Thankful To Have Been Her Daughter

April 6, 2015January 2, 20161 Comment

Seventeen years ago on Tuesday night of my spring break freshman year, April 7, 1998, I lost my mother and I will never be the same.

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For a little while I was her daughter. She was the first one to hold me, she was the first one to kiss my boo-boos and the one to tuck me in at night.

She was my safe place when I had a bad dream in the darkest of nights and the one who knew all the places where I felt ticklish.

For a little while I had the privilege to be her daughter in this life.

For a little while I had the privilege to let my mother hold me.

To hear her laugh.

To see her smile.

To experience her love of life.

I never appreciated the role of being her daughter while I had the chance. I’m a stubborn one who always wanted to grow up too quick. But in time all things unravel and I can see now, seventeen years later, how sweet it was to be her daughter even if it only lasted a short fourteen years.

It was so sweet to be her daughter for a little while. Even though we battled one another in my teenage years I was never unsure of her love. I knew her love for me was unchanging no matter the circumstance.

She loved me at my best and she loved me at my worst.

I am thankful for the time I had to be her daughter and thankful how God has used that time with her to make me into the mother I am today.

I try to pass on the incredible woman she was, my own four children will never get to hear her laugh or see her smile. I can only try to pass on the incredible woman she was and the memories I have of her.

I could never be even close to the woman she was. Not even close. She was so much wiser, stronger and carefree. And cool. But I can pass on the good parts of her as best as I can.

I am learning to be more like her. To laugh more and complain less. And to love while I have the privilege of being a mother myself with a BIG love.

I am thankful for the privilege to be her daughter. Even if it was only for a little while.

I am better because of that time.

The impact of her life and the good of the woman she was will live on through me forever.

I am thankful to have been her daughter even if it was only for a little while.

Easter Was (Mostly) About The Dress

April 3, 2015April 4, 2015Leave a comment

For as long as I can remember, Easter was about finding the perfect dress.

The perfect shoes.

The tights.

Sometimes even little white gloves and precious white hats.

When Easter was coming every year, my sister and I have fond memories of dressing our best. We acted like debutantes. It felt so special every year to put on that new dress that my mother had carefully selected for us or my grandmother had carefully found and sent to us in the mail.

Easter was a special day and it required a certain kind of sprucing up. It wasn’t every day that a girl could put on white gloves, tights, a new smocked dress, fancy shoes and go to a fancy dinner in someone’s dining room. Easter was special day. Even when I was little my outfit told me Easter Sunday was the most important Sunday morning of the whole year. Debutante dresses were only for Easter. Oh dear those little gloves. And my sister in that hat. (Sorry, Ab, I think your eyes are closed in that one.)

Even as teenagers, Easter was an opportunity to wear a special dress. After my mother had passed away my father was kind enough to see that this whole tradition of the proper dress was important. You can see my sister and I lost the white gloves and the white tights but as we grew but we still had that dress and we were still heading to my aunt’s house for Easter dinner after Easter Service on that very important Sunday morning.

I am thankful for the gift of being able to have a new dress every Easter Sunday, as I know that is not everyone’s story. But new dress or not, for me the careful selection of the shoes, the dress, those white gloves and the hat every year marked that spring Sunday as an important one.

For as long as I can remember, Easter was about the dress. There was importance in that smocking and those white gloves for me when I was a little girl. It gave me a feeling of reverence for the Sunday of Easter before I even knew what reverence meant.

Even before I knew the power that could be found in the meaning of Easter, I found myself dressing up like it was the most important thing all year. On Easter Sunday I was able to dress and feel like I was a royal, precious princess right down to those sweet little gloves. I was carefully and especially dressed and waiting – longing for the good news of Easter Sunday to fall onto my ears and change my heart.

And now, as a grown mother of four I still have this part of me that wants to choose a special outfit each spring for the very special Sunday of Easter. That special Sunday when Jesus conquered death by rising from the dead, making it possible for me too to conquer death if I simply believe in the power of the Resurrection.

I still fuss over those very important outfits for my four young ones because Easter Sunday is something special and worth pulling out the white gloves and the debutante dresses.

I love lingering by the nursery counter and the preschool rooms too- a little longer- on Easter Sunday morning so I can see all the other little precious dresses, bow ties and shiny spring church shoes. All those little people dressed and waiting- longing to know why they are dressed up like this Sunday is the most important Sunday of the year.

Even when Easter was simply about the selection of a dress it gave me the tangible evidence that Easter was an important day. The pulling on of the white tights, the putting on of the smocked dress and the finishing touches of those fancy gloves and hats.

On Easter Sunday, the tomb was empty. That is important. An empty tomb sure is worth pulling out the white gloves for.

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Anyone else have pictures or memories like these?

Finding Fun

April 2, 2015April 3, 2015Leave a comment

Not too long ago I fretted over everything parenting.

When I was pregnant I fretted over the size of my baby, I fretted over labor and delivery, my mind overflowed with the all consuming role of motherhood as I felt my toes dangling over the edge of my expectant role, not quite ready to jump in.

During the newborn years I fretted over tummy time, sleep schedules, appropriate amounts of Baby Einstein, Your Baby Can Read and how many times I could get through the Jesus Storybook Bible so the redemptive story of Jesus would begin to grow in their little newborn minds.

When they were infants it was the screen time and the fretting to make it out the door on time for story time at the library. (I don’t think we made it on time a single stinkin’ week.)

When they were toddlers I fretted about delayed walking and delayed speech and my heart would race when they mixed up their “Nello Mello Peas” mid alphabet song.

In preschool it was my boys being unable to sit still and concerns that they needed to be coloring more and digging for worms less.

And the fretting over whether my sons would ever begin to use the toilet??? I can’t even talk about it. That was a dark, dark place for me.

Then something wonderful happened. I stopped fretting. I’m not completely recovered, I am a recovering fretter, the relapses are hard. But I have consciously made an effort to stop checking the milestone charts and have some more fun.

When I find myself fretting. I try to replace it with fun.

We sing and dance in the kitchen more, we take more impromptu trips to the donut shop on Saturday mornings and sometimes this mommy who said no wrestling would ever occur in her house will find herself wrestling with my three boys on our living room floor WWF Smack Down Style.

I have found a road to recovery from the fretting when spend more time beating my boys at Smash Brothers than thinking about whether they will survive kindergarten.

I believe recovery from living under the yoke of fretting is absolutely necessary for me as a mother. I could fret the days away and let them pass without ever finding fun.

I hope that I am not too late in this journey of finding fun and once my children are grown and gone they will remember how I was able to enjoy them, right where they were, wrestled on the floor or knee deep in the mud.

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So I’m recovering from fretting and reaching for fun.

As a step toward finding more fun this year I have been surprising my boys at the bus stop randomly in costume. This started innocently when my Halloween Costume, Queen Amidala, arrived fifteen minutes before the bus came one day in the fall. I tried the costume on and as the bus came up the road I figured it would be fun to meet my kindergartner in costume.

Then randomly in December I tried to ease into the idea of Bus Stop Dress Up by using a superhero mask.

In February I tried a Mario Brothers Hat because my preschooler had joined my kindergartener on the bus and my preschooler loves Mario.

On St. Patrick’s Day I began to build up a little more courage and tried a hat “costume” which was a little more risky but I need something green so I found a Yoda costume hat in the dress up trunk.

And the latest bus stop costume was the riskiest. I was in full costume. White hooded sweatshirt, black leggings, tall boots and a toy Boba Fett Blaster. I’m not even a Star Wars fan but I have three sons so I’ve had to learn the names of all these different battle weapons.

I left guns and lightsabers in the yard so they could shoot and slash back at me. This was a really fun one.

And I’m planning something really big for the last day of school.

I also have big plans for my third son once he starts riding the bus and I am saving all the princess costume ideas for when my daughter reaches kindergarten age four years from now.

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At first I fretted over this, what will the neighbors think? What will the bus driver think? What will my kids think? Will I traumatize them? But honestly, the neighbors laugh kindly and wave if they drive by, the bus driver and I have become good friends over this whole thing and my sons love it. It helps that they are the first drop off in the afternoon. They probably think everyone gets picked up by someone in costume.

And the fun cures the fretting. How could you not love shooting at your sons with toy guns when they get off the bus?

I fretted over the other stuff for too many years. And all my fretting was forward thinking. I was fretting forward instead of enjoying what I had right in my lap. I literally had a present in my lap and I was so busy fretting I forgot to have fun.

Hopefully fun can find me permanently and I can become completely recovered from the fretting.

Hopefully it’s not too late for me.

Family Bracket Challenge

March 15, 2015Leave a comment

Today is Selection Sunday and we are so excited to start making memories with our Family Bracket Challenge.

This year our kids will be six, four, three and one. They will all participate.

It is so easy now with Yahoo Sports all the little ones have to do is touch a team on the iPad. Last year when our three year old was two, he touched random teams without knowing a thing about College Basketball and beat us all.

The winner gets to pick where we go out to eat as a family at the end of the tournament. We actually want our youngest son to win anyway because he just wants to eat at McDonald’s. Our firstborn is hoping to win this year so we can all go out for crab legs.

I keep it simple and just make a bracket on our bay window with dry erase markers. It is a fun and easy way to keep track as we go.

We are hoping for a University of Kentucky win this year. Go Cats!

The Joy Of Making Memories

March 14, 2015March 14, 20152 Comments

Every day I have the opportunity to make memories with my children. Somedays with my little family can overwhelm me but then there are moments when I find myself stepping back and seeing a bigger picture.

Every day we are making memories.

It’s amazing to think that the task of creating childhood memories for four people is in my hands each day. Every day as I parent, I get the privilege of helping my children build the memories of their childhood. It is a privilege and a privilege I only have for a short time.

It brings me so much more joy to think about my days with my young kids this way. When I think about making memories for them it gives me a long term purpose for what I am building for them as their mother. When I think of making memories it gives me more joy than to look at an empty space of a day and think of tasks I can create to fill it up.

We make snow day memories, warm day memories, Friday night memories and Saturday morning memories. It is such a privilege to be involved in these moments that my children will one day talk to their children and grandchildren about.

Childhood doesn’t go on forever but the memories do.

I know because my grandmother still talks to me about the memories from her childhood.

When childhood ends, the memories will go on forever.

On Fridays we make movie night memories and pile the blankets and pillows all over the floor, sometimes we have pizza and popcorn on paper towels, sometimes cookies and apple juice.

When daddy is home from work my three sons make “man time” memories of swimming or going out to the park.

Some Saturday mornings we head to the doughnut shop in our pajamas.

“The doughnut shop in your pajamas with your brothers…this is what Saturday morning memories are made of.”

On Sundays after church we make memories to see who can race upstairs the fastest to put on their cozy clothes before lunch.

In the spring we make memories in the sand at the beach and in the summertime we make memories at my grandparent’s house on Lake George.

My favorite memories are the simple ones we make every morning when all my children pile up in my bed before we have to get moving for school. I sip my coffee and while they are all still little enough they all snuggle up close. I know these days will be over soon but what a privilege it is to make the memories while we can.