform you forgot the first time we went. I am supposed to be packing our suitcases, another big change just days away, but I had to write. I had to talk about twelve years, the ones that started with two kids who giggled through their vows.<br />
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We had no clue, did we? </div>
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But we learned. We continue learning. We have already beat lots of odds. We have fallen apart and come back together again. Sometimes I think maybe we didn't really miss all the heartache that your 20's promise you; maybe we've just been all of those relationships for one another. I've hurt you. You've hurt me. We've been hurt by things and people outside the bubble of us.<br />
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But we've also loved so big. And we've learned how to fight for this, and we are really good at it. You've taught me never to settle and to compromise, and you taught me the difference in the two. You've taught me that I am a pain in the ass sometimes, but you've made me feel like I'm worth it. You've taught me to laugh at the difficult and you've let me cry at the silly. You've taught me that God's gifts don't always come neatly wrapped. I've learned that I am capable of living without you and that I never want to. I've learned that we can hold hands and leap out of our comfort zone and come out closer for it. I've learned that all the best things in this life have to be kept and maintained with effort, not just lovely feelings.<br />
<br />
Branden, you are an amazing husband, father, son, friend, sailor, and person. Thank you for growing up with me, doing life with me, and raising these crazy babies with me. Nowhere is as good as right next to you. I love you with my whole heart. Thank you for making this life so extraordinary. </div>
Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-35186388288772396152014-11-26T08:04:00.001-08:002014-11-26T08:04:46.684-08:00Many thanks. Tomorrow is Thanksgiving, and Branden and I will be surrendering our electronics to our kid-decorated box that is electronics jail (okay, this is more my struggle than Branden's, but he's a good sport), so I thought I'd write my thankful post today.<br />
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Firstly, I'm thankful for Jesus Christ. I'm thankful for a joy that doesn't lie in my circumstances, because my, how those change. I'm thankful for the heart God gives me for others, and the chastisement I need more often than I even get it. I'm thankful for grace and mercy and that there is no such thing as a lost cause. I'm thankful to worship the ultimate Hope.<br />
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I'm thankful for my marriage. Branden is my best friend in the world. We play hard and laugh hard and sometimes fight hard and love hard. I cannot imagine doing life with anyone else, I'd never want to. I'm thankful for silly texts and forehead kisses when he gets in at 3 am from working so, so hard for our family. I'm thankful that he can magically cook all the things I fail hard at making. I'm thankful for the freckle right below his eye and his hilarious grouchy face (sorry babe). I'm thankful to love big and be loved big back.<br />
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I'm thankful to be a mother. I'm thankful for Bay, who I will always share the bond of ridiculous humor with, who still shows affection and is just the most incredible big brother. I'm thankful that my sweet Jo has a knack for curling into me in such a way that she always just fits perfectly. I love that despite her inner skeptic, she finds good in the most unlikely places and shines light on it. I'm thankful for my wild little E, who makes sure my days are exciting, who makes sure I know how needed I am. Who falls asleep with both arms around me and our noses touching. I'm thankful for Bay teaching his little sister to skateboard, for Jo letting E give her a "chup up" (check up. Doc McStuffins is kind of a big deal in this house). I'm thankful that they all three still snuggle up together when we watch movies or say night time prayers.<br />
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I'm thankful for family- all "sides". They keep me in check, call me out, and love me unconditionally. They remind me of who I am and who I want to grow to be. They are my past, present, and future. I'm thankful to be back with them full time soon.<br />
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I'm thankful for my girlfriends. I genuinely do not know what I would do without them, and I pray that my kiddos are blessed with the kinds of friends I've been blessed with. They challenge me, laugh and cry with me, and have wine with me.<br />
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There is so much more I could say, but I want to really leave this with one more thing: I am glad that many years ago, I made the intentional decision to be practice gratitude not just during the holidays, but every day. It has changed everything, even though everything was still much the same. I became aware of just how rich and full my life really is. I wish the same for you, sweet friends.<br />
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Happy Thanksgiving from our family to yours!<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">1 Thessalonians: In everything give thanks, for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you. </td></tr>
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<br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-57887096145238450522014-11-20T12:03:00.001-08:002014-11-20T12:03:43.923-08:00Why I hesitated, and why I won't again.I couldn't help but stare at her.<br />
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Standing there in the dollar spot of Target, a mama carrying/murmuring to what I assume was a brand new baby all criss-crossed and swaddled close to her chest, a tiny head barely peeking out. At her side, a little boy, probably around 4, happily checking out each bin (I feel you so hard, kid. This section is joy.) and running his hands over things with all the self control that a child that age old can possess while she chatted with him.<br />
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It wasn't anything special, necessarily, but it was just a sweet moment to catch.<br />
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I was close by and trying to decide how many votive candle holders one person needs (all of them), I wanted to give her a smile, tell her that her babies were precious, comment on her patience, maybe? Just something. Just an, "I see you, fellow mom, and you rock."<br />
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But I didn't. I grabbed 400 candle holders and left. Why? Maybe she could have used an encouraging word.<br />
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I think sometimes we hesitate to compliment fellow moms for one reason: we don't feel like we can. I know that isn't always the case, but occasionally the voice in my head says, "Who are you to tell anyone they're a good mom? What are you, some expert? Aren't you the one who only just a minute ago noticed that your toddler was nibbling on some random metal object?"<br />
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Yes, that was me, and heavens/hahahaha NO I am not an expert. What I do know, though, is that I need to quiet that voice, because we all recognize good when we see it, whether we perfectly apply it each day or not. I don't need to let my personal hang-ups prevent me from lifting up other mothers that I encounter through my day. In theory, I believe God puts people in our paths for a reason. In practice, I'm failing.<br />
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So this holiday season, I'm going to take a spin on the incredible RACK (random acts of kindness) that so many big-hearted people do, and I'm going to practice random acts of mom encouragement. If I see a mom holdin' it down, I'm going to tell her so. If her kids' manners are awesome, I'm complimenting them both SO HARD. I'm telling y'all this so I'm accountable, so I can't back out when I'm feeling unworthy of noting the good. We can always note the good. Also, please don't let me buy anything else for candles, because this is getting stupid.<br />
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Anyone with me, or am I going to be the only crazy lady talking to strangers at Target?Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-53387909819191339642014-10-23T07:49:00.000-07:002014-10-23T07:49:30.994-07:00On terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. I sort of dreaded putting up today's journal:<br />
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"What was your very worst 'terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day'?"<br />
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I wondered what my bigs would write. I could think of so many times I have contributed to a day like this. Those kinds of days where all your good intentions are left in a crumple around the wastebasket; the kind you couldn't even dispose of correctly.<br />
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First Jo, then Bay interrupted my guilt-filled thoughts.<br />
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Jo: I've never really had one of those days.<br />
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Bay: Yeah, me either. Can we just make up what a bad day would be?<br />
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Me: Yes, that's fine. You really haven't had any of those kinds of days? Not ever? Your life is just sunshine?<br />
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Bay: Basically. I'll just make one up, though.<br />
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Jo: Nope. I can't think of one. I'll just write about getting eaten by a shark.<br />
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It's so crazy to me that I could have named five for each of them right off the top of my head. Days when I was grumpy, days when I lost my temper, days when our plans fell through. Days when I missed the mark of showing compassion and cringed for hours after at the opportunity I let slip by. Days of guilt hangovers.<br />
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But they can't think of one. Not one.<br />
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Kids are funny.<br />
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I learned something today, Mamas: We are not doing as bad at this mothering business as we tell ourselves we are. I'm going to make a concerted effort to be kinder to myself about these shortcomings, and I hope you'll join me. I will always strive to do better, but when I stumble, I will remember this moment, pick myself up, and move forward. Next time you feel like things are going miserably, stop and consider that it's not as bad to them as it feels to you.<br />
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And whatever happened, at least they weren't eaten by a shark.<br />
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<br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-79302301854768283232014-10-14T17:39:00.002-07:002014-10-14T18:14:52.350-07:00The day I stopped sharing. "Keep Calm And Love Your Husband."<br />
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"A Happy Marriage Is The Union Of Two Good Forgivers."<br />
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"A Good Wife Makes A Good Husband."<br />
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I used to share this sort of stuff on social media all the time. Branden and I got married as teenagers; we've come a long way, and we fought like hell for it. I'm proud of us, and I have some truths that I cling to and believe- particularly concerning the myth that a good marriage doesn't require work, but that is for another post. I rarely, if ever, posted about what a husband should be doing, simply because I was only relating to the things <i>I</i> could change in my marriage. I had friends who told me that it encouraged them to see my posts in a sea of husband-bashing. It made me feel good.<br />
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Until I realized that perhaps I was unintentionally sending the wrong message to some women that mean a lot to me.<br />
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1 in 4 women will experience domestic abuse in her lifetime. This abuse may come in physical, emotional, or mental forms. Do you realize what this means?<br />
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<u>Someone in your life is very likely a victim, whether you know it or not</u>. Maybe they don't even realize it, or they tell themselves they don't. They tell themselves it isn't that bad, they tell themselves it's different.<br />
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Worst of all, they tell themselves that it's their fault, and then well-meaning people, people they love and trust, post and say things that only drive that point home. If they worked harder, tried harder, weren't so very <strike>flawed</strike> human, they wouldn't bring this upon themselves.<br />
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I never, ever wanted to perpetuate that message. I never will again. Seeing those so dear to me be kicked and then kick themselves some more broke my heart and lit a fire in me at the same time.<br />
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We have got to change this conversation from being so heavy with victim blaming to full and unconditional victim support. We have to be one another's champions. We have to stop telling women if they'd be less, or be more, or just try to figure out how not to make him so angry, that things would get better. We have to reach our hands out and pull each other up. We have to raise our boys to have nothing less that the utmost respect for the women their lives. Nothing is going to change unless we change it.<br />
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1 in 4 women.<br />
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The remaining 3 of us need to be their voices and their safe havens.<br />
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***Here are some resources for victims and those wanting to help.***<br />
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<a href="http://www.thehotline.org/">The National Domestic Violence Hotline</a><br />
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<a href="http://abuseintervention.org/help/services-resources/">Domestic Abuse Intervention Services</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.ncadv.org/">National Coalition Against Domestic Violence</a><br />
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<a href="http://www.violenceunsilenced.com/">Voice Unsilenced</a>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-28538255138288996842014-10-08T19:44:00.000-07:002014-10-08T19:59:33.997-07:00A Legacy of LovelyI was combing Jo's hair after her bath tonight. She was warm and soft and sweet with scents of her shampoo, conditioner, and coconut oil: a combination I'm quite sure is exactly what Heaven smells like. I smoothed her damp hair and tucked it behind her ear while we talked.<br />
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"Why does my hair swoop this way?"<br />
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"That's your natural part. It's just the way your hair falls."<br />
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"I kind of like it."<br />
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"I absolutely love it."<br />
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"You do? Why?"<br />
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"Because it's one of the many things God did to make you YOU! And I love you. I'm crazy about you."<br />
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"Mama? Do you love yourself?"<br />
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"Yes! I'm awesome! Do you love yourself?"<br />
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*giggles* "Yes!"<br />
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Let me tell you something about my oldest baby girl- she is razor sharp. She is an excellent study of people. She can read me, and everyone else, like her father can. I find it both fascinating and intimidating.<br />
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She would have seen right through me if I had lied to her when she asked me her question. Her question so important she had to pause before she asked it.<br />
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Maybe years ago I would have answered that differently. Or in a way that she knew wasn't genuine the minute it fell out of my mouth. But over the years, I have grown to love myself, truly, and I believe it's one of the best things I could ever do for my kids, perhaps especially for my girls.<br />
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It is not new information that a child's same-sex parent is the most influential role model in their little lives. It's hardly groundbreaking for me to say that telling her to love herself as is and then turning around in the same breath and picking yourself apart- physically, mentally, emotionally, spiritually - falls flat.We know that seeing us confident gives them permission to be confident, to be bold and take risks and go for what they want. But knowing and doing are two different things, and I just don't think this is something you get to phone in. It's too important.<br />
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You really do have to find a way to love yourself, and it doesn't have to, can't, shouldn't be pretend. You can own your truth, whatever that is. You can look at things as they really are, or really are to you; but you also have to acknowledge and embrace the loveliness there, too. <br />
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It is lovely the way you take care of your babies.<br />
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It is lovely how you pray for others.<br />
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It is lovely the way your mind works.<br />
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It is lovely the way your hips move when you're in a hurry.<br />
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It is lovely that you were uniquely, fearfully, and wonderfully made by the Creator of the Universe.<br />
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It is lovely the way your eyes light up when you get an idea.<br />
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It is lovely the way you cared for your mother when she wasn't well.<br />
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It is lovely when you laugh a deep belly laugh with your head thrown back.<br />
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It is lovely the way you fight to make your world a more just place.<br />
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It is lovely when you rest.<br />
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It is lovely how you play.<br />
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It is lovely how you work.<br />
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It is lovely the way the wind grabs your hair.<br />
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It is lovely that you have the power to heal a boo-boo with a kiss.<br />
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It is lovely the way you have so much hope.<br />
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It is lovely when you're vulnerable.<br />
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It is lovely how you have grown strong through difficult times.<br />
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Maybe you allow yourself to see one thing lovely in you. Start there. Tend to it; root it deeply, see how it grows; see how it branches off and wraps itself around every part of you. Maybe when you shift your focus, you find more each day that you love about yourself. I pray that you do, and I pray that you allow that light to shine outward on those around you. Especially on your little ones. Our sons and daughters both need to see that womanhood is beautiful and bountiful and varied. And wonderful. Knowing this, letting them <i>know </i>this<i> </i>about us as fact would be such an enormous gift to give them. Because the day will inevitably come when they look up and ask you, with or without words:<br />
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Do you love yourself?Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-83787674407544606302014-10-06T12:48:00.000-07:002014-10-06T14:55:59.163-07:00Remember the ToddlersI have a very spirited toddler. She isn't my first spirited toddler, but she will very likely be my last.<br />
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Time is a funny thing. It bends and blurs and flies. It makes fuzzy those circumstances that seemed really challenging and tells you it "wasn't so bad." In some situations, this is a very good thing. I don't think one of those situations, however, is when a mother survives and subsequently forgets these crazy couple of years between infancy and preschool.<br />
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It's not that I wish upon everyone a constant recall of the messes, the tantrums, and the embarrassing moments, it's just that I don't want us- myself, my generation, to do the thing I see fairly often in the generation before us. It's happened to me. It's happened to my friends. It's happened to other women in the grocery store, and I've overheard the comments.<br />
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I hope we don't forget that toddlers are tiny, barely controlled, wild, wild people, and that they can be hard to parent.<br />
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Listen, I'm all for setting boundaries and teaching our little Mowgli's how to navigate the great big civilized world without making everyone else miserable, but I also understand that takes time and heaps of patience. And I don't think it was so different in the years before. I certainly remember seeing tantrums when I was a child. (Never having them, of course, such an angel was I, but <i>seeing</i> them, yes.) This is not a "sign of the times"- this is the sign of impending nap time.<br />
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I get confused when mothers of grown or almost grown children put on shady boots and walk all over the moms in the trenches. Weren't you there not so long ago? I think you were. I think somewhere deep in the recesses of your closet, there is a size 3t shirt with <span style="background-color: yellow;">Target</span> floor particles all over it where your little darling went noodle on you when they couldn't have a toy. Or another snack. Or a pony. I think one day you probably got in your car with tears in your eyes from a day trip gone wrong and wondered how you were failing so miserably. Or relived that glare or comment you got in the store over and over in your head.<br />
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So, why? I know there's lots of weird mom-petition out there, but this particular kind bothers me worse than most. A lot of the moms participating in that mess are young and unsure of themselves; but no, these are the moms who have already been there. Moms who should know better. I know I'm a whole lot more humble now than I was 11 years ago. I've experienced enough blowouts and tantrums and hard days full of sanctification to know better. So what would 20 years get me? I would like to think even more grace towards younger moms and their littles. Maybe a smile where they look around and expect a disapproving look. Surely this is the kind of changed world all the songs are about. Okay, maybe not really, but we could at least make someone's day a little easier.<br />
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Just, ya know, step over that toddler and smile next time. Or compliment those shoes that she threw halfway down the aisle. Because you've been there, and you know it will pass, but you also remember that in that until then, it's not always a picnic.<br />
<br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-17048585500045098532014-08-28T12:32:00.000-07:002014-08-28T12:32:25.843-07:00The Moment in which You Can Choose. Moms aren't perfect creatures. <br />
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I am so far from it that I don't even have to state it. Because, yes obviously, not perfect. That would be like me saying I wasn't "quite" 6 ft tall. I'm 5'2". We all lose it sometimes. We blow up and we apologize. We swear this will help us remember, and we blow up again. Life gets in the way of our very best intentions sometimes.<br />
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So know that right now I am not talking about these moments. </div>
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I'm talking about the moments that teeter on the edge. The moments that either decision is an entire step away. You have to choose which way you are going to expend your energy- the step back, or the step off the cliff. </div>
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When you can, step back. </div>
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When you know that you would have "every right" to lose your mind; you're tempted because you'd be "justified" and yet something is allowing you to freeze and think before acting, choose patience. </div>
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This morning, I took the girls to the zoo for a play date. E had a meltdown because I would not let her sit on the rocks in some sort of non-violent demonstration all day. Maybe she didn't like the living conditions of the animals, or maybe she's just one and a half. Either way, I had to pick her up and carry her. I don't have to tell you how that went. Meanwhile, Jo fell and skinned her knees up like she hasn't in her entire life. We were just about as far back in the zoo from the entrance as we could have been in the park. I had two screaming, crying children. One flailing, half on my hip, half in a football hold, reaching for strangers to save her and let her sit on rocks, one a tad bloody and squeezing what had to be a third hand that I sprouted. There was much holding and injury and flailing and crying and I really don't even know how I had them both. And it was hot. And, as Jo lamented, people were staring at us (Hi. Hey. How are you? Good? Me too. Be sure you don't miss the lions, they're majestic creatures.).<br />
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My mind was telling me to just tune it all out and march, but my heart heard my little girl telling me how much she hurt. I wanted to get them out of there ASAP, but she needed reassurance. So over the protests of my tiny animal rights activist, I told Jo my multiple step plan I had for getting her patched up, distracting her a little and letting her know I would take care of her. <i>I hear you, I'm so sorry you're hurt.</i> I tried to walk briskly, but I made sure not to walk faster than those banged up little knees felt like going. I told her we'd wrap her up like a mummy if we needed to. She giggled through her tears, and in the middle of it all, I felt relieved. No cliff diving for us gals today....yet, anyway.<br />
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I wonder how many other times I could have chosen in the middle of the crazy. I can't change those times, but on my journey to be a more intentional mom, I can move forward continuing to look for that one moment on the ledge where I still have the chance to step back. Skinned knees heal faster than a heart that's been hurt by a sharp tone or short response where comfort was craved.<br />
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Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-79336428044723181622014-08-27T12:53:00.001-07:002014-08-27T18:57:26.057-07:00Let Them Make Cake: Why Your Kids Should Be in the Kitchen.Y'all. I love to cook. I love it. You know what else I love? My bebes.<br />
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Know what I love THE MOST IN THE UNIVERSE? Putting those two loves together.<br />
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<i>This one. Baking is her fave. </i><br />
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I KNOW. I know it sounds like chaos. I know it brings out everyone's inner control freak to watch their 5 year old crack an egg, or your 3 year old stir maniacally, spilling over the rim of the bowl, or your grade schooler using the range for the first time. But I'm begging you, pleeeeeease just do it. You will never regret it. Here are just a few reasons why it's worth the mess and the time.<br />
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<b><u>1. You will make great memories.</u> </b>I have had some of the best conversations with my bigs while crimping ravioli, prepping veggies, or folding whipped cream into a frosting. It's been proven that when children's hands are occupied with a task, they are more likely to open up about things that are on their minds. I have found this to be true time and time again. Even when there isn't much talking, just remembering all the holiday meals and fun nights where we came together to create something yummy gives those occasions new significance.<br />
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<b><u>2. </u></b><b><u>Because this is a life skill disguised as fun.</u> </b>One day, they're going to have to feed themselves, and maybe even others. They don't need to be scared of the kitchen. The end.<br />
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<b><u>3. You will be boosting their self-esteem.</u> </b>I mean, even as an adult, I'm pretty proud of myself when something, especially a new recipe, turns out nicely. They get to prove responsibility with kitchen tools, working their way up as they go. They take risks, make suggestions and come up with their own combinations. When you give them the chance to try them, they see that it went great, or that it didn't and that's okay, too. Back to the cutting board. It's the best thing ever to see the kids' faces when everyone is enjoying something they had a hand in making. Which brings me to number 4.<br />
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<b><u>4. You will open your picky kid's mind...even if just a little.</u> </b>Because who doesn't want to enjoy the fruits of their labor? Kids are way more likely to be open to a food if they've been there helping with the entire process.<br />
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<b><u>5. </u></b><b><u>Because math and science.</u> </b>If you are one of those crazy people that actually go by recipes, this will especially be true for you. I'm a bit of a maverick and measure practically nothing, but that is a subject for a different day. Measuring, addition, subtraction, multiplication, division, conversions, physics, and chemistry: every bit of that is going on when you bake. You don't have to point all this learn-y goodness out as you go, but if you feel called to do so, it's all there. And it's pretty cool.<br />
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<u><b>6. They can't play video games or scroll their phone with dough on their hands. </b>And neither can you.</u><b> </b>They are all yours in the kitchen, and you theirs. It's fantastic and contributes greatly to number one.<br />
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<b><u>7. Fine motor skills.</u> </b>Pouring, cutting, scooping, leveling, stirring, spreading: these things are practice in hand-eye coordination and fine tuning control, just as much as zipping a zipper or buttoning a shirt, and at least as much fun.<br />
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<b><u>8. One day they will be self-sufficient enough to give you an occasional break.</u> </b>And that....that is the greatest gift of all.<br />
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So my challenge to you is to set some time aside this weekend and make something amazing with your littles. It doesn't have to be complex. I promise you that the end product is wonderful beyond words. Especially if the end product is cake.<br />
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<br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-85204031196558805572014-08-13T23:09:00.000-07:002014-08-14T07:01:15.515-07:00Looking UpHey, kiddos.<br />
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I dropped the ball this week, didn't I? I won't make excuses, because I can always find those and throw away the point. I won't do that this time. I'm sorry. You needed me, you were standing there, and I had my head down, pushing through. I caved to the distractions; some real and significant, some not so much.</div>
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But you were standing there.</div>
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And I had my head down. </div>
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I am so, so sorry, loves. I don't know what came over me. But I promise you, it ends now. </div>
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I'm looking up. </div>
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I see your Lego landscape you built. It really is fantastic, and you are so creative. <i>I see you, sweet girl. You are precious beyond words. </i><i> </i></div>
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I hear your crazy scheme, kid. You are a mess and you make me laugh daily. <i>I see you, Bug. I am in awe of the young man you are becoming. </i></div>
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I see your arms stretched out, waiting for me to scoop you up so we can squeeze one another. You are such a wild little thing, but you love so hard. <i>I see you, my baby. Mama is here, and I'm not letting go until you do.</i></div>
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I love you all like crazy. You and your daddy make up the four chambers of my heart. I will never understand how I lose sight of what truly matters sometimes, but I pray that I am stopping faster, turning on my heels sooner. </div>
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And running back to you, as fast as I can. </div>
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His mercies are new each morning, and for that I am so thankful. Tomorrow is a new day, and when you wake to it, I will be there. And my eyes will meet yours. And my ears will listen. And my heart will rest right where it belongs. </div>
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With you. </div>
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Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-49505019043997975942014-08-03T13:34:00.000-07:002014-08-03T14:58:42.378-07:00To Those About to SchoolWhere in the world did the summer go? Wasn't it just May? How is it August, a week away from the beginning of the school year for so many?<br />
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My bunch is gearing up another year here at home. There was a moment, as there seems to be every summer, where I wasn't sure that this would be the case, but here I am: here I am negotiating a shirt/no shirt during school hours policy with Bay, restocking journals, making sure Jo has one eraser for every month she's been alive (perfectionism is a struggle, y'all), accumulating activities for E that make it <strike>unlikely</strike> less likely that she destroys the house while I teach, making book lists, and other general flying by the seat of my pants homeschooling things.<br />
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However you go about it, school is upon us all. Valar knowledgus: All men must learn. Or something.<br />
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Just so you know, I'm praying for you.<br />
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To the mama who has been down this road before and is gearing up for yet another year: You rock. You have this down pat by now, you vet, you. I'm praying for you and your little ones that the days are as long or as short as you need them to be, that you help a rookie mom out when you see her trying to figure it out in the middle of the cafeteria or at co-op. I pray that the school year goes smoothly for you, and the workload doesn't result in anyone cutting stress bangs.<br />
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To the mama who is sending her first baby off to kindergarten: Oh goodness, my heart is with you. I cried and cried on Bay's first day of school. And then, someone would make me laugh, and I would cry because I remembered how sad I actually was. He was totally fine and I was a blubbering fool who barely held it together long enough to get through that parking lot and back into the car. I don't care how tough you think you are, sending off your five year old who suddenly looks so tiny in that sea of older kids (2nd graders= NFL linebackers) is HARD AND EMOTIONAL WORK. If I were there, I would hand you a coffee and something chocolatey and some tissues because this day is not for the faint of heart. I pray that your sadness wears off quickly and is replaced with excitement as you see all the new things your sweet kiddo is conquering. I pray that pick-up, be that from school or after-school care is one of the sweetest times of day for you both as you are happily reunited, and I pray that this is an amazing start to the next thirteen years.<br />
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To the mama who is beginning her first day of homeschool: First off, deeeep breaths. It is a little scary to be in charge of your child's education, isn't it? I promise you, it will not always be as overwhelming as it may feel right this moment. One day at a time. If I could give you one gift, it would be the gift of reassurance- you've got this! Have FUN, and as I told a friend earlier today, measure how your days are going by your child's progress, not Pinterest. Sooner than later, you will fall into your family's unique rhythm of what works for you all, and that is a beautiful thing. I pray for you to remember to heap grace on yourself and your children as you navigate these new waters, I pray that you remember that learning can happen ANYWHERE, and I pray that you take moments for yourself, because you cannot give to them what you have not managed to get for yourself.<br />
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To the mama who is a year, or years, away from this day: Cherish it. Even when they're driving you crazy, even when you wonder if they will ever learn their ABCs or potty train or stop eating dirt- savor as best as you can. I know that isn't a popular sentiment, but coming from someone who blinked and suddenly had a pre-teen standing before her, please take my word for it. Love on those babies, because your turn is coming faster than you know. They are growing up on us, mamas. I pray that you have a wonderful support system, I pray that you remember that some days, playing is more important than your to do list. I pray these are sweet years for you before the backpack days.<br />
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Oh, and also: mornings. I'm praying for us ALL concerning mornings. Mostly that one.<br />
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Amen.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-38089714900408961442014-07-13T17:52:00.001-07:002014-07-14T21:58:26.281-07:00Dear Dads: Please stop doing this in front of your girls. Hey, dads.<br />
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Hi. Lindsay here. BIG fan of yours, I really am. I love seeing you guys in the middle of parenthood. I hate the way you're often portrayed in shows- you are every bit as capable as us moms; you are loving, resourceful, and awesome. And, just being real here, a moment between a dad and his kiddo can bring me to tears faster than any P&G Olympic commerical, and trust me, that's saying A LOT.<br />
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Seriously, you rock. But, could you do me one teensy favor?<br />
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Actually, it's not teensy. It's huge.<br />
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Could you possibly stop using being female as an insult? Especially in front of your daughters?<br />
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You're probably thinking, what?! I don't do that. I'd never.<br />
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But...yes. Yes some of you do.<br />
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Maybe you call your buddy Mike "Michelle" because he missed a shot while you played hoops.<br />
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Maybe you asked another guy if they needed a pad. Or a bra. Or something other lady-girl accessory for their non-existent lady parts.<br />
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Maybe a football player on TV cried, and you called him a girl.<br />
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Do you know what you're telling your daughter?<br />
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You're telling her she's weak.<br />
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You're telling her she's the butt of a joke.<br />
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You're telling her that being a girl is an insult.<br />
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I get that this may seem harmless, but it's not. I promise, it's not.<br />
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I absolutely love that my son and my daughters are different. I'm not foolish enough after eleven years on mom duty to deny that gender does play a role in personality and preferences. But are my girls inferior? Absolutely not!<br />
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I know you love your girls like I love mine, like my husband loves ours, and I know you wouldn't hurt them for the world. But this seemingly innocuous dig sends a clear message to your daughters: you are less.<br />
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So, stop. No step-down programs, just cold turkey. Stop using being female as an insult. Your daughters will thank you.<br />
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Thanks,<br />
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The mother of three equally amazing kids.<br />
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Edit: Come to think of it, stop saying it around (and to) your sons, too- we don't need another generation growing up with this mentality. Thanks!Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-7129592132136523592014-07-04T19:22:00.003-07:002014-07-04T19:22:50.208-07:00Pump the brakes. "I'm mom-ed out."<br />
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"I understand. What can I do?" (Seriously, my husband is a saint.)<br />
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"I don't know. Nothing! Nothing really. Nothing is going to help."<br />
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"Okay, I'll take the girls downstairs and make lunch." (SAINT, Y'ALL.)<br />
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And there I sat, alone, pouting, and feeling uneasy. Uneasy because I immediately felt that nudge.<br />
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<i>Hey, ya know...</i><br />
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Nope. I know nothing. It's the kids, it's not me. E is really clingy, and the bigs are just....<br />
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<i>but...</i><br />
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NOPE.<br />
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...<br />
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...<br />
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...okay, I guess maybe they really aren't doing anything. And E is the same little E she is every day. I am tired from making sure the big tree in the back yard didn't fall on the house through the storm (because I have superpowers, obviously), I am missing home on this holiday, and I am just in a mood. OKAY FINE, I'm a cranky mess who is behaving like a brat towards the people I love the most. Now what?<br />
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Now I fix it, that's what.<br />
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I come downstairs, I ease up. I "pump the brakes," as we say a lot here. We go to the beach, I play in the sand and the water with all three of my amazing kids. Jo on my back, we alternate between jumping the waves and diving under them. E grabs my hand and takes me for a walk to the dunes. She lays flat in the sand and tells me, "I crazy." Branden and I have a heart-to-heart with Bay about the middle school years while he buries his entire arm and the water crashes on our feet. I look at these beautiful blessings and can't remember what was so wrong two hours ago.<br />
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I would have missed it all if I hadn't listened to that nudging- I may have been there, but not really. My mood would have been the lens through which I saw everything, so it all would have been crummy. I know with every fiber of being that nudge is God, saving me from myself. Inviting me back into the fold when I get too far from my center, telling me to look at what I'm missing. It can be hard and humbling to admit that my attitude makes up so much of my bad days, but I need to. The sooner I admit it, the sooner I can change it. The sooner I can get back to the fleeting moment in front of me.<br />
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Will I ever feel "Mom-ed out" again? Probably. Definitely. But I pray next time I remember to check my heart as soon as I realize what's happening. After all, as 1 Corinthians 13:5 says, love is not irritable or resentful, and I love these kiddos with my whole heart.<br />
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<br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-59348052586463794152014-03-11T08:09:00.000-07:002014-03-11T14:25:57.490-07:00Where did you two meet?Something I like to do when I meet a couple for the first time is ask them how they met. Why? Because A: it's a great ice breaker, B: It's usually a fun story and a real glimpse into who are they are, and C: it almost always gets them looking all lovey at each other, which is fun. I myself love remembering why I fell for Branden, and sometimes going back to those early moments is like hitting the "refresh" button on my attitude when I need it.<br />
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So.</div>
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Christians, how did you meet Christ?</div>
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I'm going to go out on a limb and say that your answer will probably not be "Oh well, ya know, I was arguing with a Christian one day, and their aggressive insistence that my life did not line up with their long list of rules backed up with a barrage of bible verses proving me wrong just made Christ sound SO enticing that I had to learn more about him!"</div>
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...no?</div>
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Don't misunderstand me, I know that my journey began with me recognizing and repenting for my own wrongs, but that's just it: MY OWN. We all know the ugly parts of ourselves, I promise we do, believers or not. But Christ to me wasn't going to be a manual on how to do life better, and when I counted on Him being that, I missed so much. I floundered. I fell. I was looking so much at the rules that I became exhausted, I gave up. Thank God for a Redeemer that comes looking for the one when He only counts 99. He used the softening my firstborn did to my heart to help me make my way back to Him, and there I learned how endless His love, how humbling His mercy, and how deep His grace and patience for me. </div>
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We've all heard the phrase "You may be the only Christ someone ever meets." What kind of Christ are you showing people every day? Do you only bring up your beliefs when it's debate time? Or maybe just when you get some shiny new thing and you remind people that "He is so good!", reducing him to an all-powerful Daddy Warbucks that rewards your "good" behavior? Do you use bible verses to make your points, or to point our your own struggles? Are you honest about your own life, your need for grace and mercy, or do you hide behind a veil of being "good"? </div>
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Jesus didn't die for more rules. He didn't. He died for people: broken, beautiful, imperfectly human, messy, people. To not present that as Christ first and foremost, I believe, is to do a disservice to the excruciating price He paid for us. The cross was not a post to which we pin our self-help lists. Does sanctification happen? All the time, more than is comfortable on occasion. Do we need to encourage one another and build other believers up, as Paul wrote to the church? Absolutely. The older I get, the more I see that God's laws are much like parents' rules: they are for my protection, not just rules for the sake of rules. But I do not believe that when we see someone hurting, someone desperate for something more, that we lead with laws. God's love should always come first, like a healing balm over wounds, applied gently and as many times as necessary until that wound is healed. </div>
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Church, we have to stop living like God didn't meet us in a broken place- He did. We cannot forget the grace we've been given in our darkest, ugliest moments, and we cannot, <i>cannot, </i>keep it to ourselves. </div>
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Remember where you met Him. </div>
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Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-35745572294860903282013-11-11T08:25:00.000-08:002013-11-11T10:34:22.670-08:00To my girls: You don't need a man.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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You two. Little princesses. Oh my gosh, how your daddy and I adore you. This is exactly why I want you to know something:<br />
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You don't have to wait for a prince to start your adventure. I know you both. I know you down to your core, and I know that core has fire. I felt the fight in both of you even from the womb. So I say: Slay your own dragons! Find out who you are, walk your walk with God; feel <i>that</i> love. Let it cast away all fear. Live boldly, leap without looking, come out a little scuffed up. LIVE! <br />
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You do not need a prince, a man, a guy to have joy, peace, satisfaction; to realize all of your beauty, to embrace your flaws and grow your goodness. You really, really do not. I better not ever hear either one of you say any different, or you will get a long lecture from one fired up mommy. <br />
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BUT.<br />
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BUT.<br />
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Listen to me: this part is as important as the first. Sweet and wild and wonderful princesses, if you do find one you really like, and maybe even love, and maybe even join into a covenant with (I just died a little writing that)....then take all that fierceness and fire, and you love him with it. Use your fight to fight for those days when things feel as though it all may fall apart. Be sure of your beauty; I'm sure he will be, too. If he isn't...see above. Be transparent and make sure he is someone that accepts those flaws like I hope you've learned to- we all have them, but it's important to find someone who's okay with yours. Within reason and safety, be okay with his, too. Encourage one another's goodness and watch how it grows. Be strong enough to compromise: to give and take. Be brave enough to love selflessly. Make sure you let each other know how thankful you are to get to go on this adventure together.<br />
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Not because you have to. Not because you need to. But because at some point, you decided to.<br />
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Girls, you do not, and never will, need a man. You've got God, you've got you, you've got us.<br />
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But, if you choose to to have one in your life, love him with all you have.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-54810765174014838842013-07-19T06:59:00.001-07:002013-07-19T11:42:43.224-07:00The Letter C.Some people may not appreciate me writing this, but I want to as much as you can want something without needing it. This is my elephant in the room: the talking elephant that calls me a liar anytime I try to write about anything else without acknowledging it. And I'm tired of choosing between that nagging feeling of deception and not writing a thing, so...<br />
<br />
Here we go.<br />
<br />
C,<br />
You may not know this, but I've always been your second mom- in my own mind. It happened the day you were born and everyone was concerned about me being jealous. But that was all nonsense, because you cannot be jealous of something that is yours, and you were mine. I spent the next few years just like everyone else, trying to keep you from killing yourself with your crazy daredevil antics- I could write a book on those alone. And then there were the times I wanted to kill you myself...<br />
<br />
And then there were the times I wanted to kill someone or something else for trying to hurt you.<br />
<br />
And at 28 that is where I stand again. I hate this thing that seems to want nothing but to consume you and destroy you. I want nothing more than to pull you from it, it from you. But I cannot, and it's torture. I've never felt so helpless in my life, C. It's terrifying. I may not show it like everyone else, but I worry about you all the time.<br />
<br />
And then I think of how you must feel, and I could cry for days. Even when you don't seem sorry, even when you seem so angry, it must be so hard, and it must hurt so much when it's not numb. In a way, I understand the desperation to rush back to numb.<br />
<br />
But I miss you so much. And I want you to be four again so I can physically keep you away from dangerous things, but I also want to find a way to keep my hands by my side and watch you face this down.<br />
<br />
But only if you can promise me you will be okay.<br />
<br />
Because we all live in fear of that.<br />
<br />
I don't know what else to say other than I see you start fresh with the kind of earnestness that is making tears well up in my eyes. I hope you keep believing in yourself like I believe in you. I hope you know you are capable of overcoming, because I know you are. I hope you know every difficult emotion or conversation or even moments of total anger have all come from a place of fear of losing something too precious to even really speak of: you. I love you and I cannot wait for the day when I see all your light restored to your eyes. Until then, I'm praying all the time.<br />
<br />
See you soon.<br />
<br />
<br />Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-37767554721639151252012-03-30T19:32:00.003-07:002012-03-30T19:50:02.619-07:00Those military wives.Google "Military wives are...." and the first thing that comes up is "annoying."<br />
<br />
I hate that, I really do, because it just hasn't been my experience. I am outgoing, probably to the point of being overbearing at times, but I admit that coming to Maryland for our first actual station (at 27, no less) was terrifying. I was scared to death of these women with all the stereotypes hanging over them and the rank wearing and the gossip and catfights and backstabbing and judging. Scared to the point that I was slightly taken aback when, on our first day coming to homeschool group, I was invited to have lunch with two moms and their kids. There was no gossip, no cattiness. I let myself be a little relieved that day. Every experience from then on I left feeling more than welcome. I connected with at least one fellow wife per "scary" outing. I have met kindred spirits, total opposites, ladies who make me laugh so hard and ladies who make me want to cry with them about the ordeals they've been through. It's been three months, and I can say with complete honesty that I feel as though I've known some of these girls much, much longer. If you by chance read this: thanks for taking me into the fold, it has meant more than you know.<br />
<br />
If my love can't be entered as evidence of the character of this group, here's something a little more solid: this week, our base housing was dealt a blow by way of a house fire. It's a disturbing thing to hear sirens on base, because this is a small town folded in half- if you don't know the person for the whom the siren wails, it's certain that you know someone who knows them.<br />
<br />
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<br />
Five families displaced, over a dozen people affected, and before all the details were even out, people were helping. Donating, asking, purchasing, rallying to help in any way they could. I have never seen anything like it, and these wonderful women shrug it off like it's nothing. Well, it's something. It's beautiful to see, and I will always be grateful to know such a community exists. There is of course a tie that binds here, the military "family," but you have to make the choice to be bound. You have to be open to it. Thanks for being so open, ladies, thanks for teaching me. Google is so wrong about you.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-89916136579921244782011-11-17T20:32:00.000-08:002011-11-17T21:16:12.594-08:00My homeschooling truth.Here is MY homeschooling truth. Mine- it may not be anyone else's. But I suspect it could be. So here's the deal:<br />
<br />
Homeschooling is hard.<br />
<br />
Oh my goodness, it got said, and the earth didn't split open? Better not say it again, just in case.<br />
<br />
But seriously, why is this taboo? Perhaps I was asking the wrong questions when I talked to homeschooling families. Did I say things in a way that implied I thought the day to day curriculum would be the tedious part? Was that why I was guided to lesson plans as assurance I'd be fine? I'm not sure, but in hindsight I feel like it was meant to be a secret. I just don't see why- something can be hard and still completely worth it. Completely. The torture of getting through that first day of long division was quickly replaced by the high of watching it click, the way Bug then took pride in solving those problems- something akin to letting go of the bike for the first time and watching them go. Telling me how hard it can be wouldn't have deterred me. In fact, the not knowing, the feeling like I was the only one- it was very discouraging. Those first couple of weeks were hard, and I doubted myself a lot. I'm thankful my aunt gave me gentle nudges as she went through it again for the first time in almost a decade, and that my therapist friend kept cheering me on, wanting me to succeed (perhaps as her guinea pig), and that Squid was endlessly patient with my back and forth, playing a very handsome Switzerland. If not for them, I think I may have quit after those first two weeks out of fear I wasn't doing what was best for Bug. Even after all my big talk, my social network declarations against the system, I was scared. The fear that I wasn't doing enough for him, being enough, teaching enough was heavy. I never wanted to stop for my sake. The days I wanted to stop were the days I felt like I was short-changing my child. I was too green to feel confident in anything other than the lessons plans, and he was burning through my carefully charted curriculum so fast I didn't quite know what to do with him. I woke up in the mornings with my stomach in knots about it. I went as far as to call the school he was zoned for. I just wanted. what. was. best. And I did not know what that was.<br />
<br />
I'd like to tell you that I now have it all figured out, but I'd be lying. God's grace, time, and a tiny bit of experience now have me in a much more confident place- I do not ask myself anymore if I'm doing the best thing. I am certain that we are doing what's right for Bug in these circumstances. Next year is up in the air- as I said, I just want to give them their best shot, and I'm not too proud to say if that isn't me. But...maybe I also need to be confident enough to say when it is. I'm so sorry that this doesn't wrap up nicely, and I'm sorry if it leaves anyone unsure- that would never be my intention. In fact, I'm hoping that if you happen to be reading this and happen to be homeschooling and happen to have a day where you're tempted to just hide under your comforter and call "in-service", that you may remember someone else has felt that way and survived to teach another day. Here's what I can say: I can say there's not been a second of this school year that hasn't been completely worth it; I can say it is a beautiful thing to behold your child learning in a way that maybe you'd miss if he were in school for eight hours a day; I can say even a quick trip to the commissary can become a lesson, which to me and Bug is just plain fun because we're nerdy like that; I can say he is excelling, and I can say I've been humbled, which I hear is good for you. Oh, and I can also say that I think the teacher should get a Starbucks card for Christmas.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-60175940255714918572011-11-15T10:47:00.000-08:002011-11-15T10:47:51.502-08:00Welcome To FloridaI realize this is coming two months after our arrival, but now is a good time for me to remember, since we got our orders not so long ago, that the chaos does die down, you settle in, and life becomes whatever your new normal will be.<br />
<br />
We moved in the middle of Tropical Storm Lee, on Labor Day weekend.<br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-nA4DcqkBx31BU_7gSLu6ADQzxoPcFL53XATaQrLFQT4qewC1UnNmLSvqG9NuG7l3jV-t7HlNHJJkt8QIEELfi6E3oaR9fPSnPeXgI7cN6pRmhmNTNUP2zKoyk0l2KZSXZXR1rdcU0-zI/s1600/302761_10150358740056763_500341762_9686111_160305_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-nA4DcqkBx31BU_7gSLu6ADQzxoPcFL53XATaQrLFQT4qewC1UnNmLSvqG9NuG7l3jV-t7HlNHJJkt8QIEELfi6E3oaR9fPSnPeXgI7cN6pRmhmNTNUP2zKoyk0l2KZSXZXR1rdcU0-zI/s320/302761_10150358740056763_500341762_9686111_160305_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i>Gorgeous, no?</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><br />
</i></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">I would not say we were LIED to about what floor our apartment was on, but perhaps I would say that we were "mislead"- what was made to sound like a few steps maybe up to a porch ended up being an entire level up, over twice the amount of steps we were told about. That is the cost of moving blindly. All in all I love our apartment very much, but I hated it for my father in law and my grandfather, and Squid. Lots<i> </i>of steps, awful winds and tons of rain, and yet everyone was in a pretty great mood. When we first arrived, I left the kiddos with everyone to go "get Squid real quick".</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Ha. Right. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here's the thing: when your husband has been isolated not just to a military base, but a specific section of that military base save for two or three bus trips out, he is not the person to give you directions to navigate that base. Things he may find distinctive are in fact at every intersection. His base is not a small one. I was almost in tears by the time I finally found him, almost an hour later, only to get lost going back as well. My trusty GPS constantly asserted that the road I was driving on did not exist. Not the best start! It took little to no time to sort the base out- maybe a week of coming back and forth, but to all who go after me: get a map, get directions from someone who has seen more than 1/5 of the place. You won't regret it. And don't blame your sailor, he honestly doesn't know any better. Try to remember that also when he points you down a road that leads to officer housing and then says over and over "We're not supposed to be over here." Oh my.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">We did eventually find our way back, spent the next couple of days getting unpacked and spending time with our families that were so kind to come help us, said our goodbyes to them on Labor Day, and got into the business of truly settling in. The wonderful thing was, it happened really quickly. Once Squid's "Brown Bagger" status- his permission to live at our home and not at the barracks- came through, everything was pretty well as it should be. We spent every single weekend at the beautiful beaches until the water was just too cold to dip a toe in. We saw every kind of animal Bug could dream of, and even had an unfortunate encounter with what his doctor believed to be a man o'war- that part was more of a nightmare...</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"> All in all though, we've loved our time down here. It's been nice and calm- the opposite of what I imagine our permanent station is going to be- we are heading to the DC area. We are so excited, and I'm ready to embrace whatever comes next. I can always feel secure, wherever we are heading, because after our stint in Florida, I know one thing for sure: home is always- ALWAYS- going to be wherever the four of us are, together. </div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-30361639543010028602011-10-06T11:56:00.000-07:002011-10-06T11:58:54.854-07:00A few things.I wish I could fully explain why I haven't been blogging. It's not that I haven't had anything to say- in my absence we have had a move during a tropical storm, all sorts of eye-opening experiences, and plenty of thoughts on settling in to our new albeit very temporary home. The truth is simply that there have been things going on, things outside of Squid, the kiddos and I, that have been troubling me, and when I write all sorts of things want to pour out, but some things just do not belong here. To go back through and filter them would have felt like a lie, and I hate lying. So, I chose not to write at all. I hope I get to the point where I am better at separating it all out. Having said all that, I'm back to chronicling this journey, and happy to be doing so!<br />
<br />
We're a month into living this the Sunshine State life, and I have to say that so far it's been wonderful. I was completely shocked and delighted to see how quickly the kiddos adapted- they love everything about it here, aside from missing our family back home. I was also shocked and delighted at how soon we all four felt settled, how somewhere we had been for such a short time could feel so much like home. I'm sure it had a lot to do with being reunited at long last with Squid. It was a couple of weeks after we arrived that he actually got permission to live with us, but once he did, things took on a state resembling normal. Even typing that word makes me realize that normal is a funny thing unto itself. What seems perfectly normal now would have been totally bizarre months ago- terror threat levels posted on grocery store doors, jets flying so low over our apartment that it literally shakes, making big lunches because that's the only meal Squid gets to sit down and share with us, having to bring my car to a complete stop in the middle of an intersection because there is a bugle playing over giant speakers, Squid leaving the house every day looking like one of Bug's action figures- not saying I mind that, of course. Life is good, but life is definitely different. Do remember that Squid and I have been married for almost nine years, all of those "civilian." I must say that I am glad for that; we didn't go through all of this to live exactly like we were living before. Pretty shortly, Squid will be getting a piece of paper telling us where we're heading next. I'm excited for the next chapter, but it will be sad to leave this place with the beautiful beaches and glorious weather, and the place that we first realized how different this life would be, and just how fast we could get used to it all.<br />
<br />
This, of course, doesn't hurt the process.<br />
<br />
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I promise very soon to write on what I wasn't told about homeschooling, getting Lee as our welcoming committee, and why I cried the first time I made my way onto the base. Try not to bite your nails off.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-24413973093813342322011-08-27T08:23:00.000-07:002011-08-27T11:38:16.209-07:00"He didn't tell me how to live; he lived, and let me watch him do it." - Clarence Budington KellandI believe the saying goes, "Anyone can be a father, but it takes a real man to be a Dad."<br />
<br />
I'm beginning to think being a military dad takes an even more rare breed. <br />
<br />
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To the outside world, Squid cannot win. Truly he can't. On my side of the fence, there are those looking over and feeling that he left me and the kids to fend for ourselves, off doing his own thing while we cope with him being gone, checking out of this full-time job of parenting. On his side, there are those that cannot understand why he doesn't just leave me to it, why he stretches himself across the miles and dedicates so much of his so little down time to making sure our children know he's here even when he's not here. I mean, your wife stays home, right? Can't you just let her take care of it?<br />
<br />
But this is where I have to use my soap box as a step, get on top of this fence and say to those looking on in either direction: to quote the great philosopher Taylor Swift, "You don't know what you don't know."<br />
<br />
You don't know about this man who refused to leave his son even at the cost of getting in trouble until Bug had calmed down over "See you soon." You don't know that despite his busy and erratic schedule of classes, firefighting, watch, and duty he does bedtime- listens to their days, long stories, and occasionally when Sug' is *extra* sleepy, the incoherent rambling, prays with them, and tells them how much he loves them. Every single night, and the two times he misses it is completely disappointed. You don't know about this man who used his time that I imagine could have been spent getting well-deserved sleep in boot camp to make his children RTC-style birthday cards. You don't know that he took his <em>first weekend away</em> from that place and did training he didn't have to start till Monday to get to be with us that much faster. You don't know that he juggles enough for a single, unattached sailor to get overwhelmed, and then dives head-first into being there for his family, and never complains. And for those who say he doesn't have to do all this...you don't know the unbridled adoration that radiates off of our kiddos when they so much as hear his voice.<br />
<br />
You may be reading this thinking, "Well no, I didn't know all of that, but how would I?"- and that's fair enough. I guess my suggestion to you is not to make assumptions one way or another...at least not until you've talked to Bug or Sugarplum Fairy, who will tell you without hesitation, as they do to both Squid and myself daily, that they have the most amazing dad on the planet. Bug had eight whole years of him being home "full time" and yet his opinion hasn't changed- do you wonder how that can be? I suppose the answer lies in that, maybe by God's provision and grace in knowing we'd face this, no one in this family seems to focus on how much he is away, but rather how much he does with the time he has, and he does more in that time with our beautiful kiddos than a lot of dads who sleep 50 ft from their kids seven days a week, twelve months a year. He is teaching them that he will take time out from ANYTHING he possibly can to listen to them, talk to them, make them laugh; and when they're face to face, wrestle and tickle and just play. They know they are invaluable to him, he makes sure they do, and that is just one of many things that makes him so amazing, and one of the things that let me know we could do this militrary life. I hope Bug and Sug' not only grow up knowing what they mean to him, but also that they learn something of being a parent from his devotion, and Bug something of being a man. <br />
<br />
Any guy can be a father, tell his kids what they should do, how they should love, how hard they should work.<br />
<br />
It takes a real man to lead by example. <br />
<br />
Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-6046829344946682072011-07-19T19:04:00.000-07:002011-07-19T19:30:28.140-07:00There are many forms of thirst. ~William LangewiescheI've tried to be flippant about Wednesday.<br />
<br />
I really have. But the truth I can no longer hide is that Wednesdays are serious business. They have a gravitational pull so strong that they drag Tuesday down a bit. Maybe sometimes a little more than a bit. <br />
<br />
Wednesday is the day that my mailbox- the real one outside with its red flag and numbers- is faithfully open just a crack from my mailman not knowing to lift <em>then</em> pull. Wednesday, dear friends, is letter day. <br />
<br />
Before this all truly began, I had an idea that the hand-written, once-weekly letters would be romantic in a way. Not so much their contents, but just the novelty of the envelope, the inked words, and the fact that my often stoic SquidRecruit cared enough to use his rest time to share his week with me. I had no idea just how much they would come to mean. Once a week I get his thoughts passed along, when for almost ten years I've been used to hearing them multiple times a day. Want a crash course in not taking your spouse's words, thoughts, opinions for granted? Give boot camp a spin. <br />
<br />
As precious as these letters are, they adhere to the law of diminishing return. By Tuesday, you really have pored over every detail, every possible tone, learned his bunkmate's name and sleeping habits by heart. You get this antsy feeling. The letter that made the whole world a better place six days ago is no longer adequately quenching your insatiable thirst for all things informational and anecdotal. You need more. And really soon, or you just may fall out in a room full of people from communication dehydration. It's a serious condition. So you sit, or work, or play, or blog as normal but inside you are just fidgeting, twiddling, wondering when Mr. Postman will look and see if there's a letter waiting for me. The Marvelettes know what I'm talkin' about. <br />
<br />
Then it comes- God love that precious USPS worker!!- and you <strike>so carefully steam the envelope open</strike> tear that poor envelope to pieces with shaking hands to see the most wonderful handwritten "I love you"s and stories and interesting new phrases picked up from colorful RDCs, and you forget how parched you felt. This one will sustain you more than six days! No way your skin will be crawling in six days! <br />
<br />
...except that you can clearly see what day of the week I've written this on. <br />
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I miss you, SR. Your words, your time, your effort- I see it and I cherish it. Thanks for taking what little bit of time you have to let me and the kiddos know just what we mean to you.Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-35957258834797312302011-07-13T07:38:00.000-07:002011-07-13T07:38:13.517-07:00I have some infinitely wise advice for you.If you should ever hear a phone ring, and you look down at said phone and happen to see the area code 847, drop everything; pick it up right away. It is a magical number that will take you back in time to a day maybe six months ago when your husband could have called you on his way to his next job. Or whatever normal thing your husband was doing six months ago, before boot camp. After four weeks and two letters, I got to <em>hear</em> SquidRecruit's voice, in all its exhausted wonderfulness. He is doing well. He's kept his sense of humor but sounds like he's playing by the rules just fine, which I knew wouldn't be an issue. I can't explain to anyone who hasn't received that call, or one like it anyway, how it felt to just hear him being him. Saying <strike>goodbye</strike> see you later was hard, but getting to talk to my best friend for 40-something glorious minutes was so worth it. The next call I get will likely be the "I'm a sailor" call, and by then we'll be heading to Chicago to watch him graduate and then abduct him for as long as the US Navy will let me. I'm counting the days...Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5316951347651063104.post-5898185396057211582011-07-11T13:33:00.000-07:002011-07-11T13:46:30.101-07:00The Neverending Birthday StoryDear little blog, I have neglected you. I have traded my keys for black or blue pen ink, my lovely, easily edited rectangle of self-expression for college rule and lots of strike lines and errors. All my words go to SquidRecruit, and I'm not sure whether he likes that or not, because I have lots of words. But I promise to be more faithful, and to get caught up. <br />
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First thing you need to know is that Bug was born on July 6th, and Sugarplum came almost five full years later on July 1st. <br />
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Second, you need to know that this year, we've been celebrating their birthdays since June 7th. Yes, that's right. I can hear your gasps of horror, seasoned mothers of military brats...go easy on me. I'm learning.<br />
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We celebrated for three days with Daddy before he left. We celebrated on the actual days. We celebrated with separate sets of grandparents. We celebrated with a family party as well as a sleepover. And now, unless there is a surprise party no one told me about, we may finally be finished. Don't get me wrong, I love birthdays- especially my babies' birthdays. I'm pretty sure they should be national holidays. However, it appears that I am birthday'd all the way out. I have just enough energy from the leftover cake to recap.<br />
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We'll start with Sugarplum Fairy, because although she lacks seniority, she wins in the calendar race. Sugarplum wanted a birthday alliteration: pancakes, popsicles in the park, and possibly a pony ride. It was overall a good day, all wishes granted, but oh my goodness did that child want her Daddy. More than other days. It's amazing what such a tiny little person can perceive. I have to say, as much as I hate that I can't do anything for her when Daddy is all she wants, I adore her for knowing she deserves his time, deserves his presence and attention. She may not get it every time she wants it, but I love how she knows she's entitled to it. Here is my favorite moment from her day:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuv7BDpSWD-PJbK4xZ7qi7fw3kp9Z6QrZJN_pYjEcojeBjzz2dFcbWwfsRSIZc73WDIYcTxtzAFtL2LLK4mUYTGXRXm3UJ25e5VZxZaIPcAJCA1Ywd6RjQEmAtKPuXx5TsbDAAXWAAJkIV/s1600/IMAG1180.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuv7BDpSWD-PJbK4xZ7qi7fw3kp9Z6QrZJN_pYjEcojeBjzz2dFcbWwfsRSIZc73WDIYcTxtzAFtL2LLK4mUYTGXRXm3UJ25e5VZxZaIPcAJCA1Ywd6RjQEmAtKPuXx5TsbDAAXWAAJkIV/s320/IMAG1180.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>We braved 4th of July weekend in Tourist Town head-on to get to the final birthday wish. That, my friends, is called love. She had four ponies to choose from, and of course, <em>of course,</em> she chose the one named "Ms. Priss"- they were a match made in Heaven. Pretty as can be and slightly stubborn to lead, but a total joy. Bug's pony "Patches" was much more cooperative, but slightly hyper. Another match well made.<br />
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Bug chose a day at the pool, an Egyptian restaurant, ice cream on a deck, and a twilight ride to our favorite tiny airport to see planes because they make him think of Daddy, but in a happy way. I'm with him on that. Oh and before you get too impressed with my little adventurer's choice of Egyptian food, I must tell you: he goes there for the grilled cheese. Sadly his pool day was cut short by storms, but he insisted it was still "The best birthday ever...well one of them, I should just say that, 'cause how do I know what I thought about my birthday when I was really young, like two?" Here's my favorite Bug birthday moment:<br />
<div align="center"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Wd8qN9FSVEZY0dDziXV9uM4WB7_2vQOK1YmRCcCjLXIBCDn8iKNnyAqhoUhgEv0mr32nG-NJlf2_xe6tAdyhwcHT65RcRAi-LyIumOyCx3z_umwC8M1ZhlgehzBCqzIs7I5Q1K0TIaLt/s1600/IMAG1285.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Wd8qN9FSVEZY0dDziXV9uM4WB7_2vQOK1YmRCcCjLXIBCDn8iKNnyAqhoUhgEv0mr32nG-NJlf2_xe6tAdyhwcHT65RcRAi-LyIumOyCx3z_umwC8M1ZhlgehzBCqzIs7I5Q1K0TIaLt/s320/IMAG1285.jpg" width="191" /></a></div><br />
The owner of the restaurant plopped this down on his head, and being the ham he's always been, he rolled with it. And for those of you who peruse backgrounds...that is my brother, father of my precious precious niece Moo, from now on referred to as Jarhead (Yes, he's a future Marine. It's in the water around here.) in a mullet hat/wig combo, also pulled from the restaurant owner's wide array of costumery. I think he looks extra fancy. And Bug, as always just looks spectacular. This kid could rock anything. <br />
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I wouldn't trade those days, and the other five or ten or so of celebrating for the world...but I wished with all my heart that our SR could have been there. The kids did get some pretty amazing "cards" from a certain naval base in Great Lakes, complete with highlighter yellow embellishments. I really do love that man, and I'm hoping and praying that next year he and his endless ingenuity are here with us to celebrate two extra candles being blown out. SR...our babies. All our lives rolled into two little people. Yours and mine- too big, too fast. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFU_DOe-LsUYxGX56I7ADTkT2AH1595NtCXdNOmw1excb2dso1T5FJ2gbkSOHvvfO9Xwriu9A5JXzFYRnmn9RbUtHVdUCo9DgAJfMM2AvXlxg998r6wge5GtE95MvedMM80GfAPXDDi1W-/s1600/IMAG1230.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" m$="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFU_DOe-LsUYxGX56I7ADTkT2AH1595NtCXdNOmw1excb2dso1T5FJ2gbkSOHvvfO9Xwriu9A5JXzFYRnmn9RbUtHVdUCo9DgAJfMM2AvXlxg998r6wge5GtE95MvedMM80GfAPXDDi1W-/s320/IMAG1230.jpg" width="191" /></a></div>Lindsayhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03974593508281959110noreply@blogger.com0