Category: Uncategorized

Aubrey Elizabeth June came into the world screaming, her tiny red face clearly unhappy about her current circumstances. Her unhappiness was still evident 4 hours later. Nothing I did could make her stop crying. I contemplated sending her back, but it was not allowed, so I rocked her and prayed for hearing loss. It wasn’t until her siblings came in, all adorable in their “I’m a big sister/brother” t-shirts, and crowded around her bassinet that she stopped crying. They poked her like she was a science experiment and talked simultaneously but it was just what she needed. And so life with 4 children began.

I’ve had people ask me, “After you have three, what’s one more?” Well, it’s one more whole entire person. She’s not a hamster, or I’d agree with that sentiment. Luckily, she was a very agreeable little human, and integrated into our established routine with ease. Ayden used to carry her (as an infant) tucked up under his arm like a football. Alyssa saw him doing that and looked at me and spoke sternly these words: “Like an egg in a jar, Summer”. She was referring to Aubrey’s developing brain. I was in a sleep-deprived stupor and thought to myself, “I’ll take my chances.” 

She survived infancy and moved into toddlerhood, where her true personality began to shine. She became deathly afraid of any doll with hair and called all of the boys’ dinosaurs “monsters”, which she also did not like. Nanny always had gum (it’s a grandmother requirement), and Aubrey named the spicy gum “mean gum”. She only liked “nice gum”. Aubrey was a small person with a big personality. At that age she planted kisses on any baby she saw. It almost seemed like she didn’t believe she, too, was a baby. She became our tiny little dictator, and we catered to her every whim because it was cute. We were a bunch of fools.

Toddlerhood gave way to the age of the preschooler. This was the time of massive meltdowns because I refused to let her wear her bikini in January – she locked on to certain outfits and wore them constantly, like she was a cartoon character. Her preschool teachers loved to see what outfit she would put together for the day. Aubrey was a delightful source of entertainment in that respect. She simply knew what she liked, but with no concept of time…(After being told to clean her room as a 4-year-old: Tiny fists balled up at her sides -“I will clean my room YESTERDAY, mama!”)

School days brought an end to some of her strange wardrobe choices, but opened her up to the magical world of education. She is like a sponge, and it’s exciting to see her continue to blossom into such a wonderful student. I loved to hear all about elementary school drama and how she tried to fix it even when it had nothing to do with her personally (“Matthew told Justice he was smarter than her and she cried so I yelled at him and I got into trouble!”). I bet that was fun to deal with for the teachers. 

On her 9^th birthday she invited 3 of her friends for a birthday sleepover. The party began with Aubrey giving them “the rules” and ended with my hissing in my scary mama voice for her to be nice to her friends after I witnessed less-than-ideal friendship behavior from the tired little dictator. Not much has changed 5 years later; she still believes she in charge and we clash on a whole new level much of the time.

But sometimes as a mom I need to say “I hear you”. I hear your heart, I respect your ideas and I pray one day you will fully understand why you can’t be in charge yet. (You know, after you’ve survived being a teenager specifically BECAUSE you are not in charge.) This is a tough season of life as you continue your childhood without your siblings with you every day. Know this, sweet girl – we WILL get through this. You will come out on the other end just fine. I can’t always give you the answer you want but being your mom is my greatest privilege and I promise to do my very best. Unfortunately sometimes that means we won’t agree.

There is truly nothing about you I would change. Your heart is tender and full of love for your family, friends and Jesus. I could fill a book with the most adorable prayers you have prayed since you could talk. When you were 3 you prayed, “We do not eat our friends”. The day after your birthday sleepover was a simple “Dear God, please help me get better at sleepovers”. As you get older the stakes get higher emotionally; I wish I could protect you from every heartache, but we know the One who can, so never stop praying, honey. I can look at you and not only see the baby you were, but also the woman you are quickly becoming, and I am honored to be a part of your journey. No matter what, I am your biggest fan. 

Deck the halls with empty wrappers…fa la la la la la la la la! Tis the season to be slobs, fa la la la la la la la la. Don we now our fresh, clean laundry, fa la la la la la la la la. Because our mother is an enabler, fa la la la la la la la la…

Aaaahhhh, Christmas…the most wonderful time of the year indeed. I should have been born in the North Pole. Buddy the Elf must be my brother, Clark Griswold has to be my dad and I’m pretty sure I’m somehow related to Cindy Lou Who. My visions of Christmas grandeur begin well before Thanksgiving as I plot and plan exactly what the house will look like as well as what I will wear on which day from my extensive collection of Christmas-related clothing; I begin listening to and watching intently the people whom I love to see what would delight them most to receive and consult the all powerful Amazon Prime to make dreams come true. I plan elaborate get-togethers to gather all our friends and family to partake of the joy that is Christmas, painstakingly planning everything down to the tiniest detail. My expectations are high. The pressure I put on myself is slightly sadistic, but totally worth it when I pull it off and I can sit back and relax. And that’s when it happens. The Post-Christmas Depression.

Christmas evening a swift and merciless flood of sadness enveloped me like a fog as I sat alone amidst the chaotic remnants of the fleeting excitement of the morning, the sounds of giggling and tearing wrapping paper echoing in my ears and nothing to look forward to but cleaning, undecorating and the hollowness of my house, depleted of children. The dog offered little in the way of comfort as she wrestled with her Christmas Llama and then whined to go outside. Christmas evening has taken this form for many years, as my children would leave in the afternoon to spend the remainder of the break with their dad. I would take solace in visiting with, and then after she moved, talking with my mom Christmas evening and telling her about all the things the kids got. She would always tell me how great of a shopper I was, how lucky my kids were to have me as their mom and warn me that I better spend the money she gave me for Christmas on myself, although she knew I never would. This Christmas marked the first I was unable to continue that tradition. I found a tiny Santa hat and placed it on her urn. I’m sure she would appreciate my irreverence. 

Sadness never lasts long in my heart these days, however, as I have much to be thankful for and many amazing adventures to look forward to in this new chapter. I bought Addison, newly 21, a Sangria last night, for instance; as I ordered it the earth was spinning like the time Buddy the Elf found out he was human, the realization that my first born is legally old enough to drink competing with the image of her as a toddler asking for juice indelibly etched in my soul. But there I sat with this young woman whom I raised, who has not only survived having me as her mom, but somehow is thriving and of whom I could not be more proud. We came home to a pot of soup made by Ayden so his sister and I could have dinner – the same kid who, when I would ask for one of his Doritos, would break me off a 1cm triangle. Avery’s last year at home is swiftly coming to a close, and it has been such a privilege to watch him grow into the young man who insists on being financially independent (except when he needs a new tire) and who washes and dries his own clothes (folding will happen soon, I can feel it). And then there’s Aubrey, who at age 14 is a model of compassion and obedience, respectful behavior and self-sufficiency. Her room is always clean, she never complains and her tone of voice brings about my full cooperation.

I almost got struck by lightning…

2020 is going to be fabulous, despite the hiccups of adolescence. If the first 3 are any indication, this too shall pass and one day the memories of a house full of children won’t trigger sadness, but instead thankfulness and joy for the privilege of getting to be a mama. 

I love this new chapter. I hope this book never ends, even if some of the chapters involve pain and suffering, because the ink with which it is now written is consecrated in divine purpose. Proverbs 19:21 – “Many are the plans in a person’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purpose that prevails.”

I woke up to take Aubrey to school, grabbed a sweatshirt, went to put it over my head and realized Day Two after a gymnastics party for a seven-year-old is painful for people who arrogantly believe they can swing from a horizontal bar without any conditioning. At all. Ever. 

Yesterday I was so proud of myself as I marveled at how I must be in great shape not to be hurting from pretending I was Mary Lou Retton. Day One after gymnastics is extremely misleading. I imagine my muscles making fun of me as the lactic acid built up and waited to ambush like ninjas in parts of my body I didn’t even realize could hurt. I went from patting myself on the back yesterday to wincing with every swipe of deodorant this morning. 

While being in pain is not pleasant, I am reminded every time I inhale, or exhale, or reach for a pencil, that not all of me is strong. In fact, most of me is not. I have run through life sometimes like I don’t need any help. I’ve bought the lie that asking for help is a weakness, and I am guilty of the worst kind of pride – the kind that shuts people out and creates distance. It has all been counterproductive, to say the least.

And then came the destroyer of every wall I had and the soldier on guard, protecting my heart and guiding me through my foolishness with a voice I can hear – a voice wrapped in love and genuine concern for my future, ever respectful of my need to prove things to myself, never asking for me to be anyone other than who I am. Here I stand, disarmed and as emotionally naked as I have ever been. There was a time when this state of being was my worst nightmare. All I could ever envision vulnerability being was dangerous, when in the correct context it is the embodiment of security. 

As parents we want our children to be with people who value them, challenge them to be the very best versions of themselves and love them unconditionally. Initially we, as parents, are those people, but eventually we may have to transfer the responsibility to their significant other. I can only speak for myself, but as a mother my heart will be at ease when I know the precious hearts of my adult children are cared for properly. God is the only One who can fill every hole in our heart, but He uses us to fill some of those holes in one another. 

Our greatest superpower is our ability to love and BE loved selflessly. Pride prohibits this kind of love. Foolishness gives this kind of love to the wrong person. It is only at the excruciatingly painful crossroads of complete surrender and repentance that we are able to rise from the ashes and become who we need to be to not only give the kind of love our Father wants us to give, but also receive the kind of love He desired for us all along. 

“See! The winter is past; the rains are over and gone.” Song of Solomon 2:11

“Homecoming is here! I’m so excited to spend money on a dress my daughter will wear for 4 hours and never wear again!” said no parent ever. Add in the shoes, jewelry and any alterations, and we are in the hundreds. PLURAL. For freshman Homecoming. So imagine my reaction when the 14-year-old declared that she needed me to make a hair and makeup appointment for her. It was something along the lines of hysterical laughter and a firm, “That’s a negative, Ghostrider”. 

Don’t misunderstand. I know it’s a thing and lots of my friends’ kids have appointments for their daughters. I’m just not ready to pull the trigger on that yet. There are circumstances where I would be glad to get my daughter some help in that department, but she meets none of my criteria. She’s not inept, primarily. She is the kid who watched 17,000 hours of makeup and hair tutorials to learn how to do her own cheer competition hair and makeup. You got this, girl! I believe in you…and the educational power of YouTube.

I’m not new to this rodeo, either, so I’m acutely aware that these dances are essentially just a photo shoot. I love the Facebook posts as much as the next girl, but I have 20, 237 pictures of my kid already. The novelty is gone. Granted, they are all dressed up, so the setting is a little different, but not “I’m going to pay for your hair and makeup” different. At least not this year. 

At the end of the day, I am blessed to be able to provide nice things for my children and I do not take that for granted. It isn’t about the financial cost. It IS about the expectation – the entitlement – however, and the pressure of “EVERYONE ELSE is doing it”. So I said to my daughter what my mother so often said to me: “I’m not EVERYONE ELSE’s mother.” 

As parents we all have to pick our own battles. They are unique to our situation and our child’s personality but in the end serve to build in them resilience for all life will throw at them. If we can get them to adulthood with the right tools, not only will THEIR lives be easier, OURS will also be easier. Our specific battles will not always be the same, but our end goal is, and for that to work we have to stand united and prepare these children to GET OUT and navigate life. My oldest daughter told me a few days ago, “I like being financially independent. I know I can come to you if I need to; I don’t feel like I’m untethered in the universe, but I enjoy making my own way.” God knew I needed to hear that. There are days I swear I have NO IDEA what I’m doing as a mom. Not a clue. Those days have been plentiful lately, so to hear that at least part of my parenting strategies worked with the oldest (aptly named “EXPERIMENT ATCL 12-12-98”) was music to my weary ears. 

So let’s hang in there together. We can do this. One day our kids will come home and offer to do the dishes just because. They’ll ask us how OUR day was and even though it would be tempting to answer them how they answered us all those years (“Fine”), we won’t. Mostly out of pure shock. We will get there. It takes a village, and we’ve got a great one right here. 

As a side note, contrary to the deeply held conviction that her older brother is my favorite, I do need to point out that for the price of one Homecoming outfit for the freshman, I got two Homecoming outfits for her brother, a senior, that he can wear again in practical scenarios, like college and job interviews…or my funeral if parenting kills me. 

You crashed my party a mere 3 years and 4 months into my role as “only child”. I don’t remember much about you as an infant, but I distinctly remember mom walking in to the farmhouse from the hospital with you all bundled up in your tiny little blanket. She told me to sit down and placed you in my lap. I think I thought you were my gift – that you belonged to me and I could do with you what I pleased. And then you started to cry and I realized I liked my quiet babies way better than this loud, wrinkled one. Yet you remained.

Once you were old enough to play (and by play, I mean follow my directions), I started to see a use for you. It was entertaining to stuff your footie pajamas full of pillows and push you down like a weeble wobble as you laughed. Or maybe I was the one laughing…it’s fuzzy. You endured years of little sister hazing, and to your credit, you rarely told on me. We had the greatest imaginations, hunting dinosaurs in the back yard, making stews out of pine needles, moss and mud, pretending to be grown ups and smoke fake cigarettes (cue banjo music), creating Barbie houses out of cardboard and letting Jon’s cars live there too…you let me pretend to be a hair stylist with your actual hair, a decision we both regretted for very different reasons; we figured out together that pressing crayons against the wood stove created spectacular rainbow wax drippings down its side – a decision we would both regret for the SAME reason. 

On October 2, 1991, we were both officially teenagers and for the next several years nurtured a mutual hatred for one another. Our peaceful times were few and far between as we jockeyed for the attention of our parents by misbehaving and blindly navigated life to our own detriment many times. It felt like we would never again be friends, and then Addison and Cecilia happened. Not only did those girls save our lives individually, but their presence also gave us a shared experience from which to build what we have now. Although unplanned by us, our girls served a divine purpose in both our lives. I believe without them we would have spiraled down a path much worse than the ones we’ve found ourselves on. Through every self-created crisis, every instance that brought us to our knees through no fault of our own, every difficult circumstance, we had something bigger than ourselves to live for and a friend with whom to share both our grief and happiness. 

You are my constant, my best friend, my confidant…my little sister. Today I celebrate your kindness, your quirky personality, your humor, your beauty, your inability to focus, your obsession with throwing things away…I honor the sacrifices you have made for your girls, the authentic love you share with all who know you…I admire your tenacity, your intelligence, your gift of communication, your child-like faith. I kneel at the foot of the cross with you, Alyssa, and I thank God for allowing me to be your big sister and your forever friend. We both want so much to just get life right for once, but I think maybe in many ways we already have. Happy birthday! I love you.