A Best Friend For Brooklyn

Brooklyn has been feeling a little sad lately.  Almost daily she will tell me that she is lonely because she doesn’t have a best friend.  I empathize with her and try to listen to her sweet four-year-old heart express this longing for a best friend.  One day, I told her that I understand how she feels.  I, too, have no best friend in my life right now.  She looked me straight in the eyes and said, “Yes you do, Mommy!  You have Daddy.  Daddy is your best friend.”  How true, and what a profound observation on her part.  While I could argue with Brooklyn about the difference between a girl best friend and the best friend I have in Joel, I decided it was best to simply drop it and listen to her.   

It’s amazing to me - this innate need in us girls to have a best friend, even at four-years-old.  There is a definite void in our lives when we don’t have that special ‘gal pal’ to pour our hearts out to.  We can have the most loving, supportive and loyal husband in the world – which I am so blessed to have – but even with all those wonderful traits, there is something missing without a girlfriend. 

As I listen to Brooklyn everything in my ‘mommy’ fiber wants to fix her problem, find her a friend, and make her happy because I hurt when I see my children feeling sad.  I know what it feels like to be lonely, and I hate to see my kids, whom I love dearly, experience that kind of emptiness.  At the same time - while the motherly urge to rescue and relieve runs rampant in my soul - I know at some point my children must experience this pain, and I know that Brooklyn will not be lonely and best friendless forever.  (In fact, out of all three of my children Brooklyn is the one I worry about less in this matter.  She is truly a happy, bubbly, friendly and “doesn’t know a stranger” kind of girl.)

All that to say:  I am working hard (daily) to look at the lives of my children through a bigger lens.  How will they look ten/twenty some years from now?  If every time Brooklyn cries because she doesn’t have a best friend, and I jump to her aid, how will she manage loneliness when she is a teenager?  How will she cope as a twenty-something and out on her own?  Will I still need to set up play dates for my twenty-four-year-old?  (I know - highly unlikely - but do you see my point?)  It is okay for Brooklyn to feel lonely.  It is okay for her to feel sad.  As her mom, and as one with many years of knowing what loneliness feels like, I also know that these feelings - these experiences - are temporal.  Eventually God brings a best friend, sometimes more, into our lives.  God created us for relationship.  He knows how much we need and desire real friendship.

God also knows loneliness.  He has felt the pain and carried the burden of being completely alone and abandoned.  Brooklyn will probably never experience the kind of loneliness that Christ felt, but she will indeed go through seasons of heartache and longing for a friend.  The best thing I can do for my sweet, little girl is to allow her to feel this kind of sadness, resist the instinct to fix her problem and listen - ever so empathetically - to her heart’s cry.  Just as God turns His compassionate ear to me when I break down in a heap of lonely tears, I can listen to Brooklyn.  God, who knows what is best for me, and knows that these seasons never last a lifetime, is teaching me to look at my child’s situation in much the same way.  There are times when it is not about facilitating and fixing, but it is about listening and empathizing. 

So, the next time Brooklyn comes to me and tells me that she is lonely and wants a best friend, I will listen.  I will love her and empathize with her, knowing that her best friend is right around the corner.

The "Stuff" In My Purse And A Trip To Barnes & Noble

I reached into my “mom bag” yesterday searching for a pen.  I knew that, somewhere in the deep recesses of my gianormous purse, there was a pen to be found.  In my search, I discovered a collection, of sorts, that has been accumulating in my bag:  One strawberry ponytail holder, a Lightning McQueen matchbox car, children’s plastic sunglasses, a stuffed monkey, a silk rose, and a miniature leopard purse.  Needless to say, finding my pen took a little longer than anticipated.   

How does this happen to an organized and meticulous perfectionist?  I hate clutter and yet, my purse is filled to the brim with mini racecars and stuffed animals; it’s like the “City of Lost Toys” in there!  Not only does this excess stuff hide my essentials and turn me into Mary Poppins pulling out everything aside from the kitchen sink, but they weigh my purse down so that I feel like I’m carrying a five-pound baby around on my shoulder. 

I guess I could always downsize and use a smaller purse, but I really like all the extra space I get with my “mom bag”.  Plus, it’s very trendy, and I’m all about being trendy.  (Note: I’m “Wearing” Children.)

Another option would be to prohibit my children from putting anything inside my purse, but I can tell you right now- that is never going to work.  I’m a mom.  Moms have purses…big ones, and their kids know it.  They know that mom probably has a band-aid in that massive shoulder bag, along with a quarter for offering and extra paper for doodling.  Plus, the “mom bag” has to be available for toting all those miscellaneous playthings.  Who else is going to make sure those sacred toys make it home in one piece? 

After thinking about it for a bit, I realized the key to this “problem” I’m having is for me to daily unburden my “mom bag” of all the extra stuff.  It’s as simple as that.  There will be plenty of opportunities for my purse to be filled again the next day, but at least it won’t be adding clutter to clutter.

This got me thinking about God and the stuff in my own life – the never-ending clutter that amasses itself in my thoughts, my desires, and my heart.  I seem to collect all kinds of unsightly things such as:  Impatience, a critical spirit, jealousy, comparing myself, negative self-talk, laziness, fear - it’s a pretty nasty list.  Then there are the distractions that also jumble up and leave my life a mess:  Finances, unreached goals, blocked goals, searching for significance.  I find that I can so easily get bogged down with all of these that even when I am supposed to be having my quiet time with God, I end up thinking about all my “stuff” instead. 

Which brings me to today.  I love Barnes and Noble.  I love walking through those tall double-doors and instantaneously coming face-to-face with shelves upon shelves of books.  I have a little ritual I do every time I go to this beloved bookstore.  First, I head straight to the Starbucks in the back of the store and purchase my grande, soy, caramel macchiato.  Then, with a yummy coffee drink in hand, I start weaving my way through the various sections of the store until I reach the Bargain Books.  If I can find something particularly interesting for $5.98, then I’m sold and ready to hunker down on one of the soft and cushy B&N chairs with my newly found treasure.  Today was no exception as I headed towards the bargains, perusing the shelves of various topics and genres along the way.  I was on the hunt for something thought-provoking and engaging and somehow managed to end up in the “Self-Improvement” aisle.  I was dizzy with awe as I skimmed through a myriad of book titles claiming to hold the secrets to a fulfilling life:  “Rich Dad’s Guide to Financial Success”, “Personal Development – All-In-One for Dummies”, “Oprah’s Big Book Of Happiness”, “Live What You Love”, “Plato Not Prozac”, “How To Improve Your Marriage Without Talking” to name a few. 

Rather than feeling inspired to snatch one of these books up and take it home with me, I walked away feeling heavy-hearted.  There are literally hundreds of authors and book titles offering techniques and step-by-step processes to find inner-peace and fulfillment in life.  And really, the only thing these books end up doing is creating yet another pile of clutter.  It’s not just me; everyone is looking for something:  Personal satisfaction, fulfillment, a life-calling.  We are a society lost and internally dry and empty.  There are a lot of sad people in this world, and not sad because they have no food to eat or no roof over their heads; they are sad because they have too much of all those things, but lack peace.  We run ourselves ragged searching for “that one thing” that will complete us and make us whole.  Usually, “that one thing” is clutter.

I sat in a chair holding my Starbucks and began processing both my pen search from yesterday and my book hunt of today.  I was feeling rather convicted regarding the “stuff” in my life that God was bringing to mind.  In all the countless times I worry, fret, and react in a state of panic, I’m not being very godly.  It doesn’t matter if I wake up at 5:30 in the morning to spend time with God when I fritter the time away thinking about how unfulfilled I am.  This junk leaves my heart and soul in disarray rather than drawing my heart towards God.  I think about all of those “self-help” books, and they do exactly the same thing.  They don’t point towards God; they keep pointing to self.  Upsetting to me was that, as I skimmed through a couple of these books, I found at no place did they touch on finding fulfillment and meaning beyond satiating one’s own desires. 

I’m not about completely emptying my purse because there are some pretty essential things in there.  If I were to follow the advice of many of these self-help gurus, I would end up completely empty, as though I had completely dumped all the contents of my purse out on the floor.  What I’m shooting for is removing the “stuff” that bogs me down and keeps me from living life to the fullest.  I don’t want to be empty.  I want to be full, but full of the right things – the best things.  When I need to find something, I don’t want to sort through a bunch of junk in order to find it. 

Philippians 4:6-9

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Finally brothers, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is admirable – if anything is excellent or praiseworthy – think about such things.”

The things I want in my “purse” are those that are true, noble, right, admirable, excellent, and praiseworthy.  When I allow the clutter to pile up, it takes such a long time to find the truth.  When fear becomes another pile in my heart, and I don’t dump it immediately, then I end up anxious and worried.  While there are certain things I may struggle with for the rest of my life, I don’t have to let them stick around.  It just means I must continuously empty my “purse” - my life - of the clutter and allow the peace of God to settle inside and fill the contents with all that is excellent and praiseworthy.

This is no small task, both literally and spiritually.  It will require much discipline on my part, but God is faithful.  I don’t need to run to Oprah to discover happiness and a guide to life.  I just need to run to God, to His Word, and hide it in my heart.  It is when I do this that I will find the pen I’ve been searching for and the peace that transcends all understanding.

Do The Monkey

As I plopped back into my chair, heart racing and completely out of breadth from doing the “Monkey, Monkey” with the Wiggles, I had an epiphany, of sorts. Who says that stay-at-home moms don’t exercise? I’ve often beat myself to a pulp over the fact that by the time I’ve successfully taken care of all the needs of my household, plus managed to squeeze in a hot shower and throw on some make-up (we don’t want to scare the children), that I haven’t chiseled out at least thirty minutes for a heart pumping workout. I haven’t “Sweat To The Oldies” or knocked a lamp to the floor and stubbed my toe kickin’ it “old school” with Billy Blanks’ “Tae Bo – Advanced Total Body Workout” in years. (And, might I just add, both of these classics I happen to own on video-cassette – well, at least the Tae Bo one for sure - which simply proves how long it has been since I’ve been in workout mode!) The guilt plagues me. I see cute little mommies run by my house pushing their only offspring around in their top-of-the-line jogging strollers and I get depressed. I suppose I could pile all three of my kids into our six-year-old Graco deluxe stroller and go for a spin, but someone might get hurt - like me. I could seriously pull something you know. This morning Jackson, our number one Wiggles fan, dragged my mommy rear away from the computer and begged me to dance with him. So…I did. We “mashed bananas”, did the “monkey, monkey” and danced with Henry the Octopus. Once my little man’s love tank was full to overflowing from the quality time I spent with him cuttin’ loose with the Wiggles, I eased my way back into my comfy chair and that is when it hit me. I’m getting a workout every single day just keeping up with my three small “Monkey, Monkeys”! I’m climbing things – bunk beds, play structures and stairs – lifting weights (my children), and stretching almost every muscle in my body as I work my way through the house keeping it neat and orderly. I’m a workout machine!

Side note: I could seriously create my own workout video (I think they’re actually called DVD’s and Blu Ray these days). I could share all my fabulous moves with all the other stay-at-home-with-two-or-more-children mommies. I could be the next fitness guru, create and empire and retire at 40 – my…how the mind gets carried away.

Snapping back to reality…

I love being a stay-at-home mom. Even though I don’t get to don the cute workout clothes and jog around the neighborhood - inflicting envy on all the other women gazing out their front windows - I am grateful for what I do have. My workouts are small but come with big reward: Three healthy children - who keep me on the move all day long, sweatin’ with Dorothy the Dinosaur - and lots of hugs, kisses and words of encouragement when the workout is completed – “Mommy, you did it!”

And that concludes my deep thought for the day - which is perfect timing because I do believe I hear my three “personal trainers” beckoning me back for another round of “Monkey, Monkey” and “Crunchy, Munchy Honeycakes”!

So…here…I…go…!

I'm "Wearing" Children

I love a good outfit. I enjoy coordinating and pulling pieces of clothes together to come up with a cute ensemble. A pretty blouse and a great pair shoes - combined with good hair - are all I need to make for a spectacular day.  

I’m not really a true expert on fashion. I just take a lot of notes – mental notes – while observing other women and their great sense of style. I don’t own fashion magazines, but occasionally I’ll Google something I might be struggling with (like “rain boots” after I received a really funky pair from my sister for Christmas, but was completely unaware of the proper way cool people are wearing their rain boots these days). In one of my Google searches - way back when I was pregnant with Brooklyn - I learned that “it’s all about the accessories.” Chunky necklaces, vintage bracelets or a snazzy little clutch can turn a “Plain Jane” jeans and t-shirt combo into “One Hot Mama”. I didn’t realize accessories are all it takes!

I do love a good chunky necklace, and have a few in my jewelry drawer. These days, however, I’m accessorizing with children. They hang from my neck and shoulders, and wrap around my waist and legs. It’s a style I’ve been working with for about six years now, and I’m not sure I’m wearing it very well. These accessories have been known to pull on both arms at the same time while I’m trying to do something really important like play on Facebook. They’ve clung to my thigh while I’ve tried walking across the church foyer to say hello to someone. They’ve pulled on my shirt to the point of indecent exposure (I’m NOT kidding – thank you Jackson), they’ve squeezed my neck while I was reading a book and I wasn’t giving eye contact while saying “No, it’s not snack time yet.” They sit on my lap while I’m typing, tug at my clothes while I’m making dinner and play with my toes when I’m trying to sit and relax. The list goes on and on and on.

I’m “wearing” children. It’s my new style. I would much rather be wearing GAP or Banana Republic, but alas, I am wearing three hot little bodies, every day. Style is fun. Fashion is great. Accessories - whether bracelets or children - are truly a gift from God. However, I wonder to myself, if I didn’t have the outfits or the enviable shoes or the child swinging from my right arm, would I still feel like “One Hot Mama”?

Colossians 3:12&14 says: “Therefore, as God’s chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. And over all these virtues put on love, which binds them together in perfect unity.”

My brand new pair of Nikes might make my “mommy uniform” really pop when I go to playgroup on Thursday, but that shouldn’t be the one thing that makes me hot. My hair might turn out great this coming Sunday for church, but is that all I want people to notice or remember me for? Man’s accessories are cute and fun, but not eternal. Before I get dressed in the morning, before I choose which pair of shoes to put on that will pull the outfit together, before I hoist my two-year-old onto my hip and enter the public world, I realize I need to clothe myself with God’s accessories: compassion, kindness, humility, gentleness and patience. Most importantly, though, I desperately need love. I need God’s love, His guidance and His grace to wear these accessories when I don’t necessarily feel that pretty on the outside. Love takes all those beautiful attributes, those Spiritual fruits, binds them together to produce a sweet and fragrant fruit salad. That’s the kind of life I want – accessorized with love, reflecting God, and representing Him well.

So, the next time you see me I might be sporting a headband with a little person dangling from my wrist, but what I am mostly striving for is that when you get a closer look you will not only see me “wearing” children, but you will see me “wearing” love.

Laid Bare...Continuing The Thought (On A More Serious Note)

Writing yesterday’s blog post was fun for me. I smiled as I recalled the awkward airport bathroom moment I shared with my son...and the two women occupying the stalls next to us. (My kids have gifted me with more material for writing than just about any personal experience I have gone through in my life thus far…they are a treasure!) Once completed I uploaded my story, hoping that either it would give someone a good laugh, or perhaps a kindred spirit would read it, relate to it and “feel my pain.” In any case, it was shared, for all intents and purposes, as a good laugh. Then, as I was lying in bed last night I started reflecting on the idea of being “laid bare”. How absolutely horrifying and humiliating those moments can be - and are - when I’m out in public with my children and something happens that is completely out of my control. Suddenly I am…exposed.

“Hypothetical” situation: We’re at church and it’s time to go home. One out of three decides they don’t want to go, so they stomp their foot down – as if stomping their foot will magically fuse their body to the floor of the church lobby, like a majestic oak tree taking root in fertile soil. In my efforts to uproot this mighty oak, I can see out of the corner of my eye the other two-thirds of my crew running willy-nilly through the foyer, nearly knocking down an unsuspecting senior citizen. The tantrums begin, and I want to scream, cry, hide under a rock and just disappear. It’s not so much because my three spunky and energetic offspring are being naughty (kids are naughty a lot), but in that split second moment my failings are revealed for all the world (my church) to see. Flaws, imperfections, inadequacies, insecurities as a mom – you name it – it is all hanging out there and I have no where to hide. I am laid bare…and that is a very vulnerable and painful place to be.

I simply couldn’t let go of this thought last night. Yesterday’s story was entertaining and funny, as most of my embarrassing motherhood stories tend to become after time. It was the concept of being laid bare that kept me up late into the night. How I hate looking and feeling out of control. As much as I mock perfection I find myself consistently reaching for it, but it is an illusion that no one can quite grasp.

No one - that is - except Jesus.

And it was upon this thought that my mind lingered. Jesus - God in the flesh, but perfect and without sin. Jesus – who had nothing gross, ugly and shameful to conceal - took upon Himself all the sin of the world and was laid bare on a cross. Exposed…for me. He did it for those moments when I lose my cool and “Mean Mommy” appears, saying something foolish and stupid, and I have to run to His feet for forgiveness. He did it for those days when I just can’t seem to get a handle on the chaos and clutter, and I run to Him again for wisdom, strength and guidance. I shudder in my laid bare moments because I somehow think I can pull off perfect, or at least I want to. And yet, Jesus, who really IS perfect, humbly laid Himself bare for me.

I was convicted last night. Not because I wrote a funny story (at least I thought it was funny), but mostly because I forgot to include Christ in my weakest moment. In my weakness, He is my strength. He allows me to mess it up so that I won’t forget just how much I need Him. Everyday. (In every bathroom stall across the country.) I don’t ever want to forget the One to laid it bare for me in my many, many laid bare moments.

Laid Bare

"I am just a woman. One woman freaking out on a planet full of a lot of other women who, I think, are also freaking out. It's not just the ones with kids. Those of us who have kids are just laid bare more easily because our children know us for who we really are and they tell on us." - Susanna Foth Aughtmon, from "All I Need Is Jesus & A Good Pair Of Jeans". (TiredSupergirl.com)

(This is actually my THIRD try at getting this post typed and uploaded. I've had a little "help" from some eager hands that have managed to delete my previous two attempts. Hmmm...patience...not perfection.)

We were at the airport waiting for our flight to Orlando. Jackson’s diaper was stinky, so I took him to the bathroom for a quick change. (There is a strange, yet very real, phenomenon that takes place in my bladder when I enter a restroom. Regardless of whether or not I needed to go before I walked inside, once I am surrounded by the sound of multiple toilets flushing simultaneously, I desperately feel the need to “go”. So it was on this occasion.)

After I finished changing the poopie diaper I found an empty stall and hauled my little man in there with me. I really needed to go and was doing the potty dance that I so often see my girls doing when they’ve waited too long. Jackson thought it was pretty cool and threw himself on the floor (yes…that gross, disgusting airport bathroom floor!). I was too busy getting myself situated to stop him. Of course, once on the floor my ornery little two-year-old started to see endless possibilities for mischief. He peaked under the stall to see who was occupying the next one over. I gasped and pulled him back towards me. Then, he snuck a peak under the other side. Again, I pulled him back and in my sweetest motherly voice said, “Jackson, we don’t do that.” (And I know he was thinking, “Oh yes we do!”) Then, like lightening speed Jackson shot under the stall door and started climbing to his feet…ready for the sweet taste of freedom. I was STILL on the potty! I leaped forward and grabbed his left foot all the while my pants were down around my ankles…tooshy in the sky. Jackson was laughing and squealing with delight - no doubt because of the grunts and gasps coming from my side of the bathroom stall. I held on to his foot for dear life and pulled him back inside with me. I literally had to keep one hand on him as I finished up. I could see it in his pudgy little face, one false move on my part and I might literally be “laid bare” for all the world to see! Gotta love kids!

Are you perfect? Probably not. Am I perfect? No way! It's a heck of a lot easier to pull off an illusion of perfection without a couple of "mini-me's" hanging all over you, but at the end of the day...nobody is perfect. Every time I walk out of this house with my three little ones in tow I might as well not even bother with the make-up...wrinkles, warts and never-ending blemishes come shining through! So, don't worry about being perfect (perfection is highly over-rated) and our children will be the first in line to bring us back to reality every time.

Just a note of advice: never take two-year-old boys into public bathroom stalls without a leash or stroller.

Battle Picking...

Pick your battles.

Man...with three little ones I am learning how absolutely right on this advice is, and how much I need to adhere to it. Here are a few battles I have decided are not worth fighting, and in retrospect have been the best decisions I have made thus far in my parenting experience:

* Allowing my daughters to pick out their own outfits - When I broke down and finally relinquished control over what my girls were allowed to wear, or at least how they wore their outfits, mornings in my home became refreshingly sweet, calm and smooth. When they were babies and toddlers I controlled everything in their lives, down to the shoes on their feet and bows in their hair. But here they are - Sydney is 6 and Brooklyn is 4 - and of all things...they have their own opinions. Imagine that! I want my kids to learn to think for themselves, take responsibility for their decisions and learn how it feels to succeed, and sometimes fail, on their own. The simple act of deciding what they wear on their bodies is one step towards gaining confidence in themselves to make the next choice, even if it is a small one.

* Letting Jackson, my two year old son, wear his Disney Cars jammies to church (last night) - Who would have thought that a BOY would have such a strong opinion about what clothes he wore on his body! My son has five different pairs of Disney Cars jammies, and that is all he EVER wants to wear. One exception is his Cars t-shirt. Since we only have one t-shirt and five pairs of jammies, you can see that there is often a struggle to get him to wear regular clothes. When we are at home I let him wear his jammies, but when we go somewhere like church, playgroup, Bible study, etc. I kind of prefer he wear normal "going out" clothes. Getting him dressed for such occasions can sometimes be a nightmare. Yesterday evening, however, I decided this battle was NOT worth fighting. Why make him wear a t-shirt and shorts for a grand total of two hours? Who really cares anyway? Of course my mind starts churning about comments that might or might not be made. After all, I am a pastor's wife. What will people think? I hate to admit that there are times that I really do worry about what other people think of me. Not last night - my son wore his beloved Cars jammies to church. Our whole evening was blissful. He was so happy and so proud to wear "Lightning McQueen" on his chest. There are plenty of other battles worth engaging the physical and mental energy in, but not this one...not last night.

* Quiet time activities - In a perfect world, or at least my perfect world, quiet time would mean my children sit and read, draw, colour, listen to music or watch a movie...in perfect silence. I mean, when I am having quiet time that's what I do! Here's what I've learned in my six years of parenting...children don't know how to be 100% still and quiet. There must be some sort of chemical or hormone or biological something in their little bodies which makes refraining from talking, singing, twirling and creative play nearly impossible. Unless my children are actually sleeping, their bodies never stop engaging in activity. Still, I am a firm believer that a little down time/quiet time is needed every day (especially for me). In order for all of us to enjoy our quiet time I have lowered my expectations. Instead of forcing them to sit still and read or watch a movie, I have given them freedom to play quietly. They are allowed to talk and interact, however, when the volume gets too loud or they start running and jumping I will, and do, step in. By being more flexible on this I find that I don't have to disengage from my own quiet time as much in order to deal with them. Let that battle go! (By the way, Jackson still takes naps...BLESSING!)

* Taking toys/books out of the house - Okay...this one was kind of a back and forth issue with me. It seemed that every time we would let the kids take a little toy to church it would somehow disappear...forever. I got tired of losing toys. In order to deal with this issue we made a new rule that toys and books were not allowed to leave the house. Then there were those "transitional" life moments that came: new class, new teacher, new friends, etc. The need for something comforting began to arise more and more. Discovering this simple need to hold on to a lovey, a small toy or even a little book began to make leaving the house in a timely fashion an actuality for us. The agreement we have on this is that they leave their toys in the car once we have arrived at our destination. If they are carrying a bag with them they are permitted to take the toy inside the school or church, but it MUST stay in the bag. So far, we have not lost a single toy or book!

Other battles I have let go of, (but don't feel the need to elaborate on):

* How they decide to decorate their bedroom * T.V. viewing in the morning * Playroom clean-up - how they do it, not if they do it

Just as my children are a work in progress...SO AM I! Some of the lessons I've learned may be "no brainers" for most moms, but maybe there are a few others out there like me that are "late bloomers" in the area of "battle picking". For those in the latter category, I hope my words are an encouragement to you. Choose your battles wisely, my friends...choose wisely.

Mother Of The Year

Just pin a badge on me and call me "Mother of the Year!" :) I received, by far, one of the best compliments I could receive - as a mom - this morning. Here's what happened: My 4-year-old daughter, Brooklyn, has ballet class on Wednesday mornings. At her dance school there is a small waiting room where the moms can sit and wait while their little ones are in class. Because Brooklyn's class is thirty minutes long I try to bring snacks for Jackson and something for him to play with. Most of the time he just wants to run around and find the very thing he is not supposed to get into and, of course, get into it. I get a thirty-minute workout every week while I "wait" for Brooklyn's class to be over. Not only is Jackson busy, but also he is two years old. (Do I really need to elaborate on that? - I think we are all familiar with the challenges of keeping a 2 year old contained in a small space! :)

So this morning, I had a minute to sit down while my precious son had found some blocks to play with for a minute or two. As I took a brief break, one of the other moms with whom we share the waiting room, said to me, "Wow! You are so patient with him!" I let out a deep sigh and simply said, "Thank you." I didn't have time to talk any further as Jackson was - at that very moment - turning the light switch off in the room.

As I spent the rest of the class time - trying earnestly to keep Jackson distracted from all of the "no, no's" - I did so with a new sense of confidence. Maybe you are like me, in that, most of the time I am so absorbed in the present moment with my kids - keeping them safe, guiding them, meeting their needs, setting boundaries - that I often times forget that people are watching me. I get so wrapped up in just trying to survive some of these more challenging moments that the rest of the world disappears around me. I don't really see myself as being patient with my kids. In fact, I pray daily...sometimes minute-by-minute, for patience and grace to handle all the "stuff" my kids bring my way. I usually feel like I am failing at it.

Then, this morning, that sweet mom in the waiting room made a personal observation, and the rest of my day was made! I know I don't always handle things so well, and I've messed up in public before. However, today I feel like "Mother of the Year”.

Galatians 5:22 “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.”

I want my life to be a reflection of God, and when I exhibit – even in it’s most raw form – one of the fruits of the Spirit, I find myself encouraged. Progress is being made. I feel infused with strength and energy, and I am ready to tackle both the little things and the big things. (Even as I write this Jackson is pulling stuffing out of one of the playroom pillows – God is growing patience in me for sure!)

I will conclude with this thought (if I try to drag this out any longer I’m afraid I may have no throw pillow left): I honestly don’t expect to get a “Mother of the Year” badge or anything like that. I’m not looking for one. The reason I even feel worthy of an award today is because I exhibited patience while dealing with my busy two-year-old, to the point that someone noticed. Do I do it to be noticed? No. However, I am encouraged that patience was flowing through me when I needed it the most, and I bore the reflection of Christ to a group of moms who may have no idea who Christ is, as well as to my energetic and curious two-year-old boy. Mission accomplished...for today!

Mother's Day

My mom was in the hospital this week due to fever, extreme dehydration and asthma. Fortunately the doctors were able to get everything under control and send her home in good condition. In fact, when I spoke with my mom yesterday she was already talking about preparations she and my dad are making for a seminar they are speaking at next weekend! I'm so grateful that her sickness didn't become something more serious and that she is quickly getting back to her normal self.

Still, this incident with my mom really made me stop and think about "moms" and "motherhood". I thought a lot about my own mom in particular. She is my mentor, friend, confidant and hero. I find myself, as an adult, deeply desiring to become more and more like her. Growing up my mom always had a way of turning a seemingly tragic situation into something we could laugh about. For example, when I was in sixth grade my eyes were closed in my yearbook picture. I came home from school the day we received our picture packets mortified and certain I could never show my face to my classmates - or anyone at school, for that matter – ever again. Instead of taking pity on me, and wallowing with me in my sorrow, my mom lovingly convinced me that this was not the end of the world and that we could most certainly find a way to laugh away the embarrassment. She was right, and we did. In fact, my mom has the best sense of humor - far surpassing that of, just about, anyone I know. When I think things can’t get any worse, or I find myself sinking deeper and deeper into the pit of despair, I simply ask myself, “What would Mom do?”

As I look at my own children - all three of them - I often wonder, "What will they say about me when they are grown?" Will they remember how I was able to find the silver lining in the difficult situations, or will I be known for shriveling up or cowering in fear when life gets tough? Will they remember me as a model of not taking myself too seriously, or will they always see me as someone who doesn't laugh enough?

Proverbs 31:25 says: "She is clothed with strength and dignity; she can laugh at the days to come." (How I long to be like that!) A little further on in that chapter it says in verse 28, "Her children arise and call her blessed; her husband also, and he praises her." Can you imagine being a woman who not only walks with strength, dignity and a darn good sense of humour, but one whose husband and children honour her with praise and respect? It may seem like a dream too far out of reach, but I believe it is a challenge worth investing my heart and soul into.

I know I have a long way to go before I become anything remotely as great as my mom - or the Proverbs 31 woman - but I have a wonderful role model who encourages me to keep up the good work. Being a mom is a tough job, but my hope is that I may be able to face the ups and downs - and sometimes the "sideways" - with strength, dignity and a great sense of humour!

My "Ah-Ha" Moment

"Children are not things to be molded, but people to be unfolded." - Unknown

I had an "ah-ha" moment this week.

My husband and I are taking a parenting class. Part of our homework was to take a behavior assessment, and then do a simplified one for each of our children. There are four main temperaments: The "Doer" - takes charge, doesn't believe in the word 'no', strong-willed, intense; the "Expressive" - talkative, demonstrative, energetic, social, 'life of the party'; the "Relater" - warm, caring, laid back, sensitive to the needs of others; and the "Thinker" - analytical, processing, reserved, thoughtful, introspective.

Here are the results we found in our family:

Dad - High "Doer" and "Expressive"
Mom - High "Relater" and "Thinker"
Child #1 - "Doer"/"Expressive"
Child #2 - "Expressive/"Relater"
Child #3 - "Doer"/"Thinker"

Three out of five in my family are "doers", one is highly "expressive", and then there is me. The relater. The thinker. The temperament that craves peace, tranquility and calm, rational thought and step-by-step process. If I were to describe my family in three words they would be: "DRAMA", "INTENSITY" and "PASSION". Do you see where I might feel a little like a duck out of water?

Here is my "ah-ha" moment.

I have often felt discouraged and much frustration as a parent because I can't seem to keep my home quiet and calm, and my children soft-spoken and reserved. When I am out with my three little ones there is much bustle and energy, noise and opinions. For a long time I have believed that somewhere along the way I messed up - that I haven't been training and leading them adequately - and, therefore, something must be wrong with ME. Then we did this behavior assessment. My perspective has completely changed. I came to the realization that with the temperaments represented in my home, there will always be commotion, noise, energy, passion, drama, excitement, talking, expressive story-telling, and intense outbursts of feeling and emotion. My home will NEVER be sedate. My home will always be ALIVE. You've heard, "The hills are alive, with the sound of music..." Well, my home is alive with sound of Slaters.

And that's okay. Realizing this has helped me look at my children, and even my husband, in a new light. Instead of molding them into a shape or design that suits me – or even the perceived expectations of others - my challenge as their mother is to unfold what God has ordained and woven together in my womb, with His guidance and help. It's not about letting them go wild and unruly - that would be irresponsible. It's about discovering them, learning them, nurturing their strengths and applying godly instruction to make them into the people that God designed them to be.

In conclusion, God blessed me with these little ones. He has given me everything I need to train them up, guide them and discover all the beauty and potential that lies within them – unfolding, not molding.