Grateful reflections

Sitting here on a Saturday afternoon in Chicagoland, wrapped in a warm Christmasy blanket while the little one sleeps and the bigger one is at work makes me so grateful.

It's a little nippy, but I have shelter from the cold wind, blankets to wrap up in, and a thermostat I can tweak if need be. I have hot coffee and hot tea at my disposal.

My son is safe and snug in a nice bed in his own room. And he's worn out because we had reliable transportation and went to a mall to play. He is healthy and vital enough to want and need exercise and social interaction. He is becoming able to verbalize he wants and needs ("i wanna play, momma.")

My husband has gone to work. Yes, it's Saturday; yes, all three of us would rather he be home. But he's employed. No, he's not earning time and a half. But he earns enough that I can stay home with our boy and take care of them both. He works today because he's a good manager. His employees have to work and he's there to support them, to show that he's not asking them to do something he's not willing to do. It'll make the next three days he's off that much more wonderful.

To top it all off, it's my parents wedding anniversary. Thirty-nine years ago today, they embarked on the journey of a lifetime! Two kids, three grandkids, a couple of jobs, a retirement, and a million travelling miles later, they're more in love with one another than ever. They have both shown me so much of what a Godly life well lived can and should look like. They've been the embodiment of good employees, good parents, good spouses, good children, good siblings, good friends, and good people. The best thing they could do for my brother, me, our spouses, and our kids is to love one another well, without judgment, beyond conditions. And they do. I am so grateful for the parents God gave me. I will count my life blessed and successful if I can live half as beautifully as they have thus far. I expect the rest of their lives will be equally as inspiring.

I know my mother will read this. And I know she will shake her head, claiming to be "boring," "ordinary," or "unremarkable." But the truth is, she is beautiful, extraordinary, fascinating, and funny. She's a rockstar mom and grandmother. My dad is charming, outgoing, fun, and loving. And quite frankly, there's a whole bunch more adjectives I could use to describe them both. But I'd be remise if I didn't tack on one more that applies to them both. And I think is the epitome of how they live their lives, both privately with one another and to the world - generous. They're some of the most giving people I know. They would tell you that's one of the reasons they're as blessed as they are. But I think when you're as much of a blessing to a world full of individuals as they are, they're bound to get loved and blessed right back. But they never expect anything. They're just remarkable people who I am blessed to call mine.

I'm a very grateful woman. May tomorrow and the new year keep me so, whatever may come.

The In-Between Day

Yesterday was the anniversary of someone asking me to spend the rest of my life with him; to start a family and a new chapter in both of our lives; to commit to an unknown but potential wonderful journey together.

Tomorrow is the anniversary of a "happily ever after" getting cut short after a mere 10 1/2 years; of saying "see you later" to a man I dearly love and for whom I moved away from all I had ever previously known; with whom I embarked on several incredible journeys.

Today, well today is the in-between day.  It was very ordinary.  Quite truthfully, yesterday was ordinary.  And, while tomorrow will be flavored with a meld of emotions, both happy and sad and all involving some tears, it will be ordinary.  But today, this day in the middle of anniversaries of milestone moments, is just the 19th of December. 

I smile at my engagment ring and remember the proprosal during this time of year.  I recall waking up that night (several times) in the pitch black with my eyes still closed and holding my hand up to admire the ring that I could not see.  I remember calling my dad and brother, both of whom instantly asked if we'd set a date.  I remember the sweet, simple way he proposed during the VERY romantic move "3:10 to Yuma."  I remember the doubts and fears of his that dotted our every discussion in the days leading up to the proposal.

I wear the necklace of the wedding bands I had made after Nathan's passing more often during this time of year.  I smile at recalling our life together. I smile as I remember being a teenaged bride; at him giving me my family as a birthday present, all the big and little moments that comprised our marriage.  I cry at the thought of the last days.  I cry for the pain he felt; I cry for joy that he's free from that pain.  I cry at the loneliness I felt.  And I cry knowing how much he hated leaving me.  I cry from the unknown in those first moments, days, weeks, months.  I cry from the overwhelming love that was poured out on us both. 

And I look at the ring he bought me the day before he started to sleep. It's on my hand, along with the new engagement ring previously mentioned.  How two such amazing men could deem me worthy of their forever love is beyond me. But it's something I'll never take for granted.  And so, on this in-between day, I find myself blessed.  I have been loved unconditionally twice.  I have been promised forever twice.  I have had two men give me their hearts, their lives, and their names.  They are hearts I will never break or discard.  They are lives I am honored to walk through with them.  They are names I am proud to take as my own.  They are men I am privileged to love and serve and honor and cherish and respect. 

I hope I can be the woman they both saw in me.  I hope I live a life worthy of bearing their names.  Even on the ordinary, in-between days.

Reason for Silence and Cute Anecdotes

So, I've been pretty quiet lately (well, at least in the blogsphere.)  I know, very unusual!  In part, it was because I felt like my stories of my son might be fascinating to me, but would they be to others?  In part, dealing with being a full-time flying solo momma while hubs is living near Chicago.  (Jackson and I are planning to move there as soon as we can sell our house in Kansas City.  Anyone want to buy a house?  I'll give you a killer deal!)

Our fall has been very pleasant.  Jack and I have driven up a few times to visit Lino in Chicago.  I discovered I actually really enjoy driving and seem to do it well without fatigue.  I'm excited for the new transition and think Chicagoland will be a great fit for us.  We feel like, while this may be a difficult change to make in some ways, it's God's Hand leading us.  So it will be worth the challenges.  The hardest part for us all so far has just been the separation and missing the minute details of daily life.

We did get to spend a week together, along with my family, in The Smokies.  It was gorgeous scenery and fantastic company.  We had a wonderful time, including a long overdue date night.  (Thanks, Mom and Dad!)  Lino came home this past weekend for Thanksgiving.  It marks the first time he's been back in the KC area since he moved in the middle-endish of September.  That's a long time to be away from home!  He returned back to Chi-town on Sunday and work on Monday.

One of the primary reasons I decided to blog tonight is because my knucklehead cracked me up tonight!  We were hanging out in the den when he ran into the kitchen, decided something, and came running back to me.  "Cu Cu Cu," he kept saying.  I finally realized he was asking to color.  So I set out crayons and a sheet from a coloring book.  He thanked me politely and sat down to color.  A few minutes later I hear, "I DID IT!!!" and he came running full speed at me with paper in hand.  Yes, he had done an excellent job of scribbling all over the page.  But his pride and exuberance were so precious!  I told him he did a good job. 

Then he shocked me by showing me that he can read.  Yep, my two-year-old can read.  But only invisible writing.  You see, evidently, my forehead reads, "Sucka!" 

He started saying, "bye-bye!"  I said "bye" back to him and didn't think too much about it.  He often says "Bye" for absolutely no reason.  I guess he had a reason this time.  He came back with his coat in hand.  "Help," he said.  I tried explaining that we didn't need to go anywhere.  (Mind you, it's after 6 and freezing cold outside.)  "Help.  Bye," he insisted as he held out his coat.  I smiled and relented (See?  "Sucka!"  And he knew it!)  So I helped him on with his coat and told him to go get his shoes.  He returned with his Elmo house shoes.  "Eh, why not?" I decided.  I put on my coat and boots and we headed out.

I put the radio on the Christmas station and we drove around looking at Christmas lights.  After a couple of minutes, I asked him if we could go home yet.  "NO!" he enthusiastically exclaimed.  So we drove around a while longer.  After about 10 minutes, he started giggling with delight every time we saw lights.  We pulled back into our subdivision and I again asked if he was done and we could go home.  This time, he conceded.  We get out and he yells, "Bye-bye Car!"  This child cracks me up!  He asked to go to bed once we got home and was super-snuggly while reading a story.

Yes, my child can read me like a book and play me like a fiddle.  And someday, that may be a very, very bad thing.  But tonight, it was just what I needed.  I'm pretty sure I had as much as he did.  And I can't think of better company to have done it with (except, of course, to add his daddy to the outing.)  So next time he comes at me with a coat, I'll probably say yes again.  And I know I'll treasure those tiny, tender moments when my son wants to go out in public with his mommy.

Where it all began

For starters, big news in case you haven't heard.  We are moving from Kansas City to Chicago.  Not sure of an exact date for the little one and me, but hubby has to report to work pretty soon.  Kiddo and I will move once the house sells.

My cousin is in Kansas City right now for the Plaza Art Fair.  (Go see his stuff, he's amazing!  Thomas Spake.)  Anywho, we decided to go down to see his booth and have dinner as a family.  As I sat there in the restaurant of our either second or third date, I looked at my husband, looked down at my own attire, and had a funny realization.  We were both wearing the same shirts we wore on our first date, the first time we met face to face!  And we were on the Plaza, where we had that first date.  Only this time, we were with our sweet son.  And it was probably the last time we'd be there, at least as residents of this kind city.

We had an amazing time together as a family.  We walked around and enjoyed the beautiful art.  Our son got to pet and play with lots of dogs.  Then, we discovered the piece de resistance...live music!  Yep, as soon as the music started, our son wanted to bolt straight towards it.  I took him over and he went right towards the stage.  He was strumming his imaginary guitar, dancing, jumping, high fiving, and making general merriment for more than half an hour.  He was so sleepy by the time we got home that he plopped straight down onto his bed.  He refused to budge and kept saying "Night night," with a smile.  So I changed his clothes while he laid there.  Needless to say, he fell asleep rather quickly.

It was kind of nice to say good-bye to the city where we met in the place and even the clothes in which we met.  I am going to miss the incredible friends I've made, though I plan to keep them in my life.  But I'm looking forward to the new adventure that awaits our little family in the new city.

Intimidating New Adventure

My knucklehead is 2 years, 4 months old.  Lately, it's been pretty annoying with him in bed because he keeps waking up soaked.  I've changed his sheet three times in less than 24 hours.  He'll wake up crying and screaming "Ow, ow, ow!"  (Even though it doesn't actually cause him pain.)

All that to say, I began wondering if he kept soaking himself because he was holding it in so long that once he did urinate, it was too much too fast for a diaper to contain.  So...I decided to embark on the scariest mommy-adventure to date for me.  I'm going to attempt to potty train.

Trying to teach him to walk or talk or jump have all been things that, for the most part it's easy to demonstrate.  But how do I teach him to understand the urges and physiology of the bladder and bowel?  How do I teach him to communicate, either through words or signs, his urges?  How do I convey that it's ok to stop playing or wake up at night to satisfy those urges?

We went to the store this morning to buy potties, training pants, and disinfecting wipes!  When checking out, the cashier asked, "How are you?"  "Terrified to my very core," I replied.  "And you?"  I'm trying to approach this with patience and without pushing too much.  The main advice I've continually received from other mommies is, "They'll do it when they're ready."  I think physically he's capable of holding it.  Now I just have to associate words with internal sensations and actions.

After getting home from a morning walk with friends, I sat Jackson on the potty and said, "go potty!"  Needless to say, he didn't.  I put him down for his nap and kept an extra close eye on the monitor in hopes that I could rush him to the potty as soon as he woke up.  He woke up wet.  Three additional attempts took place.  I tried it both in the little kiddie potty and the adapted seat on the toilet.  Every time, his attention span was about 30 seconds at best.  I had kind of resigned myself to "not ready yet; try again next week; at least he's been introduced to the terms and equipment."

I asked him if he wanted to go potty before I put him in the bath.  He said no.  I undressed him and noticed his diaper, put on almost two hours prior, was bone dry.  He played in the bath and afterwards, I offered again for him to try to the potty.  One last attempt before bedtime.  He didn't say no, so I asked him which he wanted to try.  He indicated the big one, so I put the seat on the toilet and set him up there, stark naked.  I told him to just relax.  So he grabbed the football magazine on the back of the stool and leaned back.  I laughed, but he was actually sitting quite patiently and relaxed.  After a few minutes, a small tinkling sound occurred, very briefly, then stopped almost as suddenly.  He looked at me, not sure if he'd done something right or wrong.  I burst into a grin, clapped, and told him, "Good job!" After that, he flashed me a toothy grin and giggled.  I think he stopped peeing as abruptly as he did from sheer shock.

But I am so proud that Day One, our very first attempt at potty training, ended on a high note and a success. I will definitely continue to try again tomorrow.  And I'm thrilled that he is now at least introduced to the sensation of intentional urination and peeing on a potty.  My baby's not a baby anymore!

Joy in the Mourning

Four years ago today was one of the worst days of my life.  And I know without a doubt that, no matter how long I live, no matter what other experiences I encounter, it will remain one of the worst days of my life. You see, four years ago, I was told my husband would die.  Soon.  That there was no hope, no cure, no saving him or extending his life or improving the quality of what time he had left.  Terminal.

Worst. Day. Ever.  Up to that point.  There were other excruciating days, weeks, and months that followed, obviously.   But the news we heard and the discussions we had, with doctors, extended family, and between the two of us were nothing short of heart-wrenching.

At a time like that, there is NOTHING anyone can say or do to "make it better."  Nothing can take away the pain.  Nothing can dull the senses enough.  Nothing can remove the fear, the nausea. And there aren't enough tissues to soak up the tears.  There aren't enough glasses to shatter in the rage and anger.  There's just not enough of anything.  Not enough time. Not enough technology.  Not enough surgery, modern medicine, or answers.

But there's enough God.  I do not say that lightly.  Tears stream down my face as I right this, recalling the absolute anguish of that day.  But God was enough.  He is bigger than any doubt, fear, hatred, anger, or question.  He wrapped Nathan and I both in His Fatherly arms.  He held us as a couple.  He held as individuals.  He understood, much more than even we could, that this was a strange journey.  It was a journey completely together and completely alone.  I could not imagine the uncertainty, physical pain, side effects, fear, peace, joy, and everything else that Nathan faced in knowing he had terminal cancer.  And he could not imagine (which he admitted) the fear of the unknown in caring for a spouse that is terminally ill, the agony of helplessness, the loneliness of the aftermath.

Yet God held us, walked with us, and gave us both inexplicable peace, strength, and joy in our journeys.  Not all the time.  Neither of us were happy with the cruel lot we were dealt.  But God never abandoned us.  He never allowed us to both be completely shattered in the same moment.  He always, ALWAYS gave to at least one of us, enough strength to get through the moment; to not surrender.  He surrounded us with loving people - family, friends, nurses, doctors, strangers who lifted us up.

We mourned together that day.  We mourned individually that day.  And we mourned together for the next almost four months.  But we took care of Business.  Nathan finished the race set before him.  We made sure nothing was left unsaid or undone.  And we made sure we still found joy, happiness, and laughter when we could.

I know the Bible says, "Weeping may last for the night, but joy comes in the morning." (Ps 30:5b)  I'm here to tell you, Joy also comes in the Mourning.

Practice Makes, Well, Better!

Ok, so practice doesn't always make perfect.  That's ok.  Perfection is rarely required in life.  Yet I think so often as adults, if we don't master something the first time we attempt it, we throw up our hands and exclaim, "I don't know why I don't get this!"

I don't know about other parents out there, but my son did not successfully walk his first attempt.  I didn't tell him he was a failure or not to bother trying again.  Rather, I encouraged him.  I held his hand and walked along side him.  I showed him how to do it.  And every time he fell, I told him to try again.   And when he took a step or two, I cheered for him.

Why then do we adults not assume that some things that we were raised to do would come without effort?  Without practice?  Some people make friends easily.  Some people don't.  Some people have a Pollyanna-ish disposition and see sunshine and rainbows and happiness everywhere.  Some people don't.  The point is not to get frustrated and say, "why am I not happy?"  Rather, LEARN to be happy.  Love is a choice.  Happiness is a choice.  You may look around and see many positive things in your life, yet still feel unhappy.  I don't know why.  I don't have a magical answer.

But maybe, just maybe, you were not TAUGHT how to be happy.  Maybe it wasn't encouraged.  Maybe life just sucked so much that happiness was not even on the radar.  But if you can learn a skill, a job, to ride a bike, to have discipline, to be kind, to have a mouth filter; why can't happiness and joy also be learned?

Practice joy.  CHOOSE to find one thing each day to be happy about.  Write it down.  I've heard it takes 21 days to make a habit.  Commit to doing it for a month.  If you aren't more content, more joyful, happier, more at peace, what have you really lost?  Nothing.  But possibly, you'll find a little more silver and a little less gray in the clouds of life.  And maybe, just maybe, you'll see that joy and strength and peace come from the Ultimate Dad, who's trying to give you good things.  Who's trying to make you happy.  Who's trying desperately to put things in your path so you'll notice Him.

Can Anyone Please Explain?

Can anyone please explain why my two-year-old son has suddenly forgotten how to fall asleep?  Three times (so far!) in the past week, he has laid in his bed tossing and turning for one-to-two hours!  He doesn't whine.  He doesn't call out.  He doesn't cry.  He doesn't get out of bed.  He just lays there, rolling back and forth, switching positions.  He'll pull the covers up, then kick them off.  He lays at the head of the bed, then the foot.  He sits up, then flops back over in half and starts rolling again.  I've tried rocking him, but he tries to stretch out and there's just not enough room.  I've tried sitting next to him on the floor patting his back. I've tried both while humming his favorite lullabies and in complete silence.  I watch on the video monitor as, even when he's relatively still, his feet continue moving, thus indicating he's still not sleeping.

He has NEVER had this problem before.  I mean, this is the kid who slept through the night at 5 weeks!  It used to be that twenty minutes was a long time for him to stay awake.  I know he's tired.  And I know he's frustrated with not sleeping.  When I carry him upstairs, he'll drop his head onto my shoulder and rub his eyes.  I don't have the foggiest idea what's going on in his brain, since he can't tell me.  And I don't know how to fix it!

And while you're at it, can you please explain why, when he woke up from his nap today, he cried continuously and inexplicably for 15 minutes?  I offered him milk.  He cried.  I offered him a graham cracker.  He cried.  I tried to hold and comfort him.  He kicked me, pushed me away, and cried.  After leaving him alone, he decided he was done crying, came up to me all smiles, and was pleasant the rest of the day.  ARGH!

Warning: The Following Contains My Opinion on the Recent CFA Issue. Read at Your Own Risk

If you're still reading, welcome!  I promise no hate will be spewed here.  I have no hate to spew.

I find the recent uprising against Chik-Fil-A and its president to be appalling.  I have many reasons for this, the first of which is freedom of speech.  It's guaranteed to all.  This man is a private citizen.  He works for a privately held company and as such, is not answerable to stockholders with opinions as varied as snowflakes.  Neither he nor his company have ever been accused (that I'm aware of) of discriminating against anyone.  To my knowledge, no gays or lesbians have been denied food or asked to leave an establishment.   He answered a question that was posed to him.  He did not set out to discriminate or hurt anyone, in my belief.

He has the right to his opinion and yes, to even speak his opinion.  He has the right to send his dollars to support charities in which he believes.  Just as we all have the right to spend our dollars at his restaurants or not.  (Personally, I have not supported a charity that, while doing lots of good and positive things, does one thing I am morally against.  Thus, I cannot be assured that my dollars might not be used for that one purpose.  So I choose to support individual charities with which I am comfortable.)  He has the right to vote and no one can legally persecute him for his personal beliefs or votes.

The audacity of city politicians, much less federal ones, threatening to use their power against him without legitimate reason undermines the very freedoms they claim to be defending.  No mayor or councilman has the right, power, or authority to discriminate against a company based on a person's belief.  Otherwise, wouldn't business licenses be constantly denied or given based on who is in power that year?  It's disgraceful!  And whether I agree with every business in my region, I do NOT want a politician deciding whether I can spend my money there or not.  Let the almighty dollar speak.  Guess what, Mr. Mayor?  If your citizens agree with you, you won't have to block a permit.  They will deny their business to "evil chicken empire."  But at least give citizens the right to voice their own opinons, yea or nay.

I know that today, across the nation, people were speaking with their almighty dollars.  We drove to a restaurant across the street from Chik-Fil-A today about 6 o'clock.  We had a hard time finding parking.  People were parking anywhere they could to support CFA.  The drive-through line was probably at least half an hour long.  There were people wrapped around the building waiting in line in 100+ degree heat!  My guess is the inside / outside line was 1.5+ hours.  So you see, mayors and councilmen and less-conservative people across the country, not everyone is anti-CFA.  Not everyone feels that free speech applies only when popular or convenient.  Not everyone has abandoned the traditional marriage value.  It turns out, there are still a lot of people who, while they may not be overly vocal on Facebook, support conservative Christian values and / or free speech.

I have lots of people in my life that I love deeply and unconditionally.  I do not agree with them on all matters.  But I think there's a big difference in loving someone and agreeing with them.  I think there's a difference between showing kindness and accepting / approving of every choice made.  I know I'm loved by people who disagree with me.  That's fine.  But please, don't call me ugly names or derogatory terms just because we don't see eye to eye.  Because I promise, I have not and will not speak ill of you.

Encourage Young People

Today, Jackson and I went to McDonald's after storytime with another family.  Jackson started off kind of playing on the ground level of their indoor play area.  I was eating, talking, and periodically checking on him. After a couple of minutes, I noticed he was higher up in the play area with another girl, who was several years older.  He was smiling and waving at me.  She smiled and said, "I'm helping him."  Ok.  I'll (obviously) continue to keep an eye on him.  But I thought that was sweet.

I'm not great at guessing other children's ages.  But I'd peg the girl as somewhere in the 7-10 year-old range.  I watched as she held his hand to help him up.  I watched her clamor down a large step, then turn around and help gently lower him down.  I watched as they laughed and smiled and waved and played together for a while longer until it was time for us to leave.  I watched him blow her a kiss and give her a hug and a wave.

While we were walking out, I noticed a woman sitting outside of the play area, but at a table against that window.  I approached and asked if her daughter was in the pink t-shirt and black leggings.  Her eyes grew wide with expectation and she said, "Yes.  What did she do?"  I told this other mom how kind and sweet her daughter was to my little boy; how helpful she'd been; how much my son enjoyed playing with her.  The mother sank back with relief into her chair and said, "You almost gave me a heart attack!  I'm so glad to hear that, though.  We try so hard to teach our kids to show kindness to others."  I don't know if this woman's initial mindset was to defend her child against accusation or blister her tush if she'd acted out.  But the visible relief and pride of being told a positive thing about her child was very obvious.

I told the mom, "She was really good with him.  You're doing a great job.  I think too often parents are only told when their kids mess up.  So I wanted to make sure you also heard when she was being a great kid."  She beamed and agreed with me.  She gave Jackson a smile and a wave.  And at that moment, the little girl popped over to the window, still on the other side and flashed Jackson a giant grin.

I know how much I appreciate hearing that my two-year-old has behaved well or brought joy or a smile to someone.  I can only imagine that probably becomes more rare as children get older.  We hear so much negative stuff about tweens and teens.  We expect them to be rude and sarcastic and bored and quick-tempered.  What if we actually acknowledge the positive as well, instead of just the negative?  Maybe, just maybe, it'll encourage them to continue doing good and kind things with no self-serving interest.

So today, I challenge myself.  If I notice someone, especially a young person, doing something well or acting with selfless kindness, I will applaud them.  I will praise and encourage them.  Not just when it has to do with my child, but anytime.  And maybe they'll glean a sense of pride in themselves instead of becoming sullen and thinking "no one says anything to me unless I screw up."  Maybe it'll make a bully less bully-ish.  Maybe it'll give a withdrawn kid some confidence.  Maybe it'll make someone feel noticed and validated and important. Maybe not.  But it sure can't hurt anything.

You Know Those Nights?

You know those nights when your child rubs his eyes, and takes you by the hand to lead you upstairs while saying, "Night night."?  Me neither.  At least, not tonight.  Instead, my son took a different tactic tonight.  His method of notifying us of his desire for sleep was to be as obstinate, stubborn, tantrumatic, disobedient, and defiant as possible until we finally got so fed up with him, we put him to bed.

It worked.

And within four minutes of being laid down, he was asleep.  Before 7 pm.  Tomorrow could be a very interesting day...Stay tuned.

Aurora Theater

This morning, an armed murderer invaded a crowded movie theater for the midnight showing of the latest Batman movie.  Thus far, twelve have died and at least 38 more were wounded.  They've apprehended the killer.  What happens next, I don't know.  I know my heart cries for those in attendance.  Whether they were killed, injured, or escaped, none of them will ever be the same.  I lift up prayers for them and their families.

I will not let this madman cause me to live a life in fear.  I will not quit going to the movies or public places because a deranged lunatic has an agenda.  I will raise my son to be diligent and deliberate and aware of his surroundings.  But I will not raise him to live in terror of the what-ifs and unknowns.  I know some people say "when it's your time, it's your time."  I would simply say, "you never know what tomorrow holds."

God may know when you will pass away.  But His knowledge doesn't mean it is His plan or intent.  Free will comes into play.  God knew that man will kill.  But it was never His plan.  So we must live each of our days, each moment, with intention.  You may not die tomorrow.  But your job may disappear.  Or you may get unexpectedly promoted.

Not knowing what the future holds is a scary thing.  But it doesn't have to be.  I know many people who live life waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Waiting for bad things to happen.   And sometimes, they do.  But sometimes, Cinderella gets her first shoe back.  And on the other end of that shoe is happiness.

Just like after 9/11, we all have a choice.  We can let chaos and fear and others dictate our lives.  Or we can link arms and set our jaws in determination.  We cannot control the actions of others.  But we can control our own.  And we can control our response.  We can choose to press on.  We can choose to live each day with purpose, love, joy, intent, and kindness.  We can choose to be bold.  To speak and act for those who cannot do for themselves.  We can choose to speak truth, tempered by lovingkindness.  We can choose to disagree with one another and still act respectfully.

So I choose today to hug my son and husband extra-tight.  To tell them once more how much they mean to me.  To know that tomorrow isn't guaranteed.  But I will live this moment to its fullest.  I will not withdraw.  I will not be passive or a spectator in my own life.  I will resolve to be proactive in all I do and all I am.  I will love God with all my heart, soul, strength, and mind.  I will have joy for today and hope for tomorrow.

Chasing Bunnies and Playing Apples

The adventure that was today began very early.  Like, still-in-pajamas-early.  As Jackson and I were saying good-bye at the door to our amazing daddy/husband, we noticed a rabbit sitting quietly in the front yard.  Sometimes, our rabbits are so well camouflaged Jackson doesn't notice them.  (Which I guess is kind of the point for them to be the color they are.  After all, two-year-old little boys can definitely feel like predators to small furry garden animals.)  Lino came back up to the door to get Jackson and point out the pretty rabbit.  He stood in the driveway, holding our son, until Jackson finally spotted the bunny.  He instantly wanted to squirm down, which he was permitted to do.  He paused for a moment, then took off "running" in his adorable two-year-old way, straight for the bunny.  The bunny stood motionless at first.  Once it realized it had, indeed, been made, he hopped across the yard.  Well, seeing the bunny moving made Jackson stand motionless.  It was so sweet and fascinating watching these two small creatures watch and try to figure out one another.

This afternoon, we played in the backyard for a while.  Little boys greatly amuse me.  First, he took a couple of swings on the tee-ball.  Then he decided to pick up the largest, pointiest stick he could find.  He enjoyed sweeping it across all the leaves and listening to the rustling sound they made.  (The yard looks like it's autumn for all the fallen leaves.  Stupid drought.)  He soon realized if you lean on the stick, it'll break into smaller pieces.  So he did that repeatedly until the stick was down to its desired size.  Jackson took said stick over to the apple tree, plucked an apple, and hit it with the stick.  It made a very satisfying thump.  He played one apple for a while, then decided to look for another sound for his apple-drum.  So, he plucked another and played it.  I think he went through about 10 apples.  Finally, he played the game he and his father enjoy.  It's called "Throw-the-apple-as hard-as-you-can-against-the-playhouse."  I must admit, it is a pretty fun game.

Days like this, even though there was lots of busyness on my part and a bit of whininess on his, remind me again what's important.  They remind me how fleeting time and sweet moments with my kiddo are.  They remind me how creative and fun he is.  And they remind me how blessed I feel to get to stay home with him.

When He Grows Up

I hate to think of my little guy growing up.  But I know it'll happen.  It's inevitable.  There are certain things I hope for his future.  And then, there's things I expect...

I hope he will be a Godly man.  I hope, above all else, he will love and serve God, and be salt and light to those around him.  I hope he will be happy.  I hope he finds a way to earn a living at something he can find joy, contentment, and even passion in.  I hope he has a kind wife whom he loves deeply and who treats him with respect.  I hope he has children to delight in as I delight in him.

I don't care if he has a fancy title or lots of money.  I don't need him to buy me a house or a fancy car.  I only want him to have a good, strong work ethic, bring honor to the family name, and be someone trustworthy.  I don't care if he lives in a posh neighborhood or wears name-brand anything.  I just want him to have a good heart.

What I expect, however, is some bumps along the road.  I expect he'll break my heart at least once.  I expect he and his dad will fight (yelling, not beating.)  I expect him to annoy the tar out of any younger siblings.  I expect he'll disobey.  But I also expect him to still want to hug me.  I expect he'll still want nothing more than to be outside playing with his dad, be it golf, baseball, basketball, or time working on the car.  I expect he'll be a heartbreaker.  And I expect he'll get dumped a time or two.

And oddly enough, I expect he'll somehow be famous.  I am not a stage mom.  I have no desire to be.  I'll won't push him towards a career or try to vicariously fulfill my dreams through him.  I don't have the foggiest idea what he'll grow up to be.  But I would honestly be more surprised if he isn't famous than I would be if he is.  He has all sorts of interests at this age.  So I cannot pin down WHY he would ever be famous.  But his personality just tends to draw people in like a strange, giant, dimpled magnet.

He's just this two-year-old force of nature.  And I have encountered very few people who are not enamored with him almost instantly.  It's rather bizarre.  I'm not bragging on my kid.  He's happy, sure.  But to me, he's just my kid.  And because he's my first, I consider this "normal."  I assume all kids are as he is.  But maybe not.  I will NEVER wish him to grow up any faster.  It's going too fast as it is.  But I am intrigued as to the man he'll someday become.

Freedom

As I write this, Independence Day for the United States of America is mere hours away.  Fireworks have been going off in my neighborhood for, oh, about a week.  Tomorrow night, my neighborhood, surrounding cities, small town, and major metropolises all across this great nation will explode with light, sound, smoke, food, music, laughter.  People will gather in cul-de-sacs as they only do one night a year, with promises to make it more often.  Swimming parties, barbecues, and parades will be enjoyed.  Sleep will be late in coming for many.  And I am so looking forward to it.

But as I await the start of one of my favorite holidays, I ponder the freedoms I enjoy.  I am free to express myself.  This blog, though not controversial, would still be forbidden in many nations, even in this day and age.  Though I do not currently work outside the home, by choice, I would not have the option in some other countries.  I can own property.  I can have more than one child.  I can choose with whom I fall in love. I am not ignored, mistreated, spat upon, or invisible because of my last name, skin color, place of birth, or religion.  I do not have to hide my faith.  

And all of these amazing gifts of freedom have been bought with centuries of blood.  Even more incredible, the blood of my fellow countrymen has and continues to be spilled to buy similar freedoms for others across the world.  But the blood that has given me the most freedom is that of Christ Jesus.  In Him, I have ultimate freedom.  I have freedom from fear.  I have freedom from hate.  I have freedom from sin.  I have freedom from death itself.  The freedom of peace and grace, love and mercy, all poured out in a crimson stream on a desert hill for my sake alone is beyond astounding.  If I were the only louse in the world, He still would have bought my freedom with His own life. 

I can live, love, hope, dream, and believe because of the freedoms given to me.  My prayer this Independence Day is that Americans will appreciate and fight for the freedoms we have.  My prayer is that we will lift up the oppressed in prayer for their freedoms.  My prayer is that we will not stay silent.  And my prayer is that, American or not, Christian or not, God will touch each of our hearts in a fresh and new and revealing way.  Many people say (and rightly so) that freedom isn't free.  That's true.  Freedom always comes at a price for someone.  Fortunately for us, the freedom of the Lord is free to us.  He has already paid and truly gives it away for free.

Confident Kid

I know my son loves me.  I know it every time he smiles when he sees me.  I know it when he takes my hand to lead me some place.  I know it when he reaches out for a gentle hug and when he runs at me full force giggling and crashing into me.

But I am also learning he is a confident, secure, independent little boy.  He made this abundantly clear two nights ago.  I laid him down and told him good-night.  He got up pretty quickly.  I decided to give him about five minutes to see if he would put himself back to bed.  (He was REALLY tired when I put him down.)  I checked on him and he was still sitting contently playing with a box.  When I opened the door, he went to his bed, rubbing his eyes.  I gently told him it was time to go night-night.  I thought if I sat down on the floor of the hall with the door open, he would stay in bed and close his eyes.

No sooner did my tush hit the floor than his feet did too.  He walked over towards me.  I thought he wanted to snuggle.  Nope.  He closed the door on me!!!!  I couldn't help but laugh to myself.  So I thought I'd see when / if he would go to sleep.  I checked on him twenty minutes later.  He had pulled 85% of his books off of the shelf and was playing happily by himself!  I changed his diaper again.  He could barely keep his eyes open on the changing table.  I rocked him for a few minutes.  He seemed ok with the idea of going to sleep so I put him in his bed.  I sat beside him, patting his back.  He closed his sweet little eyes.  As soon as I paused the patting, he opened that top eye to see if I was still there.  Sneaky little booger!  I continued patting, he continued checking.  Eventually, I outlasted him and he found he could no longer open that eye.

He slept through the night just fine.  But I kept shaking my head at my two-year-old closing the door on me. I love how much he loves me.  And I love that he feels safe and secure enough to want to be alone as well.

Is This Too Easy?

Well, we're two nights into the "big boy bed" and I keep wondering if this is too easy.  I bought a video monitor yesterday to help me keep an eye on him.  It definitely helps with my peace of mind.

Night One, his father put him to bed.  Jackson didn't go immediately to sleep (but who among us does?)  But he didn't get up either.  We even checked on him, opening his door a couple of times.  He looked at us but never fussed or asked to get up.  He slept through the night, didn't fall out of bed, and waited until one of us came in in the morning to get off the bed.  I will admit, I haven't checked on a child so often during the night since I first brought him home!

Night Two, I put him to bed.  He had a few more tears.  But some nights, he cries.  He did get off the bed a couple of times, according to the fabulous video monitor.  But he immediately got back on the bed and went to sleep within a reasonable span of time.

I keep wondering, is this too easy?  I mean, I've been absolutely dreading him being in an unconfined bed.  I think part of my fear stems from him being slow to speak.  Because I don't get verbal feedback, argument, opinion, or acknowledgement, it's hard to know what he's thinking or intending.  But he's evidently understanding.  Or else, he's biding his time and plotting.  I'm convinced it's too early to call success.  I don't want to live my life as a pessimist.  But yes, I'm waiting for my initial dread to be justified.  Maybe it won't be.  Maybe it really is this easy.  Maybe he really is that laid-back.  Maybe he really does understand much more than I realize.  Maybe he is that good of a little boy.

Maybe...

Converted the Convertible Crib

After the escapades surrounding yesterday's nap, last night's bedtime, and repeated attempts at today's nap, we removed the front rail.  My hope is that the novelty of jumping over the railing will be removed and he'll just stay in bed.  Maybe I'm naive.  Only time will currently tell.  And as to the "rolling off the bed" issue, I figure it's a much shorter and safer fall than the over-the-top-rail plummet.  I laid out a pallet of two thick blankets for the just-in-case.  (Ok, for the inevitable.)  I even took a picture of my knuckleheadappotamus in his first night of a big boy bed.   I think a small part of me wanted the camera close by in case he also decided to sleep in some completely unpredictable, but absolutely adorable contortion.

When we began "bedtime," he kept laughing at me and trying to get off the bed.  After a few minutes of that nonsense, we decided DADDY would do the putting to bed.  At least for tonight.  After a few additional minutes of just the two of them, Lino asked firmly but kindly for Jackson to stay on the bed and walked out of the room.  We sat there with bated breath, hovering over the monitor and wishing we had a video monitor.  We listened for tell-tale signs of him playing or reading or doing other non-bed related activities.  We heard none.  It was the familiar sounds of him babbling that he makes most nights.  Ten minutes after Lino put Jackson to bed, he went downstairs.  But not without opening the latched door to check on him.

Sure enough, he was still on his bed.  I peeked in a few minutes afterwards.  He was sitting up, but was on his bed.  Both times, he saw us.  Both times, he didn't cry.  And most impressively, both times, he stayed put.  It's only been twenty-five minutes thus far.  But maybe, just maybe, this will be an easier undertaking than I expected. Only time, and the morning, will tell...

Houdini is Here...Now What?!?

What a weird day!  I laid Jackson down for his nap after storytime at the library.  He was tired and had eaten, so I knew he'd fall asleep easily.  Except he didn't.  I grabbed a quick bite downstairs, sans baby monitor since he usually sleeps for a couple of hours.  Didn't think anything of it.  Then I came upstairs to do some laundry.  I heard his door faintly bumping and assumed the fan was causing a draft and the latch was hitting the door jam.  So, I thought I'd peek to make sure he was asleep and pull the door closed so it would quit making noise.

Imagine my shock when I opened the door and found my son standing on the other side of it, gently opening and closing it!!!  My first thought was, "Huh."  Then it clicked.  HE GOT OUT!!!  At that point, my heart was in my throat.  I checked him over and noticed no bruising or blood.  And he was happy as a lark.  So we went downstairs and played, with me unsure whether he'd ever been to sleep or not.  He acted like everything was great and he was wide awake.  (I did tell him he was not supposed to crawl out of his crib, but rather to just say "Up" and one of us would come get him.)

He helped me vacuum.  I gave him some milk.  He indicated he was hungry so I sat him in his high chair and gave him a frozen Greek yogurt popsicle.  (He LOVES those things!)  Knowing he was content and safe, I ran upstairs for a couple of minutes.  When I came back down, my previous question was answered.  No, he did not fall asleep at all when I laid him down earlier.  How did I know?  Because he fell asleep in his high chair (but not until he ate his popsicle.)  I wiped him down, carried him up, and tucked him in bed.  I was very conscientious to have the monitor on, turned up loud, and on my person at all times.

Good thing, too.  As soon as I heard him stirring, I quickly went upstairs, hoping to prevent an escape.  I slowly opened the door.  What did I see?  His arm, head, and one leg straddling the side of the crib, halfway over, ready to drop.  He saw me, sat back down in his crib, and smiled.  I explained again that he was not supposed to crawl out or attempt to get out by himself.

Bedtime comes.  I've gone to a workout class and have warned darling hubby to be aware of the possibility. Sure enough, Lino tells me shortly after he put Jackson to bed, he hears a very loud thud.  He gets upstairs and finds Jackson outside his crib, rubbing his arm.  He puts him back, firmly tells him to not climb, and begins to walk away.  The next thing he knows, Jackson is straddling the crib rail.  Evidently, his philosophy is not one of finesse.  He gets halfway over and fearlessly drops the rest of the way, hoping for the best!  Lino finally stands by the door with it mostly closed, opening it and chiding Jackson when he begins to climb.  After a few minutes, Jackson lays down and goes to sleep.

It will be interesting to see what the morning brings.  It will be interesting to see what the next few days bring.  Is this a passing novelty for him or is he going to forever refuse to be confined to a crib anymore?  Do I just put his mattress on the floor, get him a toddler bed, or just put him in a big bed with a crib rail?  I don't have the foggiest idea what I'll do!

But I do know one thing.  My baby's not a baby anymore.

Hair Trials and Triumphs

The good (or bad) thing about hair is that nothing is ever permanent.  Even "permanents" aren't.  Our little family had adventures in hair these past few days.

We buzz cut our son's hair this week.  We thought it would feel cooler for the summer.  Almost instantly, we regretted it.  Don't get me wrong, he looks great.  The problem is that he looks, well, older!  With his height, he already looks more than his two years.  With his sweet, sweat-induced curls folding back on the top of his head gone, he looks even more mature.

Although my husband has always insisted his boys will have short hair, we both agree, maybe a little bit long on the top again would be okay.  Yep, we'll grow it back out.  I'm sure at some point, Jackson will have his own opinions.  I'm sure at some point, father and son will disagree on hairstyles.  But until that time, we're in control.  And his hair will be a bit lengthier.

I, on the other hand, adore my hair.  It's in the same cut I've had for a while.  But I still love it.  I've also dyed it very bright purple.  As strange as it may sound, I feel natural and right and, well, ME with my hair whacked, in a faux hawk, and purple.  When the color fades and it grows out too long to style the fun, sassy way I enjoy, I get a little annoyed.  Parted on the side and mousy brown bores me when I look in the mirror.  I just feel more alive and energized and fun and saucy when it's a little funky.  It's not about attention, it's about liking the reflection.  And I think the purple faux hawk reflects my spunk and personality.  I know the purple isn't "natural" looking.  But anyone who chemically straightens, curls, or colors their hair does it for the exact same reason I do.  They want to feel beautiful and sexy.  


Good cuts must be maintained.  Bad cuts will grow out.  I'm sure I'll change my style at some point.  I'm sure Jackson will have his share of good and bad styles over the years.  And I can only imagine if we ever have a daughter.  But to me, hair is one of those things that's easily changed to reflect mood and personality without being detrimental or, well, permanent.

May He Always Be

There are certain things about my son that I love and am blessed enough to see daily.  I love it when other people discover and delight in him.  After all, I'm his momma.  Of course I love him and think he's fantastic.  There is just something so affirming when I hear positive feedback regarding him.

At church on Sunday when I went to pick him up, two of the ladies that work there both saw me and at the same time said, "Your son LOVES to dance!"  May it always be so.  May he never care or notice what others might think or say.  May he always have the uninhibited love of music and movement.  May he always be so full of sheer joy that he can think of nothing better to do than dance!

Yesterday afternoon, my husband, son, and I were hanging out in the den.  Jackson was playing his guitar and (shockingly enough) dancing.  He handed my husband his toy microphone.  Lino, thinking he was expected to sing, began to.  Jackson quickly reached for the mic and tilted it away from Lino's mouth towards his own.  He sang into the mic as he played the guitar.  Noticing the slightly puzzled look on Lino's face, I explained.  "He doesn't want you to sing.  You're the mic stand!"  May it always be so.  May he always be clear in his communication, even before he has words.  May he never be shy or timid.  May he always have that problem-solving ability and not give up when something (playing guitar and using a microphone) doesn't seem easily obvious.

Today, we went to the local amusement park.  We were waiting near the front to meet up with some other moms and kids.  While we waited, there were two workers dressed up as Nellie Bly and Phileas Fogg.  Jackson wanted out of his stroller so he could give them high fives.  I let him.  Thank heavens these two were there!  They kept him quite entertained and unfrustrated with the waiting.  He, however, seemed to charm them to pieces as well.  Particularly "Nellie."  She loved his high fives and hugs.  She melted when he smiled and giggled.  They played together for quite a while.  She kept laughing and saying, "I love this kid!  I mean, I would jump in front of a bus for him.  He is awesome!"  All of which made me beam with joy.  But the piece de resistance was when she exclaimed, "He is a baby bunny riding a baby turtle on a beach while covered in buttons, glitter and bows!  He is everything that is right and wonderful in this world!"  I leaned down and told him, "Son, that is probably the best compliment you will ever get."  May he always be so.  May he live a life that always brings sunshine and joy to those around him, whether he knows them or not.  May he impact people in a positive way.  May he leave every place he goes and every person he meets a little better than when he got there.

An Ordinary Day in an Ordinary Life

I wish I had something new to say.  I don't.  I love my life, my friends, my family, my hubby, my son.  It was a rather ordinary day.  We walked.  We did therapy.  We, well he, napped.  We played.  We danced.  We ate.  I've had a good week.  I've enjoyed my son immensely.  We went to an amusement park.  He invented new games.  He played his drums.  We read.  But nothing exciting has happened.

And I am perfectly okay with that.  I don't need a life full of drama.  My every waking moment doesn't have to be filled and busy.  I like going out.  I like being with people.  I like adventures, travel, and trying new things.  But I'm also perfectly content with ordinary days.  Nothing in life is ever predictable.  That in and of itself keeps me on my toes.  I don't know if my kid, husband, or even myself will be a holy terror or sheer delight.  (Usually, we're all pretty delightful.  But you never know...)

I'm a firm believer that we are products of our experiences.  And I think my experience of caregiver for a terminally ill husband and my subsequent widowhood have made me grateful for ordinary.  I don't crave the ups and downs of a tumultuous relationship.  I don't want to deal with the lows in order to also have the highs.  I have an ordinary life with extraordinary people.  I like the simplicity of curling up as a family to watch an old Disney classic, like "Lady and the Tramp."  I enjoy taking walks and playing barefoot in the backyard with my two guys.

Every time I hear other people talk about all the junk in their lives, I'm once again glad for the kind, stable, steady relationships in my own life.  I have a good relationship with my sibling and siblings-in-law.  I have a good relationship with my parents and mother-in-law.  I have a good relationship with my friends and extended family.  I have good relationships in my own little home.  And I am not remotely bored with anything in my ordinary life.

Beta Tester

Evidently, my son has taken a job on the side without my knowledge.  He's decided to become a Beta tester for Pampers and push the limits of their diaper capacity.  Turns out, those diapers are pretty good stuff!  Now mind you, he decides not to attempt maximum limits until AFTER his bath.  (After all, why should he soil himself when he's already dirty from playing outside and getting licked by dogs?)

But when I changed his last diaper before laying him down this evening, I was shocked and impressed.  Shocked that my little boy (even though he's a big, little boy) was capable of that kind of output.  And extraordinarily impressed that the diaper contained it all.  I didn't have to re-bathe him.  I didn't have to change his clothes.  I didn't have to start the 1,279th load of laundry for the day.  YAY!

I will give my knucklehead credit for one thing...at least when he decided to pee once the diaper was off, he did it pre-bath.  He doesn't pee very often without the diaper, so I won't complain too much.  But it's hard not to want to vent at least a little when you have to wipe down the walls, changing pad, remove the cover, and oh yeah, clean oneself.

Every day he surprises me with something new.  Usually it's a new word, sound, game he invents, or a new inch he grew overnight.  Today, he decided to surprise me with his capacity and job as a diaper tester.  Hopefully, they pay well.  Heaven knows I pay well for those diapers!  Turns out, they're worth it!

Sense of Humor

I don't know why I'm always so surprised and impressed by my son's sense of humor.  After all, his father is the funniest person I've ever known in real life!  But I'm constantly amazed by my kid.  Maybe it's, in part, because I don't remember being two.  But really humor is just an inborn, God-given blessing that usually shows up extremely early in life.

Don't we all coo and swoon over a newborn's laughs?  Don't we all make ridiculous faces and sounds to try and coax another laugh?  Why, then, if I've been hearing my son's awesome laugh for so long, am I still so astonished?  I guess it just reminds me (in a pleasant, non-tantrum way) that he has opinions and thoughts.  He finds things funny.  Most of the time, I don't get it.  But I love hearing him laugh.  We were watching a children's game show as a family this evening.  All of the sudden, Jackson would just start cracking up!  I'm not sure what about the show tickled his funny bone, but he sure got the giggles.

Earlier this afternoon, my husband had put him down for a (theoretical) nap.  When I got home from the grocery store, he had been down for about 15 minutes.  I turned on the monitor so I could hear him when he woke up.  Yeah, right.  He was lying in his crib, chattering inarticulately.  He would then burst into random fits of laughter as though he had just made up the funniest joke ever.  I'll admit, I didn't go get him right away.  I just couldn't bear to interrupt.  He was so content and I was loving listening to his conversation and laughter.  (I'm not positive, but I believe he was talking to Tigger and his snuggling bear.)

He is starting to become more communicative.  His signs are better, more consistent, and clearer.  But even more exciting, he's learned a few more words and is beginning to string a couple together.  Yes, I look forward to knowing what he wants to eat and have a conversation.  But I cannot WAIT to find out what's so funny to this little knucklehead!  I know the jokes he'll tell me won't make any sense and the punch lines will be silly.  But I also know I will laugh my head off and find him hilarious.

Discipline

We've all heard the old adage, "you discipline the ones you love."  I think as a society, we see the results of good disciplining, abuse, and lack of discipline.  So, how do you find the balance and provide good discipline to your kids?  My brilliant parental answer is....IT DEPENDS.

It depends on the age of the child.  I discipline my two-year-old son.  I don't beat the snot out of him.  I never have and never will.  I try time-outs.  I offer him choices.  I tell him the consequences of each option.  I don't make idle threats.  I always follow through.  And I occasionally swat his leg.  Some people think two is too young.  I try really hard to keep my expectations reasonable.  But as he shows me new things he's capable of doing, my expectations of him grow accordingly.  When he shows me he can open drawers and pull things out, I know he's able to put things away and close the drawers.  And I truly believe he enjoys helping.  He gets a smile of pride on his face when he's accomplished a task I've assigned him.  He grins when I clap and tell him what a good job he's done.  He understands positive affirmation.  I believe that means he also understands directions and corrections.

My son may not understand all the words and choices I give him.  But maybe he understands more than I realize.  When it's time to go to bed, I don't give him the choice of going to bed or not.  I give him the choice of walking or being carried up the stairs.  He still has some level of control in his life.  He learns to make choices.  But within safe, structured, secure boundaries.  If he throws a fit, he's still made the choice.  Refusing to walk up stairs is, by default, choosing to be carried.

He knows when he's unhappy and throws a fit.  He knows when he's angry and tries to hit mommy.  He also understands that just because he's angry doesn't mean he's going to get his way or be allowed to act out against others.  I've seen him make choices when he's angry to hit the couch beside me instead of me.  That means he's learning.  Why would I not continue to reinforce that learning and that behavior?  I won't allow him to act violently because he's "too young."  Otherwise, I'm giving him a free pass to act solely on instinct now.  At what age, then, do I start telling him he must control his impulses?

I've heard tweens and teens swear at their parents.  I've listened to parents complain how lazy, ungrateful, disrespectful, and ugly their children act.  And I'm not saying that will never apply to our child.  But I cannot help but wonder, do they discipline their kids?  At what age did they begin?  I don't think you can begin to discipline a 15-year-old out of the clear blue without having ever given them boundaries, choices, consequences, and follow-through.  If authority has never been established, why would they subject themselves to discipline now?

I don't have it all figured out and I don't pretend to.  I cannot tell someone else how to parent or discipline their child.  But I can promise you this, hitting or biting me will never be tolerated.  Cussing at me will never be met without discipline.  Disrespecting me will always have consequences.  And guess what else?  I cannot promise it, but I am confident that, come what may, my child will eventually have self-discipline.  He may not always make good choices.  But I believe he will take pause and think about some of those choices and their potential consequences.  And I hope that my setting realistic, age-appropriate expectations, giving him choices, and providing him with discipline will turn him into a pleasant adult down the road.

Why Won't He Sleep on MY Schedule?

I know I have no right to complain.  I have an awesome little guy.  He's generally well-behaved and pleasant.  He makes me laugh.  He sleeps through the night.  He's even starting to communicate better.  Last night, he even went so far as to tell us when he was tired and ready for bed.

However, he did not get the memo that Mom and Dad prefer to sleep past 6 am!  Yep, the knucklehead was up and ready to start his day at six o'clock in the stupid morning.  Which meant he ate "lunch" and was down for a nap before 10:30 am!  Unless he's growing and decides to take a very long nap, this could be a very long afternoon.  If he wakes up at or before noon, he's going to be such a grumpy gus by the time his father gets home!  

I'm hoping somehow he'll pull off a miracle and either sleep for three hours or stay happy and alert for seven post-nap hours before bedtime.  Both are kind of a stretch in expectation.  So this afternoon is a total crap shoot.

Any ideas how to get a two-year-old to tell time and know they're not allowed to cry or talk or call for Mom and Dad before a reasonable hour?  I'm sure my parents would tell me this is some sort of karmic debt I'm repaying for not sleeping late or napping well for them.  But it's not like I'm asking the kid to sleep until 9.  Just the occasional seven o'clock would be spectacular...  C'es la vie!

What's the Problem with Authority?

I'm not going to preach on how families and households should be set up (that's a different subject altogether.)  But I will ask one question - why do people get their hackles up when it's mentioned that someone does or should have authority over them, even in a small matter?

I recently saw a FaceBook post that someone responded "my husband does not and will NEVER have authority over me!"  She was quite emphatic on the matter.  And it got me thinking.  Whether we voted or not, whether we agree with the people or not, we're ALL under someone's authority.  We're all subjected to the authority of a mayor, governor, president, and judges.  Most of us are or have been subjected to the authority of a boss and/or a parent.

I may not agree with my Commander-In-Chief, but he still is.  And he's in authority over every person in our Armed Forces, to whom I give my undying gratitude and respect.  I may have disagreed with bosses at times.  But I don't remember ever pulling out the attitude of a four-year-old and saying, "You're not the boss of me!"  (Um, yeah, they are.)

Here's the kicker, though.  Just because someone is in authority, it does not give them carte blanche to run your life and make your every decision.  Authority does not equate dictator.  Sometimes, a final decision has to be made.  And isn't it good to know who's ultimate decision something is?  I can present a proposal to a manager and discuss their counter-proposal.  We can go back and forth.  But ultimately, that person is in authority.  And ultimately, that person is accountable.

A good person in authority will consult with and take into account the voices and opinions of others.  They won't make dictatorial decisions and rule with a heavy hand.  Instead, they'll be a servant leader, putting other people's and the organization's (i.e. family, company, or country) needs and well-being ahead of their own.  And if that's the case, I'd rather NOT be in authority.  As long as I am treated with respect, valued, and appreciated, I am okay to acquiesce control to another in some circumstances.  And I know that I'll always (respectfully) speak my piece to the person in charge.  But I also know, my butt's not the one on the line!

I have authority in my own life, don't misunderstand.  I have authority over my son.  But guess what?  I put his needs (not his every whim, however) ahead of my own.  And I hope and pray he'll appreciate the sacrifice and effort I put into him.  Yes, I've got authority.  And I'm under authority.  And I don't always agree.  But I will not rage against the very term "authority."  It's not a four-letter word.

A Good Reminder

Last night, I got a good reminder.  Sometimes, it's good, healthy, and even necessary to just be silly, play, and have fun!  I'm not very good at doing "me" things.  It's through no one's fault but my own.  I'm not saying we should all run around being selfish and indulgent.  But it's okay to occasionally do things that don't benefit or serve any purpose.

Last night, for the first time in probably a decade, I went to an amusement park.  It's been way too long since I've been on a roller coaster or other thrill ride.  I was as giddy as a school girl.  I wanted to skip.  I wanted to cry.  I could not stop smiling!  On those horrible pictures they take mid-ride, I was grinning like a Cheshire Cat!

It just felt great to be silly and care-free, even if only for an hour.  I cannot wait to go back and introduce my son to (age-appropriate) thrill rides.  And I cannot wait for more silly girls nights on roller coasters with 200 foot climbs and 75 MPH drops.  WEEEEEEEEE!

I don't make these statements as any sentiment against my son or my husband.  I absolutely love my life and have an awesome time with them.  I love being wife and mom.  I have an awesome time with them.  And neither of them ever make me feel restricted or held back.  I just sometimes forget to let go.  And when I can remember, whether it's at an amusement park or just dancing in my den (which I do,)  I just get to a whole 'nother level of happy!  And I think remembering to play, let loose, and be silly makes me a better mom and wife.

Some days...

Some days are crazy.  Some days are borderline boring.  Some days are infuriating.  And some are just downright fantastically fun.  Today, it was a little bit of everything.

This morning, I took my knucklehead to a splash ground to play with other kids.  We got there first.  He pushed the button and it started making little puddles, which he promptly stomped around in.  Because we were the first people there, the fountains took a little time to get going.  He didn't know what was coming.  He's obliviously stomping in the middle when, all of the sudden, eight fountains shoot up all around him, drenching him!  He sucked in a massive intake of air and froze.  Then began laughing, babbling, shouting, and running around like a delighted maniac.  He had a great time.  And I couldn't help but be amused with how much noise he was making.  But the moment the fountains shut off, so did his noise.  Then he'd push the button again and the happy squeals would ensue.

Getting him home afterwards was a little tricky.  He showed me the sign for all down at the splash ground.  And at first, I didn't believe him.  But we'd been there about an hour and he was getting goose bumps.  So I changed him into dry clothes and we headed for home.  (He had also started whining while at the splash ground shortly before we left.)  The drive home, he alternated between crying at the top of his lungs and trying to fall asleep.  I kept having to tickle him to keep him awake long enough to feed him once we got home.  All that did was make him scream more.  I tried singing and clapping.  But all he wanted to do was whine.  As soon as we got home, he was more than pleasant while he ate lunch.  Then he took a very good nap.

I got some work done around the house while he slept.  After he awoke, we went to run a few errands.  He's usually good as gold in public.  But today, for some weird reason, he decided to throw fits at random intervals for no apparent reason.  He didn't want to be held.  He didn't want to be put down.  He didn't want to hold my hand.  And he didn't want to stay with me.  Aarrgghh!!  The next moment, he would be flirting with people and blowing kisses, although nothing had changed.  

And now, he's in bed.  For the second time tonight.  We tried putting him to bed when he was acting very sleepy and falling down a lot (which is one of his typical signs.)  He decided to scream and cry in that heartbreaking way that makes you get him back up.  So we let him hang out with us for another half hour or so.  Then, I put him back to bed.  He screamed and cried for about 10 minutes.  He's since settled down.  But it's been almost an hour since I laid him down and he's still awake!  He seems content and not fussy, so I'll leave him.  And I trust he'll fall asleep eventually.  But I don't get him!

Life is What Happens to You While You're Busy Making Other Plans

I may not agree with all the philosophies of John Lennon (although I adore most of his music.)  But I definitely agree with this one.  And yes, I also have one of those cheesy magnets on my fridge that says, "We plan. God laughs."  And maybe it is cheesy.  But I also think it's true.

So what is the sentiment on which John Lennon actually agrees with God?  (Heb 13:5 - be content with what you have)  Contentment.  Happiness.  For most of us, life did not turn out how we planned or would have predicted.  Some things are vastly different.  Some things are minor.  Some lives are drastically different from how they began; good, bad, or ugly.  And a few rare people have had their lives follow the road map they set out when they were five-years-old.

But are those rareties happy in their lives?  And are people whose lives are radically altered unhappy?  I'd bet the answer is...maybe.  I don't think contentment should be experienced because life is or isn't how you planned.  Maybe it's good that it turned out differently than expected.  Maybe it's much harder than it should be.  But being content is not about being complacent.  It isn't about not having goals.  And it isn't about not exerting effort.

Contentment, to me, is about choice.  I know several people who have not fallen in love, married, and had the 2.3 children they expected to by the time they reached the age they are.  But they do not pine away for the life they do not have.  They enjoy the life they are blessed with, realizing that while marriage and parenthood can be wonderful, so can singlehood.  Embrace where you are!  I know people who have pursued careers doggedly and diligently, only to not get the job they want.  Or stranger still, they got the job they wanted, only to learn they don't want that job.  But they do not wallow.  They seek a different job, they pursue other interests.  And they are grateful for employment and learning opportunities.

I know people whose home lives are so different from what they experienced in their youth that they wonder what to do with themselves, even if it's a positive difference.  Sometimes, they're almost afraid to be happy or content, waiting for the shoe to drop.  But they persist in creating a loving home and family.

Being content isn't about comparing your circumstances with those around you.  Maybe "they" have more money.  But maybe "they" also have more debt.  Maybe "they" have a spouse.  But maybe "they" sleep in different beds.  Maybe "they" have the job they always said they would.  But maybe "they" wished they didn't.  Maybe.

The "maybes" and "what-ifs" are so dangerous and fight against the contentment I think we all want.  Life is not a movie with an alternate ending.  There's no way to know what might have been if you'd turned left instead of right.  No one can tell you if things would have been better if you chose door A instead of door B.

So do not look to others.  Do not compare yourself.  Do not waste valuable and precious time that you can never recapture with the "maybes" and "what-could-have-beens."  What is, is.  Embrace it.  And if you aren't content, change it.  (Don't do foolish things, though!  Don't get a divorce, fix a marriage.  Don't walk away from your kids, get to know them. etc.)  But look to God.  The rest of Heb 13:5 promises that He will NEVER leave or forsake us.

Choose happiness in your circumstance.  Even if your life does not look the way you envisioned.  Find contentment.  And realize that the greatest blessing in your life might be that it did not turn out the way you imagined.

It Takes a Village, part II

As previously mentioned, I fully buy in to the old adage that it takes a village to raise a child.  I utilize the support and knowledge of my spouse, family, and friends regularly.  I give advice when asked and I have something to contribute.  I ask for help when I need it.  But ultimately, I'm still the parent.  And I'm still responsible to make sure my child grows up to be a responsible citizen and a productive member of society.  My child is no one else's job (with the exception of my husband.)

Recently, I encountered a circumstance in which I felt the parent was relying too heavily on the "village" and not taking responsibility for their child.  I so badly wanted to say something but didn't feel it was my place.  So, in protecting their anonymity, I will now vent and encourage other parents not to behave thusly.

I recently attended a function where childcare was provided by volunteers.  This was NOT someone babysitting, getting paid, and in the protective walls of the family's home.  This was people giving up their time and ability to attend the function out of the kindness of their heart and the love of children.  A child was dropped off and started crying.  This in and of itself is not unusual or even unexpected.  In fact, several other children displayed similar behavior when being left.  But most of the kids were either soothed through rocking or redirecting.  The aforementioned child was having none of it.  He was throwing a tantrum and crying.  So he was initially ignored, operating under the assumption that he would cry himself in a few minutes.

He didn't.  So he was picked up and rocked.  He continued crying and asked to get down.  So he was put down.  Twenty minutes of inconsolable wailing was finally enough.  His parents were silently notified at the function that there was an issue and their attendance to said issue was required.  His father came and talked to his young (between 1 and 2-years-old) son, who continued sobbing.  Instead of the parent remaining with the child or, better yet, removing the child from the situation, the parent told the volunteers that they would be returning to the function and to just let the child cry.

I was flabbergasted.  I understand teaching discipline and self-control.  I understand not giving into the demands of a screaming toddler.  However, I do not understand allowing a child to cry uncontrollably in a room full of other children and unpaid workers.  The affect of the crying child was, shockingly, that other children cried and were upset far longer than they should and would have otherwise been.  The affect on the disrespected workers appalled me even more.  There was no consideration whatsoever for the kindness of these people who volunteered to watch this man's son.  The nerves of the volunteers must have been frayed beyond belief.  The child continued crying throughout the remainder of the almost-two-hour event.  He even began holding his stomach and doubling over because he was making himself sick with crying.

If you have ever found yourself in a situation where your child is upset and disruptive to the point that you are notified, please take your kid.  It's a nice way of them telling you they don't want you to leave your child in there!  It is inconsiderate, disrespectful, and quite unnecessary.  And if you don't think it's that big of a deal, step up to the plate.  Volunteer at the next event to watch everyone else's child.  And remember that your kid is your responsibility.  The village is just there for support.

It Takes a Village, part I

You know the old adage, "It takes a village to raise a child."  Well, I'm here to tell you, it's true.  Some "villages" are very small, some too large.  And I've noticed the size of the village can, and should, fluctuate according to the circumstance.

This weekend, and this past week, I've observed a few different types of villages and parenting styles within those villages, including my own.  First, I'll share my experience.  My son recently turned two.  Evidently, he has now realized that he is two and is determined to at least try on the "terrible" hat to see how it feels and if it fits.  This is one hat I wish he'd never picked up.  He is still my sweet and funny little man a lot of the time.  But he's also decided to test boundaries and learn what's what.  I think I'm usually a pretty patient mom.  But Sunday afternoon, I was ready to string him up by his toenails.  (Not to mention we'd had a bad afternoon last Wednesday.)

Sunday, I went and picked him up from his nap like usual.  He snuggled into my shoulder.  Like usual.  Then I changed his diaper.  Like usual.  This is where things began to shift.  He was less tolerant of the diaper change and began fussing and kicking.  I persevered, picked him up, and carried him downstairs.  He hadn't eaten much, so I figured he'd be hungry.  Thusly, I offered him a drink and some food.  He reacted as though I was trying to poison him!  He threw his sippy cup.  He hit me.  He refused bites.  I tried letting him feed himself (which is sometimes his preference and he will refuse to eat otherwise.)  He picked up a handful of food and threw it at me as hard as he could.  All the while screaming and sobbing with crocodile tears running down his face.  To say I was at a loss would be an understatement.

Because his tantrums are still relatively new and uncommon, I am still trying to figure out what response from me changes his behavior.  First, I tried denying him an audience and walked away.  (He was safely confined and couldn't fall or otherwise hurt himself.)  He calmed down a few minutes later, so I walked back in and asked him what he wanted.  As soon as he saw me, he started the tantrum again.  So I walked away again.  We did this little dance a couple of times.  I tried talking to him in a normal tone and offering him what I thought he wanted.  He continued screaming.  So I thought I'd try to shock him.  I screamed back.  Not in anger, entirely, but to let him know screaming wasn't going to affect me.  Mommy can scream too.  Wanna scream?  Let's scream together?  Nope.  That didn't work either.

My husband, my village, sat patiently, supportively, with me as I tried to navigate this particularly nasty tantrum.  He was perfectly what I needed.  He didn't undermine me with our child.  He didn't take away my authority in front of our son.  He didn't get impatient and tell me to shut him up.  He didn't take over.  And he didn't ignore the situation with a "you deal with it" attitude.  He quietly encouraged me.  He tried to also deal with our son.  But he knew this was a tantrum I had to cope with since I'm usually home with him and since it was me he was lashing out towards.

Then, I had to do it.  Nothing else had worked and I'd always said I wasn't above a spanking if nothing else was getting through to the child.  But I did one thing (at least, this time) that I always said I wanted to.  I didn't spank out of anger.  I was in control.  I pulled his shorts up a little and popped him once on the thigh.  Not to bruise, maim, damage, or even hurt.  But enough to get his attention.  His crying changed for a few seconds.  Then, subtly at first, but surely, started fading into the snuffles and eventually stopped.  He went to his dad first.  And I can't say as I blame him.  But after a minute, he walked to me, laid his head on me, and gave me a hug.

We had a good rest of the afternoon together as a family.  We went for a walk around the track at a local high school.  I decided if he had that much pent-up energy and frustration that he wanted to hit, I'd let him wear his backpack to give his muscles more "work" (on the recommendation of our therapist.)  He walked farther around the track than normal.  He even ran a good deal of it.  And when we took the backpack off, he tried to put his arms back through the straps to get it back on!  So we let him wear it a while longer.  We then went to dinner, where he almost fell asleep at the table.  But had a much better afternoon.

The Village, part II, tomorrow.

I Don't Know How They Do It

I envy, admire, and am generally in awe of mommies with spic-n-span homes.  And I don't know how they do it.  I'd love to get their tips and tricks of the trade.  (Please!)  I'll admit, I am not the housekeeper I wish I was.  I don't know if it'll improve with the stages of my knucklehead.  Or if I'll get more disciplined.  Something, sometime, has got to give.

He currently naps for approximately 1.5 - 2 hours a day.  And granted, there are plenty of things I can get done while he's awake.  Some, like vacuuming, have to be done while he's awake.  Or he'll wake up.  Which makes neither of us happy.  But others, such as folding clothes, mopping the floor, unloading and loading the dishwasher, cleaning anything with chemicals or strong-odored cleaning products, must be done while he sleeps.  And there's always dishes and laundry to be done.  So how in the world do I get the other things accomplished?  Seriously, I'm asking.

I pick up his toys.  Ten times a day.  And he always gets them back out.  But I can't get upset because they're toys.  They're his.  And I want him to play with them.  He even plays with non-toys.  And I love that.  I love his creativity and imagination.  And I don't want to discourage it.  But I seriously feel often like my day consists of playing with him, feeding him, and following him around picking up his wake.  He helps me pick up, and joyfully.  But I feel like I live in a perpetual state of clutter.  I tried buying a toy bin but couldn't assemble it.  So his current stash of toys in the den is contained in a play pen turned on its side so he has access to said toys.  Needless to say, I use the word "contained" VERY lightly.

I think I'm even beginning to suffer from untidy-blindness.  It's a very serious condition (whose name is still in the works) that consists of growing so accustomed to a constant state of disarray, clutter, dust, splatters, and other untidiness that a person begins to no longer be able to see it.  And if you cannot see it, you do not recognize it, thus it does not get remedied.  The only two treatments I've found thus far are (a) invite people over often, particularly people from out of town; and (b) solicit potentially painful, but honest feedback from loved ones, friends, and oh yeah, the people you live with.  I figure if they love me enough to live with me or come visit me with my house not being perfect and without judging me, they'll probably also love me enough to be honest.  They'll tell me what needs cleaning when I can no longer see it.

But I really wish I could just figure this out.  I want to take a page out of the "Little Shop of Horrors" song and "I cook like Betty Crocker and I look like Donna Reed."  (Ok, I don't really want to look like Donna Reed.  I want to look like...well, that's another entry...)  And if I were rewriting that song, I'd tack on something about keeping house like Martha Stewart.  My guess is that her house is not only crafty, lovely, and freshly scented; but that you could run a white glove over any banister or picture frame on any day of the week and not find dust.  Ever.
 
But I suppose I'm happier than Ms. Stewart.  I've never been accused or convicted of a felony.  My  child does not yet have a television show bashing me.  My husband loves me.  My friends don't feel afraid or embarrassed around me. But I could probably stand to have a little of her OCD and creativity.

Anyone got any brilliant ideas to fix me?

The Controversial "Time" Magazine Cover

The Time cover has recently garnered all sorts of attention for the young mom nursing her four-year-old son, who is standing on a chair.  I'll be honest and say that I don't understand nursing a child that long.  But I won't berate or insult them, that's for sure.  I don't expect anyone to question my parenting methods.  After all, I'm the best mom for my son and have his best interest at heart.  So while I don't understand nursing a child that long, I won't pretend to know what's best for that child or that family.

With that being said, my biggest issue with that shocking cover is not the photo itself, it's the caption.  "Are you Mom Enough?"   Time, how dare you?!?!  How dare you question my "mom-ness!"  How dare you imply, or even flat-out state, that moms who nurse long-term are "more" mom or better than me!  I will never deny that breast milk is best and has healthy attributes for newborns.  But let me tell you, Time, I have done the absolute best for my son possible.

My story regarding breast feeding is something I'll share without hesitation or shame.  My husband and I decided before we had our son that we would nurse him.  The goal was six months, possibly a year.  My husband was very sweet, supportive, and understanding.  He told me it was my decision how long to do it. We both understood that the colostrum at the beginning is extremely critical and possibly the most important aspect of breast milk.  I started nursing our sweet boy shortly after birth.  It wasn't intuitive or simple for me or our son.  But we worked through it.

I went to a lactation consultant within a week of getting home because Jackson was losing weight.  We got it figured out, though.  I went to a weekly breastfeeding support group.  Sometimes, it was frustrating hearing how some women would just gush or how much they could pump after a feeding.  I weighed my son before and after feeding him each meeting.  Sometimes he would only get a couple of ounces, even after nursing on both sides.  I tried the teas, the supplements, anything to help increase my supply.

But after two months of nursing, my doctor and I agreed that he wasn't getting sufficient nourishment from my breast milk.  So we began supplementing with formula.  It was a huge relief of stress for me, for my husband, and for my little one's tummy.  It was so hard sometimes not knowing how much he was eating.  After all, breasts don't have striations indicating how much a knucklehead is eating!  At four months, I quit nursing altogether and switched to formula entirely.  My husband and I discussed it first.  Nursing was becoming more of a frustration because of my extremely low supply.  But guess what?  My son didn't object at all!  He easily switched back and forth between the breast and bottle.  He easily switched back and forth between breast milk and formula.  I didn't feel a lack of bonding when I quit nursing.  I didn't even have the common issue of pain or leaking when I stopped, which just proved to me how little I was probably actually producing.

And my son is loving, affectionate, sweet, and happy.  He rarely gets sick.  So, Time, I AM "Mom Enough."  I am "Mom Enough" to do what's best for my son and put his needs before my own.  I am "Mom Enough" to put him on formula without feeling guilty.  I am "Mom Enough" to make sure he's fed and full and happy and healthy.  So put a mom loving her child at whatever cost on your cover.  Not just one with a defiant look, hand on her hip, daring someone to challenge her to a milking contest.

God gave my son to me and me to my son, even though I didn't produce enough milk for him.  And he's exactly who he's supposed to be and with whom he belongs.  I am Mom Enough for Jackson.  And I'll never apologize.

No Sick Days for Mommies

I had an awesome Mother's Day with my two guys.  I was given the perfect card and didn't have to cook at all.  We kept it low-key but it was exactly what I wanted.

Then today, it was back to reality.  I woke up feeling like garbage.  Jackson was messing up the silverware drawer more than usual and dropped a heavy utensil on my foot.  We discovered my car was dead because the little knucklehead had been playing and inadvertently left the interior lights on all night.  And I felt lousy.

But moms don't get sick days.  There's no calling in because you're achy, stuffed up, tired, or other, more severe ailments.  There's no whining in mommyhood.  Instead, you suck it up, get over the moodiness that accompanies feeling like garbage, and give giant hugs to knuckleheads.  You make dinner, do laundry, wash dishes, play games, do flashcards, and chase the neighbor's dog.

Yes, mommyhood is a 24/7 job with no sick days.  But the perks are unbeatable.  And the gratitude?  Well, the card, the grins, the hugs, the laughter.  They say it all.  With a family like mine, not getting sick days is worth it!

Open Letter to Christy Turlington

Dear Christy,

I am a widow.  I have lost my maternal grandmother.  My husband has lost his father.  Trust me when I say, I know how loud the silence of death is.

But I am also now a mom.  And I am still blessed enough to have my mom.  So, no, Ms. Turlington.  I will not be silent.  I will take the opportunity on Mother's Day to wrap my arms around my son.  I will call my mother (who I DID send a card to) and tell her how much I appreciate her.  I will tell her how much I love her.  I will tell her how grateful I am for all she sacrificed on behalf of my brother, my father, and myself.  I will make sure she knows that she is the reason I am a good mom and wife to my family.  I will thank my husband for making me a mom and for all the privileges I am afforded as a stay-at-home-mom because of his hard work.  I will tell him how much I enjoy taking care of our son and of him.  I will tell my son that I will always love him and be here for him, even when I want to string him up by his toenails.

You see, Ms. Turlington, no one is ever guaranteed a tomorrow.  I cannot guarantee I will have a mom next Mother's Day or that I myself will still be here next year.  I do not know what fates await my husband and son. So I will not waste a day, whether Mother's Day or just a Tuesday, not communicating with them.  I won't not take the chance to tell my loved ones that, well, I love them.  I won't squander time, because that's a minute, an hour, a day, that I can never get back.  And I never know of who's it might be the last.  

So, while I appreciate your sentiment to stand in solidarity with mothers who have lost their lives, I cannot bring them back by ignoring my family.  I am happy to do research and find a worthy organization to partner with and donate time, energy, even money, to see that more moms get to celebrate Mother's Day.  To ask people to check out of their own lives, even for a day, in no way honors those that have passed.

Take a page from the ACS Relay for Life.  They honor those that have gone before, they honor and stand in solidarity with those battling for their lives, they honor those who have survived, and they honor those who have cared for loved ones.  But they never ask Relayers to quit living their lives in order to pay homage.  Instead, let's honor the lives lost by being the best moms, wives, daughters, women that we can.  Let's partner with Big Sister organizations to give children without moms a good, strong, kind, loving female role model to look up to and rely on.

Let's find ways to honor them with our voices, not our silence.  Silence speaks way too loud.  I know how much I missed the sounds after my husband passed.  I know how much my mom still wishes she could speak to her own mother, even twenty-plus years later.  I know how much my husband still wants his dad to be alive, to talk to, to show him the man and father he's become.  Death comes for us all, and often way too soon.  Silence does nothing but create unnecessary and premature gaps.  Do not create chasms of silence when you could fill lives with sounds of love.

Sincerely,

Christy Marie Davis Green Nunez
proud daughter of an amazing mom, proud wife of two amazing men, proud mom of an amazing son