The Words Of A Father

February 16, 20162 Comments

I’m not sure if he knows it but every night while I am gathering the last things my family needs at the dinner table, I catch my husband lean over and whisper to our oldest son, Tell your mother, thank you for dinner.

I then see my husband take a bite of his dinner, no matter what I put in front of him and say, Wow, this is so good.

I know I am not a great cook. I actually don’t even like cooking at all. I follow recipes exactly adding no creativity and I barely know the difference between paprika and cayenne.

But every night. Without fail. Even when the chicken is dry or the vegetables are too soggy. My husband compliments my food and encourages my sons to do so as well by intentionally modeling kindness.

Just last night we had to start dinner without my husband because he was running a little behind and as my children began to eat I noticed my oldest son lean over and say to my second-born, blonde-headed boy, Tell mom, thank you for dinner.

And then as my second son was reluctant to take a bite, my oldest son said, Wow mommy, this is so good. Everyone should really try this, this is the best dinner ever.

I was both shocked and thankful to hear my seven year old doing this, passing the intentional words his father taught him on to his brothers.

It made me proud of the man I am married to and the little soon-to-be men around my dinner table.

Being a father matters. The words which cross a father’s lips are powerful. They can be used to build up or used tear down.

As I see my husband’s words of kindness and gratitude being passed on to my sons, I am witnessing the magnitude in which children respond to the gentle and kind leadership of a father. A father’s words and actions are meaningful and powerful. They can be life-giving and life-changing.

I hear my husband’s heartfelt prayers he has prayed over the beds of our children for almost seven years now being echoed with the same amount of compassion by my three sons. I hear my sons cheering and talking about University of Kentucky basketball with the same level of excitement as their dad and I hear my sons esteeming me, as their mother because their daddy is intentional about modeling it for them.

I am not at all the best cook, this I know, but when I see my husband teaching my sons to say thank you for dinner, I feel loved and I see my husband intentionally raising boys to be good men and good husbands.

This is an incredible undeserved gift my husband gives to me daily, the gift of intentional and loving words in front of our children. This gift makes me want to follow in his footsteps the same way my kids do and spread more intentional kindness with my own words.

The kind, intentional words of a father or mother can change a person.

I am forever thankful that God has given these men to me. Every day with them is a gift.

The Last Load of Laundry

January 22, 2016January 22, 20161 Comment

There used to be a time when I had my family’s laundry situation under control. I was able to follow the schedule, put the clothes away and keep the bins from overflowing in a manner that felt natural and protected me from feeling bitterness over the bountiful bins of what seems to be a never ending battleground of washing clothes and undergarments.

But now here in this present time, I can’t seem to keep up with our laundry situation any longer. My bountiful bins are more often dirty than clean and our sock situation has my children buying into the idea that everyday is “silly sock day” at school.

Even this weekend as my husband and I have rallied; I have been faithful to get the clothes in the wash and into the dryer methodically while he has been the precise and ever important folder swooping in to complete the job. Our new weekend rule is if my husband wants to watch a game of some kind on television he must be folding and watching.

Even with our go get ’em efforts and even as we see the end of the dirty laundry coming into view, I realize it will only be moments before another article of clothing will be dirtied and the cycle and balance of the bountiful bins will begin once again.

And again and again and again.

Until (what feels like) Jesus comes back and there will no longer be laundry.

As my heart became discouraged thinking about the eternal cycle and endless bountiful bins, I took a deep breath, a step back and I remembered that every discouraging phase I find myself in as a mom has always simply been a phase.

A moment. A blink. A millisecond.

Just a millisecond ago I was washing 0-3 month baby clothes in Dreft Detergent.

And a millisecond from now my children can start folding their own laundry while they watch Saturday sports with their dad.

And a millisecond from then I will be back to folding laundry for a party of two once again. Because in a millisecond these precious kids, whom I only have for such a short while will be grown and gone.

So as I anticipated the last load of laundry, after taking a breath and a step back, I found a moment to be thankful for the bountiful bins, mismatched socks and moments of feeling like I am in an endless cycle of wash, spin, dry, fold.

This quote is borrowed from something I saw on Etsy from a Laundry Room sign I want to hang up in my home as an everyday reminder to be thankful for this phase in motherhood of bountiful laundry bins and what seems to be endless cycles.

“Today I will be thankful for all the little socks, the grass stained jeans and the endless piles of laundry. For there will come a day when the laundry basket is empty and these days will be profoundly missed.”

Thinking about a day when the baskets will be empty makes me feel thankful for the bountiful bins today because there will be a day when that last load of laundry will bring grief and sadness instead of relief.

If you loved this post or connected to my words in anyway would you mind sharing this with a friend or commenting below? Thank you for stopping by.

Rachel

Strides For Shelley

January 1, 2016June 29, 2016Leave a comment

2016 will be a year of running in memory of my mother, Shelley Cronin. In 1998 when I was fourteen years old my mother lost her battle to breast cancer at the age of forty-one.

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Now at the age of thirty-three, married and with four kids of my own I feel like I desperately need to do something in my mother’s memory.

Every day as I parent my three sons and only daughter is another day I feel the emptiness of her not being here. The missing of her seems to get worse the deeper I find myself in the trenches of motherhood.

Not only because I wish she was a phone call away when someone has swallowed toilet water or if I can’t remember how long the cut-out cookies need to bake in the oven but most of all because I feel empty and sad about what she has missed. What my kids have missed. Oh how she would have loved them, gobbled them up, and tickled them in their hoochie-coochies (a weird name she named our most ticklish places… I know.)

For the last three years I have been training for and running half marathons. I have trained for three and crossed the finish line at three. I am not a fast runner, I’m someone you will see trotting alongside the road and wonder if you should scoop me up in your car and drive me back home, cover me in ice packs and tell me to never commit that type of horror again.

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This year, I am running for a cause and because I am not a very good runner it will take me all year long. I am calling the campaign, Strides for Shelley.

My goals are to run two marathon races: The Flying Pig Half Marathon in May (completed) and The Air Force Full Marathon on September 17, 2016.

I have no idea if I can run 26.2 miles in my own strength and effort but I know with your support, your prayers and the great motivation of Strides for Shelley, anything is possible.

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After the Air Force Full Marathon on September 17,2016 I will be culminating this journey at the Cincinnati Race For The Cure on September 24, 2016, an emotional race for sure. I have set up my fundraising page through Susan G. Komens’ Race for the Cure site so all donations will now go directly to my local Susan G. Komen Chapter.

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If you’d like to join me, train with me, or start your own team please contact me. It would be a great honor to see so many others make Strides for Shelley too. You can train alongside me near or far.

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So this is it. A normal mom, wife, woman trying to make a difference and dream big in memory of someone I love and miss dearly in 2016.

Will you help me make Strides for Shelley?

Race For The Cure Donation Page

Unraveled Motherhood

December 16, 2015December 16, 20151 Comment

Hello. I am glad you are here. I’d like to forward this post with the obvious message that I am not at all a baseball player and I know very little about the game. I am simply a fan of baseball but other than that I am very unclear about how this post began to lend itself to baseball analogies. I don’t even think I played t-ball as a child. Maybe it’s living most of my life in the two greatest baseball cities, Cincinnati and St. Louis. Or maybe it’s all these sons I have starting to love the great game.

If you aren’t into baseball analogies I write other things too. Please stop by my about page, check out some of the most shared posts on marriage, parenting or faith and connect with me via Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, Pinterest or by entering your email in the box to the right.

I had the best intentions when I started out on this journey called motherhood seven years ago. Really, my intentions for my own personal journey of motherhood were good and perfect from that first moment when I recognized that relentless first trimester fatigue that sent me into a drooling 5:30pm nap was actually a baby and not in fact narcolepsy.

In those early days of hopeful motherhood I was pregnant with a child but also pregnant with expectations. My husband was finishing up seminary and I was a first grade teacher. As parents we would be a teacher and pastor combo with a double dose of extroversion. If I was the order and schedule, he was the life-giving fun and kindness. I believed we had this thing totally in the bag – like motherhood for me was going to be a walk off homer in the bottom of the ninth; an easy swing that may even leave the crowd cheering, impressed and talked about for days on the highlights reel.

I really had the best intentions of knocking this thing called motherhood right out of the park. But on the journey of motherhood I have learned that my eyes for the fence and my longing to impress the crowd with the appearance of good intentions really were keeping me from what I had coming right down the middle and in front of my eyes.

My swings became misses and not anything to talk about the next day or even something that was tweet worthy. I had eyes for that walk-off-homer when I should have just been focusing on making positive contact with the ball I had right in front of me; focusing on making a small advance in the right direction to first base. I had big expectations clouding the clarity of the simplicity of one day at a time.

My big rookie dreams of swinging for the fence were well intended but I had forgotten about the simple basics of the game.

Motherhood is HARD. <In all caps> H-A-R-D.

No matter who I thought I was, what kind of swing I thought I had, or even if I happened to have had good coaches and models; motherhood has brought more curveballs and wild pitches than I ever could have dreamed of. And with eyes for the fence and a heart to please the crowd I have found myself constantly striking out.

I’ve had to unravel my expectations for what kind of mother I had built myself up to be in my head and focus on the mother I really am and the children I actually have in my lap.

I’ve had to say to myself, “Rach, you may not knock it out of the park today but you can breathe, make contact and take today as it comes. Watch for the curve and adjust your swing.”

I’ve had to remind myself that being ready for the curveballs and wild pitches has little to do with your aptitude, post-grad degrees or upbringing and actually has more to do with how well you can deal with what is coming at you under pressure, how well you can focus on what is being thrown at you and how much better you can forget what you thought you were suppose to do, change your stance and hit the pitch you have been thrown the best you can.

To stop aiming for the fences and take this thing one base at a time. Sure it is exciting to see a walk off homer every once in a while but the game is really advanced one base at a time.

I am educated, my husband is educated, we love our kids with a crazy email writing to the teachers level of love.

But when I (I really don’t want to speak for the hubs) rely on my know-how, the how-to books and the expectations I have for our four children the curveballs frustrate me.

When I have eyes for the fence in motherhood I notice I am more irritable, more frustrated and less satisfied in the things God has placed in my lap and declared so beautiful and so wonderfully made.

So I fight to forget about that fence.

To forget about who I think I am trying to please.

I remember I am a rookie.

I remember I have an amazing team on the field with me. My husband, some bloodline family, some “adopted” family from my community in my church and a God who promises to be at work in me, who pursues me when I wander back to my lofty expectations and who has been faithful to remind me when I focus on what is right in front of me, that is enough.

I remember to give myself grace and I watch for the curve.

I remember making contact is enough.

It’s really the focus and consistency no matter what is coming at them that make a true player great.

I am learning, seven and a half years after feeling that relentless 5:30pm fatigue that motherhood is not at all about what kind of mother I thought I’d be.

I have had to unravel those aiming for the fence expectations I had for myself and rest in simply making one step at a time contact.

I am just like everyone else. Watching for the curveballs and hoping to get on first on a good day.

Unraveled motherhood for me is letting those big expectation threads I had for myself fall away and realize who God made me to be and is making me to be is enough for the journey.

And, thank you for making it to the end of this post. We have been crazy here in this house living life with four kids under six. My goal is to be a blogger in process and not leave things all pretty and finished and solved.

If you liked this at all it would be a great encouragement to me if you’d positively feedback by way of sharing on Facebook, Twitter or commenting below. Cheers and Thanks.

The Terrible, Laughable and Humbling Places of Parenting

September 17, 2015September 17, 2015Leave a comment

There are times when you see your kids shine in the same way you shine and you beam with pride. There are other times when your kids demonstrate undesirable behaviors like eat ashes from the fire pit and you call them “you spouse’s child”.

“Look what our kid did” vs. “Look what your kid did” both have very different tones associated with one another around here.

But then there are moments like the one I experienced tonight when the ugly behavior displayed by my child could not possibly have come from my spouse. The humbling moments where the ugly behavior exhibited by my child is no-doubt-about-it coming from my branch of the family tree.

Tonight while I watched an evening television show with my children, one of my sons asked me for some apple juice. I responded lovingly to his request but apparently, I did not return with the fulfillment of his request in the proper amount of time so he began to cry.

He was disappointed with me because “I did not get his apple juice to him in time for him to drink it during a particular part of the show”.

Moments like this can make me frustrated. And tired. But moments like this also make me laugh and feel ridiculous- all of these emotions- at the same time.

Have you ever seen the cinematic masterpiece, Big Daddy? You know when Corin cries in the bathroom because they wasted the good surprise on Sonny?

I am completely Corin. I am a confessed and recovering control-freak-perfectionist lady.

Even as an adult, I often cry when the big surprise is wasted on someone or my drink doesn’t come in time for me to sip it during my favorite part of the show.

My personality was assessed for my husband’s work almost three years ago and the assessor (I remember exactly which assessor) winced when he saw how high of a perfectionist I naturally am.

“Normally people like you like to work alone in the corner,” is what he said. And that is very true of me.

In my regular-self, if I didn’t have the Word of God, The Holy Spirit or the accountability of other tenderhearted Christian women I would be crying in bathrooms all day long about good surprises being wasted and seating charts not working out just the right way.

I am (maybe) six percent recovered with ninety-four percent to go and I have been walking with Jesus for a decade. There is progress but there is so much more work for God to do in my heart as He peels back (oh so many, it’s wince-able how many) layers of control and perfectionist tendencies AND as I do my part of walking in faith and trust that He has begun good work in me and will bring it to completion at the day of Christ.

But it is terrible when I see the ugly parts my personality come alive in my sweet children. When I see the strong perfectionist crying over drinks not being delivered in the appropriate amount of time or how I have to redo the blankets for him because I didn’t smooth them out the proper way.

Terrible. because we don’t want to come face to face with our ugliness

Laughable. because we get it

And humbling. because we know God has been moving us through it

To see your perfectionist heart and persnickety ways being lived out by little lives on your lap is terrible, laughable and truly humbling.

Oh parenting, you are good to me and I am so blessed. But the learning curve is so, so big.

But also so, so good. To see where we have been, where we are now and where God will possibility take us in the future. Us. And those little crying kids who do not receive their drinks in the proper amount of time.

Terrible. Laughable. And truly humbling.