My Favorite Christmas Presence

::happy (tired) sigh::

As I type this very sentence (on my teeny, tiny phone's screen) we are driving back home from our tip to visit our families for Christmas. 

WE SAW ALL THE PEOPLE this year, y'all. 

The kids are lined up like human sardines behind me with a dog, three blankets and 47 DVDs smushed around them. The back of our car is crammed with garbage bags of dirty clothes, picnic totes of leftovers, (An awesome friend of mine gave me a 9x13 pan of her homemade bread pudding yesterday so my breakfasts and suppers are pretty much complete for the next three days. Thanks, Maggie!) gigantic suitcases, two cookie ions and one tiny training potty. 

WE ARE EXHAUSTED. 

Traveling with kids is not for sissies. It will erode your patience, test your resolve and irritate you more than a pair of contacts than have been worn for 72 hours straight. (Because I may have done that recently. Admittedly, it's not the smartest thing I've ever done.) 

And while we've given and received some pretty spectacular gifts over the past few days, 

I have to say that my favorite part of Christmas this year were the moments we had in between all the wrapping paper and gift bags and envelopes we opened. Especially since we missed everyone last year. 

I saw people from every side and every part of my family. I spent time with in-laws and cousins and extended family I usually only see on Facebook. We ate stuffed crabs and seafood gumbo and my Mom's incredible homemade cinnamon rolls. We told jokes and stories and forgot to fix the turkey gravy. My three kids rode with their three cousins through more mud than Tangipahoa Parish should ever make on a humid, 80° Christmas Day. 

It was perfect and exhausting and wonderful.  

As I logged onto my accounts this weekend, I noticed a lot of Christmas presents being opened and posted and boasted and shared. My NewsFeed began to look more and more like a "Look What I Just Bought/Gave/Opened Don't You Wish You Had My Life" contest.

What on earth?? 

 When did Christmas turn into a competition? Why do we have to broadcast to the world how hard "Santa" worked this year, unless it's because we want others to see and notice and be impressed? And while I can enjoy a picture of a beautifully decorated tree as much as anyone, (You just have to scroll through my blog's Facebook page to see ours. SO MUCH TINSEL!) I can't help but wonder when we post proud "look at all our presents!" pictures, what does that mean we value more: the presents underneath the tree or the presence that surrounds it. 

My hope is that as our three kids grow and give and get each Christmas that they'll remember where the true richness of the season lies: in the memories and moments and magic they'll make together. And that's a gift that just won't fit under a tree. 

"The life you see on social media isn't reality. It's everyone's highlight reel." -Dave Ramsey 

When God is Still Good

Luke woke up a full 90 minutes early this morning. After throwing off my initial frustration at having my quiet time interrupted early, I soaked in the unexpected 1:1 time it allowed me to have with him. We got out a snack and some snuggles and were able to work through nearly our entire day's worth of school work in record time while Jo and Nathan slept. 

Josie eventually woke up and we were able to all three have our morning devotions in a still somewhat quiet house while Nathan continued to sleep on. I fixed our oatmeal, unloaded the dishwasher (a chore that usually takes me no less than 90 minutes when all three kids are awake) and got to sit down to breakfast with my two bigs without the interruptions that having Nathan at the table usually brings like spilled drinks and frequent (read: NEVER-ENDING) bathroom breaks. 

After breakfast, I was able to give them an extra special treat since the largest part of our school day was already completed: Watching A Charlie Brown Thanksgiving. 

It was while I was cueing up the show that I first heard Nathan stirring in his room. I got the big kids settled with their show before I went to the end of the hall to get him up for the day. It was when I opened his door, before I even turned on his light, that I knew something was wrong: the air smelled like the Brown Death. As soon as I hit the lights switch I knew my worst fears were confirmed: Nathan and his bed and his sheets and his blankets and all his stuffed animals were covered in biological waste from every available orifice of his body. 

As bad as things were- I can't help but see the blessings God had seen fit to provide me with, even when I couldn't see them for myself. Sure, Nathan was covered in all manners of stink and vomit, and cleaning it all up was going to be a daunting task, but school was finished, breakfast was over, my kitchen was clean and my two bigs were happily occupied with a special movie treat that I knew would allow me to have the 27 minutes I'd need to get all the bedding and babies and bottoms cleaned up and washed down. 

Even now, I'm sitting here in my recliner, typing on my phone with a sick boy blissfully snuggling in my lap. His older siblings are playing and there is literally NOTHING ELSE that absolutely has to be done until nap time today. I have the next two hours free to sit here and snuggle and swaddle and rock my sick baby. On any other typical Monday, I'd be running around nonstop until about 2pm cleaning and 

clearing and schooling and scrubbing. BUT NOT TODAY. My obligations are obsolete because God saw that I was going to have a need today blessed me accordingly. 

Because God's plans are higher than mine, my prayer is that I can continue to allow my desires to decrease so that He will increase. {John 3:30}

Because even while pillows are coated in a Brown Death/vomit combo, God is still good. 

A Halloween Call To Arms

Moms: WE MUST PREPARE OURSELVES.

Nearly everyone out there is preparing for an extra hour of sleep tonight, but we know that all "Falling Back" means is that starting tomorrow morning, our kids will wake up (at least) an hour early for the next twelve days. IN A ROW. 

We must fortify ourselves, ladies. 

Stockpile coffee. Set your pot to automatically brew 45 minutes early tomorrow. 

After bedtime tonight, stash yourself a secret cash of Halloween candy in the back of your pantry. (Call it Mom Tax to absolve any guilt over pilfering your kid's candy buckets.) 

Lastly, pray that The Lord is with us as we bring our Post-Halloween-Candy-Binge-And-Then-Up-With-The-Sun kids to church with us in the morning. Pray for loads of patience and a short sermon. Pray for peace. Pray for naps. 

We will survive this. We are Moms. 

We will fight valiantly and defeat this sugar crashing and sleep depriving foe. 

Happy Halloween! 

Unpacking: an All-or-Nothing Story

We got home last night from another whirlwind weekend trip. After two fun filled, nonstop days visiting family, we drove back through four states and survived twenty seven back seat squabbles before our tires hit our blessed and beautiful driveway late yesterday afternoon. 

As we pulled the car into our garage, I could already feel the forces starting to move within me. It was the feeling that strikes about the same time at the conclusion of every family road trip we make. It has only one resounding call: UNPAAAAACK. 

Y'all, there are only two ways that I can unpack after a long and tiresome trip. I either unload every single bag, empty coffee cup, DVD case and stuffed animal from the car, methodically and fluidly unload every said item, quickly stowing dirty clothes in the laundry room, dropping off shoes in their bucket by the back door, and rinsing the kid's drink cups from the car before loading them into and starting the dishwasher, leaving nothing but empty suitcases and bathroom bags in my wake.

OR I DON'T. 

The bathroom bag gets hung over my closet door and emptied over the course of the next three days as I require each item that's stashed within it. The suitcases gets pushed into a corner of my bedroom floor, and then propped up open on my bed the next day when it will take me 7.5 hours to get the spare socks and undershirts and extra pajamas brought back to the dresser drawers where they belong. 

There is no middle of the road for me- I either unpack everything and all the things in 3 minutes or 3 days. 

We got in last night, fed the kids PB&Js and tucked them into bed at 6:00pm. It's now 8:30am and THEY ARE STILL SLEEPING. I had nothing in the icebox for breakfast but an expired 1/4 gallon of milk and some applesauce, so I went out to the grocery store to buy essentials. My husband, Matt, began unpacking for me (BEST HUSBAND EVER) and when I got home, nearly everything had been emptied out of it's bag and had mostly been put away. 

I stashed the rest of our bathroom stuff earlier this morning and threw the kids' shoes into the back door bucket. All that's left is this one bag of clothes to hang up/put away in the kid's rooms once they wake up. I have it waiting for me in a conspicuous location in my living room to hopefully motivate me to get it put away before 7:00pm today, but- let's be honest, there is a good chance it will still be there tomorrow.

(above: a really poor quality iPhone picture. Sorry 'bout that. I'm not a photographer. But you get the idea, right??)

Happy Monday, y'all! 

Busy Boys Are The Best Boys.

I've heard it said that Mothers of boys work from "son" up to "son" down. 

Y'all, I'm here to tell y'all- THAT IS THE ABSOLUTE TRUTH. 

I love this boy. This moving, shaking, wiggling-from-the-moment-his-eyes-open kid. Giving him an outlet for his energy hasn't always been easy, but I think ::crosses fingers:: I'm beginning to get the hang of it. 

His endless energy doesn't bother me like it used to. I've had to learn to remind myself that, at the end of the day- HE IS A BOY. HE IS FIVE YEARS OLD. He's not made to always be still. So, if standing up helps him get through the last page of our math lesson then by all means, let's stand up while we work through some problems together. 

Things have quieted down around these parts lately. I would say I'm sorry about it, but- as y'all can see- my hands have been full with more important work. Teaching and mothering my three kiddos has become way, way, WAY more than a full time job. 

Things like haircuts and dental appointments have been pushed to the back burner, and my writing/blogging hobby has been shuffled even farther down the list than that. (I'm pretty sure it's been sandwiched somewhere between luxuries like manicures and wearing  unstained pants with zippers and showering without an audience.) 

But don't despair! 

I've got some flash posts in the works so it's not going to be this quiet for long. 

Thanks for sticking with me, friends! 

We Love Mean Girls.

As a parent, there are times, and there are moments, and there are days that will stand out to you. 

Today was one of those days for me.

Given the 71º cool snap that we are currently experiencing down here (C'mon Fall, amIright?!), we split our school work down the middle and drove across the highway to our neighborhood park to play for Physical Education for about an hour or so after we finished our morning work this morning. 

On the whole, my three kids had an awesome time. The sun was shining, and there was a breeze that brought the seagulls in overhead from the beach, and there were loads of kids to play with. We met up with some of the other park regulars (One of my Luke's very favorite is another boy named Luke. "MOMMA! The other Luke is here today! We can both play together. AGAIN!") as well as some new faces that we were excited to get to know. 

Two of these new faces belonged to two little girls who appeared to be a bit older than my daughter, Josie. They were obviously BFFs and were not at all interested in expanding their current circle of friendship. I watched from the side lines as several of the other kids, all three of mine included, attempted to draw them out into games of freeze tag and backwards slides and handstands on the astroturf. They weren't concerned and made no attempts to sugar coat their distain at these unsolicited invitations. 

It hurt to watch. 
A hot lump began to form in my throat that no amount of water could dissolve.

As several failed invitations fell flat, most of the kids realized there was more fun to be had with their other friends who were more like minded, and the two other girls were left to play by themselves away from the rest of the group. Except my Josie. 

She's at the age where anyone older than her is the absolute bees knees. Anything they say or do is immediately awe worthy, and these girls were no exception. They had manicured faux fingernails, sequined sandals and matching designer play purses filled with tiny notebooks and pens that lit up when you pressed on them. Jo was enamored with these glamorous girls and continued to press them to "Please play wif me, too". The girls responded with a second, duplicated icy round of "WHY?? We don't even KNOW YOU." 

And that's when I stepped in. 
(And started praying like a madwoman for strength and self control.)

I encouraged her to go find someone else that would like to play with her. I reminded her that not everyone wants to be together all the time and that sometimes, there were going to be people that wouldn't want to play with her, and that that was OK. She shrugged it off and happily went to go find her little brother and drag him around take him by the hand to all the slides and stairs. 

We played for a while longer before it was time to go. The kids still had a great time, as was evidenced by the wet, sweaty dog smell that permeated the car on the drive home. I suspected that the incident with the cliquey girls would come up again and, as we arrived home, it did. I killed the car and swivled in my seat to face the kids as they relayed to me how the girl's actions had hurt their feelings. 

Parenting is hard, y'all. 

I don't want to raise my kids to be doormats or bullies. I want to help them find a balance between turning the other cheek and standing your ground. AND THAT IS TOUGH.

I reminded them of what the Bible teaches us about loving others. How we are taught to love our neighbors. And our enemies. And each other. And, how sometimes, people can fit into any and all of those categories. 

We may not like how someone acts sometimes, and it's OK to tell a friend that your feelings are hurt, but that doesn't mean that we retaliate when we are hurt. We just keep on loving them like Jesus. We forgive others, and love them when they're not lovable because our Jesus loves us when we aren't lovable, too. People will still hurt us sometimes, but we can use that to understand how to better love others. By remembering how we feel when people on playgrounds don't want to play, we can recognize how to better treat our other friends and others, too. 

Whew.

I swallowed the lump that was still in my throat as I got the kids unloaded. We washed up and grabbed as snack I gathered up my oldest Luke's table work to complete before lunchtime while Josie and Nathan settled into the living room with their toys and coloring books. 

There were a few minutes of peace and quiet until I heard Josie pipe up from her spot on the couch with her colors and paper. "Momma! I just made-ah letter foh doze girls at da pahhk. Can you'sah mail it to dem?" I asked her to bring her letter to me: a scribbled sheet full of pink and red circles. I told her it was a wonderful letter and I asked her what it said. Her response broke the dam of emotions that had been simmering below the surface since the first time I watched her timidly approach the glamorous girls to play earlier that morning.

 She told me it said "I forgive you." 

I lost it, right there at my table, y'all. I could live a thousand years and still never work hard enough to deserve a daughter with a heart like hers. She's teaching me more about encouragement and patience and unconditional love than I've ever known was humanly possible. 

My prayer is that my heart will continually change to reflect the purity I can see in hers. That my faith and endurance and love will be refined to shine with the kind that she emanates. 

Like I said, today was a stand out day, y'all. 

A three year old girl just gave me one of the best lessons I've ever learned on forgiveness. I wanted to write it all down now so that I'll be sure to never forget it. But, if I'm being honest, I probably never will. 

Slow Down. Get Grace.

"When a child gives you a gift, even if it is a rock they just picked up, exude gratitude. It might be the only thing they have to give, and they have chosen to give it to you." -Dean Jackson

I caught my oldest son, Luke sneaking out our back door earlier this week with a pair of scissors in his hand. He had the hunched back crouch of a jungle cat stalking it's prey and I knew right then that there was trouble afoot.

"Luke Andrew! WHERE ARE YOU GOING??! You know you can't go in the backyard without permission; and why do you have A PAIR OF MY SCISSORS in your hand??!!! Come back here and explain yourself, Son!" 

With his bottom lip trembling, he started to protest, and I quickly jumped onto him with some no-nonsense, authoritative-Mom action: "Luke, when I tell you to do something, I expect you to listen and obey IMMEDIATELY. DO NOT respond with excuses, Son. You have to come to me when I call you. PERIOD. Now.Come.Here."

At this point, his bottom lip had gone from trembling to quivering and huge puddles had formed in his eyes. He took a shaky breath, put on a brave face and replied as tears rolled down his face: "But, Momma. But, Momma- I was just trying to sneak outside and cut you some flowers. You always like when you have your pretty flowers out, and I just wanted to surprise you."

At that moment, my anger evaporated and my heart shattered into a thousand tiny pieces.

My face hot, I dropped to the ground and wrapped him up in a hug. My throat was tight and my voice was pinched as I apologized for snapping at him. I reminded him that there are reasons why he can't go outside without permission, but I also told him that I should have asked patiently first without immediately fussing at him. 

I needed grace. I got it.

Still intent on his big surprise, I covered my eyes while he slipped away on his covert mission. He returned a few minutes later with a huge handful of the Black Eyed Susans that were blooming in our yard. 

I got them into some water and asked him to pick the perfect spot for them: in our living room on a bookshelf my Dad made for me. I've passed them dozens of times this week, and every time I've looked at them, I've remembered that bittersweet morning. 

It made me realize I need to slow down more when I parent. I've got to give out more leeway and fewer orders. I should dole out heaping helpings of grace- for my kids, for my husband, and for myself. I don't want to become a harsh foreman and forget to be a loving Mother. These childhood days pass so quickly, I don't want to be distracted by enforcing 100%-perfectly-perfect-behavior-protocol that I miss them completely. 

Things get so busy and crazy and chaotic and LOUD here that I sometimes snap. I get overwhelmed and overloaded and overstimulated and in those weak moments, I can crumble. And I remembered that Paul did, too. 

"And Jesus has said to me, "MY grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness." Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me. Therefore I am well content with weaknesses, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ's sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong." -Paul, 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

My flowers will stay fresh for a few days longer, but my prayer is that their lesson to slow down and get grace will abide in my house for much, much longer than that. Hallelujah.