When The Mommy Is Just Not Enough

I'm not sure if it was the 5th child or the cancer diagnosis or when someone missed diagnosing my [obvious] case of the crazies. Maybe it was some combination of all those life-altering events, but somewhere in those years, it became clear, I was no longer a contender for super-mom.

It was time to turn in the cape.

Somewhere in those moments of forgetfulness, helplessness and overwhelmed-ness I found out that I was never going to be enough.

I was never going to be the perfect mother or the ideal wife.

I was never going to achieve, accomplish or be awarded any kind of mother-of-the-year medal.

But, the truth is, for many years, I pretended otherwise.

For many years, I faithfully clipped articles from parenting magazines and stayed up late attempting cute crafts and yummy baked things from the pages of Family Fun (I am beyond thankful that Pintrest wasn't a thing yet). For many years I refused to let the sun go down with dirty dishes in the sink or with laundry left on the floor. For many years I meal-planned and color-coded my schedule, wrote detailed lists and even remembered to buy only organic apples.

For many years I thought if I just worked a little bit harder, stayed up a little bit later, organized a little bit better, walked a little bit faster ... I'd find myself a little bit closer to being enough.

Thankfully--mercifully--just in the nick of time, God released me from that kind of crazy. Like I said, I'm not sure exactly when that epiphany occurred ... but somewhere in those years I realized it just wasn't going to happen. And what's more --- It shouldn't happen.

It wasn't the right goal. 

It was never how God intended me (or any mother) to be.

Motherhood isn't supposed to be a race to the finish line.
Motherhood isn't a competition in who's the most prepared or punctual or perfect.
Motherhood isn't a test of creativity or craftiness or cute clothes.
Motherhood isn't even about keeping a clean house or incredibly clean kids.

Motherhood is a journey.
It's a painstaking, heart-wrenching, spirit-filling, joy-bringing  p r o c e s s.

And good mothering isn't what happens when we are trying to be the greatest mom out there, but when we are just being a good mom right here.

In the almost 20 years I've been parenting, I've made more mistakes than I'd ever have imagined possible. Seriously, I could blush at some of my blunders.
I've messed up and screwed up and even thrown up my hands in defeat. I've cried over spilled milk and stubbed toes and moldy laundry. I've stepped in baby poop, been smeared with peanut butter and left the house without my wallet, my shoes -- and even once -- forgot the baby. (Don't worry, the older kids reminded me before we had turned out of our street. It can happen, people. Please don't judge).

There have been many moments where I've been just flat out thankful no one was watching or grading or taking detailed notes. The marks wouldn't have been pretty and the notes certainly not nice.

I can remember a few years ago wrestling this out with God. It was the summer after we adopted Bella. The same summer I was recovering from breast cancer and a double mastectomy. Nothing like gaining a kid and losing your strength--not to mention body parts--to make you wonder just what lesson God is teaching.

It was one of those sweltering summer nights in Georgia. I was out on our deck and feeling like I had just spent my whole day dropping balls and letting everyone down in my house. So, sitting there steaming in my frustration and the crazy Georgia heat, I just flat out told Him, "Guess what God: I'm not enough!"

And though it wasn't exactly an audible voice, God whispered clearly right back to me ---
"You're right, Jody, you're not enough ... and you're not even supposed to be. But I am."

Again, not a voice, but clear as day. That was the moment He began to release me from some kind of weird self-imposed, inner idealism and was giving me full permission to build a bonfire and burn up all of the Family Fun magazines I had been saving for a rainy day.

That night I walked back into the house, hugged my kids and husband goodnight, left a sink full of dirty dishes and went directly to bed. And it was the beginning of my new walk. I was giving up my mommy-frenzy for my new found mommy-freedom.

Please don't misread what I'm saying: God wasn't giving me a license to be negligent, reckless, careless or lazy with my kids, but he was teaching me the lesson to be more lenient with myself.  Because somewhere I had gotten off track in thinking that my kids had to be my whole world and I had to be there's.

Does this sound familiar? 

Somewhere in the early years of parenting, I did what many mothers do, I wrapped my identity and my ego around them and tightly tied a big old (pretty) bow.

Let's face it, that's easy to do.
It's an amazing gift to be called mama.
It's like my favorite job ever!
But between the hormones and the housework, we women can get a little cra-cra about our "calling."

I always wanted to be a mother.

Though I carried a triple major in college, I knew even then, as much as I loved all that stuff and all those studies, I wanted nothing more than to be a plain, old mom. I never saw it as second best. I never once considered it anything less than the highest calling possible in a woman's life. And even on the hardest of days, I knew I was doing exactly what I was made for.

I've never had a moment of doubt.

I didn't doubt my calling, but I did doubt myself and my abilities and my strength and my being "enough."

Ultimately, that doubt was a good thing in my life.

Because when I brought my burden to that place of brokenness, God met me there and assured me in the sweltering heat on my nighttime deck and many, many times since, I didn't need to be enough, because He was. Because He is.

That was His job. My job is to point my kids to His sufficiency, not my own.

In fact, if I am always working my tail off trying to be all that (and a bag of chips) for my kids, then I am actually working against what God wants to do and demonstrate in their lives. Moms aren't ever supposed to compete with God. Our accomplishments aren't ever supposed to rival God's awesomeness. 

John 3: 30 says,"He must increase, but I must decrease." 
Have you ever thought about how those words might apply to mothers?

As moms, we spend so much energy trying to be MORE ... and yet God is telling us there's actually great blessing found in being LESS.

We aren't training up our kids to always assume "Mom's got this!"
But instead, we need to teach them to see how "God's got this!"

That was a few years ago, but the truth is, I still struggle. Those same urges and desires come bubbling up in my competitive and creative nature. I still find myself striving and stretching and spinning my way around ... trying to do it all. Juggle it all. Be it all.

I'm not completely healed from the super-mom syndrome, but I am more aware of it.

And God, in His graciousness, often brings me reminders along the way.

Like last weekend.

My middle child, Sarah, had a volleyball tournament and she had to be up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning. Friday night she was out late and when she came in I was already in bed. half asleep, I asked her if she had everything ready for the morning. (volleyball bag, uniform, knee pads, spandex, socks, shoes, water bottle, blah,blah,blah ....)

"I don't mom, but I will," she answered.
and with that, I fell asleep. I didn't get up and follow her down the hall or chase her around with reminders. I just fell asleep. I had my own good case of Friday night exhaustion.

I didn't hunt down her uniform or lay out her socks or pack up her healthy snacks. I just went to bed.

We were up the next morning at 6am. Before leaving the house I ran up to her room to grab something and found this list on her desk.  the night before she had created a checklist. complete with little boxes and check marks.

I stood there looking at this little piece of paper and my eyes welled with tears when I realized what I was seeing was evidence of mom isn't enough. Not just evidence, but the blessing which moves in when I, the mother, move out a bit. When I let go of the list. When I loosen the reigns. When I leave room for her to step in, to step up.

And women, wherever you are in your motherhood journey, today I am writing to encourage you to let go a little. It's okay. I know it's not always easy, but it's what we are supposed to do. 

Let them forget something.

Let them fail a little. 

Let them face a struggle or two. 

Let them, in fact, get caught or get in trouble.

I know that's hard when we can clearly circumvent some kind of kid-crisis. And, I'm sure, sometimes we should make a decision to do so. But sometimes we've got to be wiling to put away our super-mom cape and let them figure it out for themselves.

Again, this has nothing to do with shirking our responsibilities or taking the easy way out. Not at all. We are instructed to work "heartily for the Lord," and encouraged to "approve what is excellent."  But I don't believe when Jesus asked us to "think on things which are excellent or worthy of praise" He was necessarily talking about making 4 dozen cute little frog cupcakes or making sure our kids are always organized, orderly and well-outfitted.

Not that there's anything wrong with being a creative or prepared mom. There are definitely times to go the extra mile or deliver the extra special. God wired some of that right into us. I am not discouraging you from your passion in serving and blessing your family, but I am encouraging you to keep it realistic and to know that what counts most is not the praise for the woman and her healthy, homemade meal, but the home-loved child who learns to seek God's heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

on her last day of childhood: a letter

to my oldest girl ~

tomorrow you turn 18.
nothing really changes, except everything.

you won't 100% begin paying your bills or buying your groceries or balancing a budget -at least not yet. (though i would really like you to take care of that library fine sometime soon).

no, you'll wake up in our home and be the same girl you were at at 7 and 13 and 17.

except tomorrow you'll be 18.
tomorrow you'll be called an adult.

it's a line or a mark. it's a specific moment in time where we can say things like:
she's arrived.
she's become.
she's crossed over.

but i've been watching you cross into to this thing called adulthood for quite some time.
it didn't come on a birthday.

it came when we weren't looking.
it came when we were in the middle of other things.
it came when you faced challenges, hard days, disappointments.


it came on the day when you jumped into the pool without us.
it came on the day when you graduated kindergarten.
it came on the day you baked your daddy a  birthday cake.
it came on the day when you learned to ride your bike.
it came on the day when you left for a week of summer camp.
it came on the day when you sauntered bravely into your high school
it came on the day when you passed your driver's license exam.

it came in bits and pieces in the highlights and in the heartbreaks.

it came on the day when you were told your mom had cancer and in the year when our family moved cross country and when you walked out on the volleyball court and when you had to prepare that presentation or lead that group of students on a mission's project in a rough part of town.

it came on those days.

it came when you had to take that crazy-hard test or have that difficult talk or confront a dear friend.

it came when you were asked to bathe your little sister or babysit your brother or make the family dinner.

we grow up in the in between moments of our days ... not on our birthdays.

birthdays mark and measure time ... but it is the in between which makes us who we are.



and on this night before you turn 18 ...
on this night before you become a "real"adult i just want you to know  -- in my book, you already are.

you have proven yourself to be a girl who desires to grow closer to God.
you have shown yourself to be a young lady who is learning to lean on Jesus.
you have taught yourself to be a woman who is waiting on the Lord.

of course, a part of me feels a last ditch effort to push that impotent pause button. i felt it when you turned 5 and 13 ... and most days in between. but tonight, i know with everything in me, there's no pausing, there's no stopping, there's no going back.

you are ready and this is God's timing.

and, as your mom, instead of trying to hold on to what was, i am going to embrace what is and what will be.

i can't wait to watch what God is going to do with you, for you, through you.

when you entered our arms 18 years ago, i remember looking into your big brown eyes and wondering what God might have in store. and daughter, it is better and more beautiful than i could have imagined as that young mama way back then.

be patient with me. you are my first adult child. just like in these 18 years we've already had, i'll make mistakes, continue to mess up ... somedays get it all wrong. but i am so thankful that God has blessed us with a relationship of love and grace. my prayer is that you'll continue to grow in both -- love and grace. love and grace.

my prayer is that you'll continue to grow closer to Jesus and walk all of your days in His light.

i love you and i welcome you into this next chapter of YOU with God's blessing:

"the Lord bless you

and keep you; 

 the Lord make his face shine on you

    and be gracious to you;

 the Lord turn his face toward you

    and give you peace.”  ~ numbers 6:24-26

happy 18th birthday!
i love you ~ mom

don't give up on me, mama ...

i was standing in line at the grocery store when i heard the exchange.
seems to me, that happens a lot.
probably ...
#1 because i am waiting and still and, therefore, listening.
#2 because i am in the grocery store way too much.

but that's where it happened.

i was in line behind a woman and her young son when the cashier -- a kindly, older lady -- brought out a lollipop for the little boy. a lollipop which he gladly and quickly accepted. in fact, he swiped that sucker right out of her hand and jammed it right into his ready mouth without missing a beat and, sadly, without one word of thanks.

i assure you, the boy was old enough to say, "thank you."

the mother, looking a tad bit embarrassed -- but not too surprised -- encouraged her son to use his manners. "say, thank you, evan." but evan refused. and instead continued to chomp loudly on his lollipop, all the while completely ignoring both mother and cashier. stubbornly. willfully.

i wasn't judging. really i wasn't. i've been that mother. i felt for her.
but what happened next is the thing which most captured my attention; caught hold of my heart.

glancing from the cashier to me, the mother exclaimed,"well, i give up. i've tried to teach him his manners. it just isn't working. i'm done. i give up!"

"i give up!" --- really?
the boy was about five. seemed to me there were a lot of years ahead for this kid and his mama.

in my mind, it might be just a tiny bit early to throw in the towel.

it took everything in me to keep from following the woman out to her car and pleading with her not to give up. i wanted to urge her instead to go ahead and remove that lollipop from her son's mouth and march all three feet of him back in to offer his thanks. i wanted to tell her to take a stand, to be firm, to refuse to accept anything less from this little boy than what she knew in her heart was right behavior.

i know ... can. you. even. imagine? she'd of been dialing 9-1-1 on me before i finished my first sentence.

you'll be glad to know, i refrained. but walking to my own car with groceries in hand ... i felt her heaviness.

i didn't want to criticize her, i wanted to encourage her.
i wanted to to let her know, we all feel like that as mamas.
we wonder if we're making any progress.
we wonder if anything we say is sinking in.
we doubt somedays they're even listening.

but don't give up.
don't ever give up.

don't ever be afraid to take the lollipop or the whatever away and stand your ground.

not when they're 5, and not when they're 15.

oh, mama of the rude boy or the rebellious girl or the resistant daughter or the restless son ... don't give up. don't ever give up.

there's time. and there's always hope.

God didn't give up on us. not when we were rude or ruined or running fast away. and yes, we've all been exactly that. let's learn our parenting-perseverance from the most patient Father. the perfect Father who perfectly loves His imperfect people -- His children.

"but God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."  ~ romans 5:8

did you catch that phrase? while we were still sinners ... sinners. yep, you and me. not perfectly behaved little children with perfectly polished manners, but imperfect little sinners.
that's us. and that's our kids and that's this world we live in right now.

and yet ... we have this amazing God ... who, though had every right to throw up His hands and declare, "i give up!" He didn't. He stuck with us. He sticks with us. and, what's more, He even sent His Son to die for us.

while.we.were.yet.sinners.

oh, sweet mama who is feeling like she'll never see the fruit of her labor ...
oh, dear mother who is feeling like she's tried every trick in the book ...
oh, tired woman who isn't sure what else to do or where else to turn ...

this post today is for you.

i know you might be close to throwing your hands in the air or turning your back on the child or walking away from the battle ...

i know. because i've been there.

and though i didn't do anything to encourage that woman in the grocery store ... i want to encourage you ---

don't give up.
don't ever give up.

there's time. there's hope. there's Jesus.

"and let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, 
if we do not give up." ~ galatians 6:9

and there's not a darn thing you can do about it ...

many moons ago, before there were kids running around our house, rick and i had dogs. two, to be exact. two big dogs, to be even more exact.  -- no surprise there, i'm sure.

meet bailey and her pup, madison.

madison                                                       bailey

adorable, right?

and oh how i loved them.
and oh how i loved photographing them.

then emily came along ... and guess what? i loved her too! and, what's more, i loved photographing her! a baby, i assure you, was even more fun to dress up and photograph than my dogs ... imagine that.

(clearly, we liked hats).

i even photographed all three of them together!

keep in mind this was long before digital photography. long before i had the ability to evaluate what my camera had captured. this meant after somewhat-blindly shooting a roll of film, i would drop off my little black canisters and be forced to wait a week before knowing what kind of pictures i actually had. each picture counted. because each picture cost money. you paid for every photo in that paper envelope regardless of how good or how bad the quality. and let me tell you, there were always more bad than good.

because sometimes you have to wait a little to see how things turn out.

kind of like parenting.

i guess that appears incredibly archaic to me now ... now we take a gazillion pictures and it costs virtually nothing --- well, sort of nothing. (let's pretend we aren't including the cost of our snazzy digital cameras). now when i snap a picture my littlest one hurries over to me, tugs on my arm and asks me to show her the LCD screen on my camera. she knows she can view the image immediately. she even knows how to push the correct buttons to scroll through the photos.

things have changed.

it seems excruciating to my girls (my boys never seem to care very much) to have to wait even five minutes while i go load the photos onto my macbook. i can't hardly explain to them how it "used to be." they look at me blankly when i tell them i once used film.

"film? what's film?" 

film which required me to stop into a store, fill out an envelope and wait several days for processing. film which required not only processing, but a good dose of patience.

like parenting.

my girls can't quite process that concept. they're like, "mom, but why didn't you just use your iphone then?" perhaps i am exaggerating a wee bit, but you get the idea.

times have changed.

i mean, we still have two big dogs and i still take a gazillion pictures, but other things ...

like that first born girl ... she's changed. a lot. and that thought, my friends, seems even harder for this mama to process than those old vials of film. the little girl who i used to dress up and prop up and photograph (like it was the only thing i had to do in the world) ... well, i blinked, and that first born is now a senior in high school.

and it doesn't much matter if i'm taking her picture with film or with digital photography ... because i don't need pictures to tell me she's grown up.

last weekend it really hit me. my dear friend, diana, emily and i headed for downtown minneapolis to shoot her senior pictures. emily wanted "something different." (of course she did). we all liked the idea of a cool, urban setting. three peas in a pod we were traipsing around in 95 degree heat. all of us enthusiastic though and up for the adventure ... even at one point climbing into an abandoned warehouse just because it had a cool fire escape! and it was fun. not stressful at all. we laughed and joked our way through the hot-as-blazes-day. we were all in our element. diana is amazing behind the camera and em was amazing in front of the camera. i, like a good mother, did my job pretty well too,  holding outfit changes, lipgloss, powder and water bottles ... while cheering them both on! i also had to work at holding back a few tears when i watched my girl getting her picture taken. she was wearing the wedding pearls rick gave me 23 years ago.

when your husband gives you pearls on your wedding day, you just can't imagine your teenage daughter asking to borrow them for her senior photos one day. i mean, you just can't....

but there she was in her jean jacket, cowgirl boots and my wedding pearls ... and at one point i couldn't bare to watch, so i counted cars passing by. really, i did. i was determined not to cry onto the blue silk blouse of her next wardrobe change...

more has changed than how we process film. and i am no closer to wrapping my brain around this passage of time than my girls are in understanding archaic photography.

it just happens.

even when you're looking, it happens.

i never looked away. really, i didn't. Lord knows i've kept my girl right in front of that camera lens for the past 17 years. right in the center of my viewfinder ... right in the middle of my mama-beating heart.

but somehow ... she grew up anyway.

and there's not a darn thing i can do about it except embrace the change,  embrace the moments, and, more than anything, embrace the girl.

because she's not only grown, but she's going to be gone in less than a year. and those of you with kids who have already flown the coop, you know... you know what i'm about to face. you know the emotional current running underneath everything she does in this final year of high school -- every bowl of cereal at my kitchen counter, every volleyball match, every late night talk on the porch, every prayer whispered by her bed, every hug, every time i hear her singing in her room, every time she asks my opinion on a hairstyle or outfit, even every load of her laundry ... you know the bittersweet mixture of pride and joy and fear and excitement and grief.

you know the heaviness of my heart and the sound of my sighs ...

she says to me all the time, "mom, don't cry. you know i don't like it when you or dad cry."  of course she doesn't.  and of course, i am careful. and of course some times when i'm in the middle of watching her, i have to turn away and count cars ... you know it.

and so we do our best to capture, to embrace and to begin letting go ...

i've heard it said that motherhood is a continual letting go. from the time our babies leave our bodies we are required to release. we pray for that to be gentle ... and sometimes it is. when we walk our child into their kindergarten classroom and the sweet teacher is waiting with open arms and a big smile, we know she's in good hands and she's going to be just fine.

but sometimes it isn't. like the times when we drop off our child and we're not quite sure. like when we just have to wait and see how things will turn out.

last year, when we moved to minnesota, i had a moment like that with emily. our plane landed and 3 hours later she had to walk into an unknown gym, meet an unknown team and perform in a pre-season scrimmage for an unknown coach. she didn't know a soul. she was 16 and she had just stepped foot into minnesota.

she played in the scrimmage that night like a deer in the headlights. i stood off to the side of the gym with a lump in my throat, knowing this was one of those hard "letting go" moments of motherhood.

i'll never forget that hot night in the gym knowing i couldn't do a thing for her. she was on her own. she would have to sink or swim and all i could do was be there.

we don't know where emily will end up for college next year, but i am pretty sure, that lump in my throat will be there the day we leave her in her dorm room and hug her good-bye ... i'm pretty sure i'll have to look away and count cars or count something ...

but i'm also pretty sure, this is all a part of the motherhood-blessing.  the holding, the releasing ... the providing, the pushing ... the savoring and the surrendering.

and though we might do our best to capture a million moments with our cameras, we must ultimately learn to let go.

processing...patience...prayer ... and then, letting go.

the day i cried in my closet (some thoughts from a stay-at-home-mom)

i taught my last english class 16 years ago. i loved teaching high school. in fact, i was one of those strange people who actually loved teaching high schoolers.

yes. yes, really.

but after our second born, tyler, hit the scene, the chance came for me to stay home full time.
and i did.

and i have never regretted that decision. not once.

not even on those days when the baby was crying and the toddlers were clinging and the dog was, at that very moment, Lord have mercy, stealing my lunch right off the kitchen counter.

i never regretted staying home, but it wasn't always easy -- especially when the children were really young. there were days. oh, let me tell you friend ... there.were.days.

though much of it remains a blur, i do remember in those early years hitting the wall a time or two (or twenty ...).  one day in particular stands out in my motherhood memory. it was just after our third child, sarah, was born. i was in that supremely idyllic season of breast feeding the newborn, potty training the toddler and trying to keep the mischievous first born alive in the midst of incessant blouse unbuttoning, training pants removing and diaper changing.

you get the picture, right?

i hadn't lost the baby weight, i hadn't figured out how to successfully operate three children on limited sleep, and i hadn't had a chance to shower much that week. it's easy to see some traces of desperation around the edges when you add into the equation that i had zero family in town and a husband often on business out of town. on this particular day, it seemed like child number three wasn't going to ever get the hang of this nursing thing, child number two wasn't going to ever stop wetting his pants and child number one, i was convinced, was going to grow up with serious issues of neglect because i was constantly attending to her two needy, younger siblings.

and then there was that dog ... i swear, always eating my lunch off the gosh-darn-counter!

one morning, after snapping wildly at my firstborn (because she didn't understand why i couldn't add finger painting to the afternoon agenda) i climbed into my closet, and with a defeated spirit, a couple of leaky breasts and a big ole flabby stomach, i laid full on the floor and cried my eyes out.

i cried and i cried and i cried.

but i knew in the back of my mind in the back of that closet that even my pathetic breakdown had to be tightly scheduled. the baby was napping, the toddlers camped out in front of a cartoon, and both, said nap and cartoon, were bound to come to an abrupt end any second. i had only a few minutes to spare on some uncontrollable sobbing and my gargantuan self pity before i would have to cowboy up and return to my stay-at-home-mom status.

i would have to go back down those stairs.

as i heaved my tired-mama-body off the floor, i found myself standing in the middle of my "teaching clothes" section of the closet. i am not sure why i still had these outfits, but i did. just in case, i guess -- tucked away in plastic, way in the back, hidden behind my elastic waisted maternity pants and loose fitting dresses. so there i was -- a red-faced, runny-nosed, out of shape stay-at-home mom staring at my size two suits and my cleaned and pressed professional blouses. there i was staring into the face of my former life.

yep, you know it  -- i started to cry all over again.

there was no way my body was ever going to fit back into those suits. and if i did somehow manage to squeeze myself into one, i was certain it would be covered with breast milk, peanut butter and finger paint in about five minutes flat. right?

i felt like such a mess.

i felt like such a mess up.

even on a bad day of teaching school, i still had on cute shoes and a reasonably nice outfit.

but on this bad day of motherhood, i was slightly overweight, barefoot, leaky and hiding out in my closet. (that, by the way, is the other version of "barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen...").

at that moment of feeling like the world's worst mother and a completely lost-cause-kind-of-woman, i remembered (or God reminded me): i had chosen this.

this. this stay at home and stay in the kitchen and stay with the kids and stay by the potty and stay nursing on the couch and stay in my maternity clothes and stay always within an arm's reach ... this.

this is where i chose to stay.
this is where God was allowing me to stay.
this is where God wanted me to stay.

this is where i wanted me to stay.

but there were some days when this just wasn't easy and i needed to be reminded not of my former life and my size two suits, but of my choice.

and of my promise.

years ago, when we decided i would stay home with the kids, i made not only a decision, but i also made a promise. i made a vow that i would be grateful. i would not waste it. i would not take it for granted. i would not live as woman who deserved it, expected it or was entitled to it.

i would see it for what it was ---

a gift.

even on the hardest, messiest, ugliest, dirtiest days ... i would stop in the midst of it all and i would, with open hands and a grateful heart, give thanks.

but some days it was harder than it should have been.

somedays, in fact, i said my "thank yous" with clenched fists and through clenched teeth (which, on somedays, i hadn't found time to brush).

because some days, even when we've been given an amazing gift, it takes more than it should to say thank you. we have to dig deeper than we ever thought possible for those two simple words.

when i was feeling less than grateful, i would literally remind myself that there were other women out there trying to juggle jobs and kids and errands and dinner time. i knew women who wanted desperately to be home with their young ones, but weren't able to swing it for one reason or another.

and there i was struggling to stay home and struggling to say thanks.

since those days of having really young children, things have gotten easier -- physically easier for sure.  i'm still home full time with them and still incredibly grateful. i'm thankful for the chance to kiss my high schoolers good-bye in the morning and i'm thankful to meet my kindergartner at her classroom door each day at noon. i'm thankful to have the opportunity to throw tyler's soccer jersey in the wash when he needs it or to run up to school a left behind lunchbox (not often, but on occasion). i'm thankful to have the opportunity to be in and out and all around the lives of my school-aged children. i'm thankful i can be available and i'm happy to be here.

but still, even now, i need to be reminded.

because after all these years of staying home with my kids, i'll be honest, it is easy to forget that it's a gift. even though the maternity clothes and leaky breasts are long gone, i still sometimes need a reminder. i can feel it deep in my bones. i can sense it seeping out in my actions. i have watched myself, on occasion, teeter on that line of entitlement.

it's in the small things.

it's in the way i just kind of expect things to go my way when the kids head out to school. i kind of expect to have my day to myself. i kind of expect to have control of the outcome...control of the hours.

like they belong to me.

like i've earned it.

like i've put in hard time with young children and now it is my time.

i cringe writing that because i know how ugly it reads.

this past week i had one of those moments. i was sitting in the hair salon with a head full of highlight foils when i got the message from my girlfriend, diana. "school is closing early due to some kind of electrical issue in the building. do you want me to get your kids?"

it was 9:30 in the morning. i should have had hours. but instead i had a head full of foils and only a handful of minutes -- my kids were heading back home. soon.

this wasn't my plan for the day.we were just coming off a three day weekend and i was really looking forward to just a little bit of uninterrupted time. i had a list.

and i'll admit,  my first thought was not about the safety of my children, but about the state of my highlighted hair. (don't judge). just to be clear here, from my friend's text, i knew the children were safe ... i didn't have to go THERE -- to that place of extreme mother-worry. but, i also didn't go the place of "oh goodie, i get an extra day with the kiddos!" i just didn't. (neither did my friend, by the way).

(okay, stop! i can feel it...you're judging!)

when we talked a few minutes later though, she said to me ... "i have to run quickly to the grocery store, but then maybe i'll take the girls to the zoo?"
"the zoo?" i thought."really, the zoo?"
i had planned to do some shopping ... i had some errands to run.
i didn't have any spontaneous desire for the zoo. i just didn't.

did that make me a bad mom?

did that make me less of a stay-at-home kind of mom?

because isn't that the mark of a successful stay-at-home mom? a mom who when school is cancelled can whip right out of her back pocket some kind of fun day parade? i used to think that. i used to think that because i had the privilege of staying home full time i also had the responsibility of making things perfect full time.

i thought, because i was home, then i should always: cook healthy dinners, volunteer to bake cupcakes, have organized closets, video tape every event, grow my own produce, provide piano lessons, photograph every moment, make homemade applesauce, sew beautiful clothing, update baby books daily, smile at everything, host coffees, lead multiple bible studies, remember everyone's birthdays, make my own candles, always be happy ...

right?

what-ever!

maybe some of you stay-at-home moms feel that way right now. maybe you're feeling since you aren't bringing in a paycheck you should sure as heck be bringing up perfect children in a perfectly smooth life.

uh-uh.

let.that.go.girlfriend.

right now.

take off that poor pathetic attempt and hang it up it with your supermom cape in the corner of your closet...behind your former-life-suits or your maternity mumus or your whatever.

and, then ...  shut the door fast.

and run.

stay-at-home mom: you've been given a privilege. a gift. an opportunity. and, by all means, be grateful! BE GRATEFUL! but don't think for one minute that the present is going to stay perfectly wrapped and the bow is going to always be pristine.

being home with our kids is like the christmas morning aftermath. it's a mess, right? there are gifts all over the place, but so is their mess all over the place. and somedays you can hardly find the gifts in the midst of all that unwrapping...in the midst of all that undoing! we don't line up our gifts neatly on shelves ready for display, nope, we're all over the living room and all over each other and all over everything.

and when we see that kind of mess through eyes of gratitude and with a heart of grace ... we see, not something perfect, but something beautiful.

friend, see something beautiful.

some of you reading this are stuck in the closet crying ... some of you are juggling jobs outside the home ... some of you are hurried at the hair salon ... some of you have hours on your hands and aren't sure what to do with your day.

there are different seasons in this journey. but i know for me, whatever the season, i have to remind myself of my choice --

the choice to look through the lens of gratitude and grace ... no matter what.

no matter where we are.
no matter what we're doing.
no matter how it looks.

--- every season. every day. a gift.

(by the way, just in case you were wondering ... no one went to the zoo).

the push (a letter to myself).

most mothers don’t encourage their children to push -- but, i do.

i tell my kids all the time to push themselves: to push themselves in their studies; to push themselves out on the field or court; to push themselves in helping around the house; i've even had to tell them to push down on the gas pedal (ever pull out into traffic with a teen learning to drive? -- heaven help us all!) mostly, though, i encourage my crew to push themselves out of their comfort zones.

i tell them that. but what about me?

what do i tell me about my nice little comfort zone?

it’s easy for us mamas who are always talking and forever teaching, and even cheering our kiddos on, to forget this message is meant just as much for us.

for us: for those of us wearing jeans with peanut butter smudges across the backside. for those of us 17 weeks overdue for a highlight. for those of us who break nails scraping rice krispies from bowls and old gum from inside the dryer. for those of us who, while standing in line at target, realize we’re wearing two different shoes (yes, it’s happened), for those of us who are at target because our pre-schooler forgot to put on her panties (yes, that’s happened too -- but not on the same day, thankfully. Lord have mercy.

but we women, we need to push a little too.

and, girls, i’m not talking about the vacuum cleaner!

i’m not even talking about pushing it on the power walk or pushing young ones in strollers or toddlers on swings.

i’m writing today about the place deep inside each one of us where we know there’s this little seed ready to get going, ready to grow.

but if you’re at all like me (and i know a lot of you are!) it’s easy to forget about that seed. it’s easy to leave it alone. it’s easy even to pretend it doesn’t exist.

seed? what seed?

instead of pushing ourselves, it’s easier to push that seed back in the soil of our busyness or our burned-out-kind-of-days. it’s just easier somedays to bury it deep inside our mama-blah brain.

i know. i do it. guilty hand raised here in minnesota, ladies! i am a woman who can often look the other way when a dream or a thought or an idea comes waltzing along.

“i’m busssyyyy,” i whine.

“i’m tiiireed,” i whimper.

because let’s face it, when the seed is given a glance; when it’s watered and fed, it can all of a sudden become this big, gangly, out-of-control kind of thing. we have no place for something so large to be looming up inside us. there’s no room for anything extra. we’ve got our plates full and our hands fuller, and for a lot of us, the last thing we want is one more bless-ed thing to take care of. and in case He forgot, i remind Him: good gracious, Lord, i'm raising five children right now, don't you know? don't you see me running like a woman with her hair all on fire?

we don't have time to be called. and if we find a few minutes in the evening, we are flat out of energy.

i know. i’ve been there too. i’ve wasted some good time at night on the couch with reality television droning on the screen and a bag of doritos waning in my lap. i’ve even tried to convince myself that i’ve earned it. and maybe i have on occasion, but not all the time. not often. nope, sorry, you can't convince me of that one. it's about the push.

now, i’m going to stop right here for a moment and make sure we are still all on the same page. just in case one of you has wandered a bit ...  (we women, we are prone to wander)!

hear me girls: I AM IN NO WAY undermining or belittling or bemoaning motherhood. from the time i was two it was all i wanted to do ... to be ... to become. and it still is. after five kids, i can honestly say, it’s been my favorite season, my biggest blessing, my sweetest place. i flat out adore the wild-riot of it. and there’s not a day that goes by where i don’t give thanks for the chance to be home right now with my brood...even when they wipe their peanut butter on my backside or use my pricey salon shampoo for a science experiment. (yep, uh-huh, happened).

but...

i still think we’ve got some other good stuff inside of us. i don’t think the-great-mommy-hood has to trump all other places of productivity. it is an amazing part of God's plan, but it is not our only purpose. i know some of you handle careers and run companies and chair incredible events and lead 14 different bible studies ... and some of you do it eating all organically and wearing snazzy high heels. and maybe i’m not writing to you ... or maybe i am. maybe it’s your career or your calling that’s taken the place of the real dream ... stepped over that seed ... ignored the idea. maybe for you it’s not about doing one thing more, but about doing one thing less. i don’t know. either way, i am always in awe of women who juggle jobs and juice cups and just about everything. simply in awe.

so what am i suggesting?

i’m not entirely sure ...
oooh, i wince as i type that. face scrunched, teeth clenched, head bowed and shoulders up tight at my ears. i can feel your disappointment seeping out of my laptop even now as i pound out those words. i know you want an answer. i know you'd like a really helpful "how to." come on jody lynn, can't you please come up with something better than that?

but  here’s the deal girl: i’m not entirely sure what your seed is or how it’s best to be fed. i don’t want to pretend that i know your stuff. your stuff is your stuff. my stuff is my stuff.

but here’s what i do know:

YOU’VE GOT A SEED!

each one of you has a unique gift and talent from God. he’s called you to something special. he may have called you to children and, believe me, that is both a gift and a talent, and it takes a whole lot of special. Amen? but maybe in the middle of all that, there’s also something else that’s waiting to be watered. waiting to be dug up and carefully considered.

i’m not telling you how. i’m just encouraging you to dig around a little... and consider.

hear me again girls, this post isn't about pressure. it's about the push to keep digging for God's holy purpose. He will use us right where we are. i am only submitting to you today, that God wants to use you -- all of you.

i’m giving you (and mostly me) the same lecture i give my kids: YOU CAN DO IT. you have something special. go ahead and push yourself. push through the pain. push through the problems. push through the places of maybe too much comfort ... and climb closer to Him.

“press on toward the goal for the prize 
of the upward call of God in Christ Jesus.”
~ philippians 3:14

a little note:
i wrote this post on the plane this morning while flying to the She Speaks conference in charlotte. i'm here now and just wrapped up day one. it's been fantastic so far. 
so, guess what analogy the kick-off speaker (sharon glasgow) used in the opening session earlier today (after i wrote this post on the plane)?  pushing the gas pedal down and beginning to go! 

perhaps more on that tomorrow!  God has such a sense of timing...and humor!

minnesota mother of 5 left alone for 6 days!

i fear if i write this post i'm going to lose a few readers. maybe even a few friends. but regardless of where the chips (or readers or even friends) may fall, i'm feeling the need to come clean about my past week.  since it potentially could be picked up by the 11 o'clock news tonight, i thought i should just tell you myself.  i've heard it's better that way.

in fact, you might want to sit down for this.

ready?  okay, here it is:

I'VE BEEN HOME ALONE SINCE LAST SATURDAY.

completely and absolutely alone for six days straight...in my own home alone...like, no husband and no children hiding anywhere alone. (trust me, i looked, just to be sure).  just me and the two dogs...oh, and the cat.  i always forget the cat.  

i know. 

i'm sorry. 

i can hear some of you shrieking from a thousand miles away at this very moment.

this just isn't right.  it just isn't fair.  no mother of five should have six days to herself.  

so, to that i say, i'm dreadfully sorry.

except really, i'm not. 

i'm not sorry at all.  actually, i'm rather delirious.

now, i realize that sounds a bit strange.  i don't want even one of you to think for even one minute i don't love my family to pieces.  because, you know I DO!  -- every last one of them...even the boy with the smelly feet and the girl who shoves dirty dishes underneath her bed.  i love them all.  in fact, i love them wildly.

but, when a woman's husband offers to take the children on a road trip cross country...no matter what level of love or fondness she has for her brood, this woman replies, "well, that would be nice....i suppose i could get a few things done...i'm sure i'll be able to fill my time somehow."  

NO! the woman, or at least this woman, says OH MY GOODNESS.  YES. YES. YES. TAKE THEM.  TAKE THEM ALL AWAY. HOLY COW. REALLY? DO YOU MEAN IT? DO YOU REALLY MEAN IT? YOU'RE NOT KIDDING ARE YOU? YOU CAN'T KID ABOUT THESE KINDS OF THINGS!

okay, let's go back to that love thing.  i realize after that last comment i had better capitalize the following declaration:

 I REALLY DO LOVE AND ADORE MY FAMILY.

but, as a mother of five i have to tell you, the idea of a few days "off" was highly appealing. (that's called an understatement). i mean you have to realize if i didn't dig this mama thing, i surely would have stopped earlier on with our collection of kids.  you get that, right? i don't need to spend my precious (alone time) convincing you, do i?

i've said it before and i'll say it again, i wouldn't trade my job for all the tea in china.  but, i will happily send off my kiddos with their dad on an adventure when the opportunity somehow (supernaturally?) arises.

rick left with the five in tow last saturday morning.  they headed to his parents' house in south carolina for a few days. my super hero husband drove 23 hours straight and arrived at his parent's door step early on sunday.  (if you are a little geography challenged and unsure on how far a road trip this really is...check the map...i want to make sure my husband gets full credit...about 2,800 miles worth of credit). they spent a few days with their grandparents at the beach and then headed over to georgia to drop off the older three for a teen conference at our old church in atlanta. he's leaving the older ones in atlanta for the week and rick and the littlest two will pull back into our driveway sometime late tonight. i am pretty certain bella and connor are currently on their 38th car movie today.  oh well. you do what you have to do. (i'm certainly not going to complain).

i have been getting little texts and messages and pictures from my kids all week.  it was a long haul from minnesota to the deep south, but so very worth it.  worth it for the kids to spend time with their grandparents and worth it to connect with old friends.  yesterday when they arrived in atlanta, i swear i could hear the whooping and hollering from here on my back porch in minnesota.  it has been an incredible thing for them to reunite.  honestly, i got all teary-eyed the hour i knew they had arrived in the arms of their buddies.  i wasn't there to see it all, but i didn't need to be to imagine the scene.  i know, quite well, how much my kids have missed their friends.

this week alone, however, wasn't just a random thing.  it wasn't a go shopping, get your nails done and read a book in the sun kind of week.  the main reason rick gave me this time (and i do say "gave" because it was most definitely a "gift")was to allow me to write and prepare for a conference i'll be attending at the end of the month.  i have the opportunity to attend the incredible proverbs 31 She Speaks conference in charlotte, north carolina.  and can i just say I AM SO EXCITED!

this is an incredibly popular and powerful conference for writers and speakers. i had planned to go three summers ago, but it just wasn't possible with our adoption of bella.  i was sure i'd go the next summer, but then, well, you know, that cancer thing happened.  and last summer, guess what we were doing the very weekend of the conference...yep, moving across country.

so, you can probably understand my excitement.  this year, i have my registration in place and my plane ticket already purchased.  and friends,  I AM GOING.

while i'm there, i'll  not only be attending workshops and seminars, but will also have the chance to meet with a couple of publishers and pitch my book ideas.  yes, i have a couple of book ideas.  i am not going to go into any detail, because it literally petrifies me to speak about it publicly, but because of this week spent alone, i am hoping to have 2 different book proposals ready to pitch.

nothing may come of it, so let's just leave that all alone for the time being.  as confident a gal as i may sometimes appear, i am scared to death of this process. i'll probably throw up six times when i get there.  but i have to do it.  by God's grace and with rick's gift of some time alone, i am hoping to be ready.  i can tell you, i have worked my tail off this week.  i won't say a whole lot more on this subject because it's just so ridiculously emotional for me.  but i'm incredibly thankful for the chance.

anyway enough of the drama queen ramblings, this time alone has been really wild. i've never been alone for this long. since getting married 23 years ago and having children 17 years ago, i have never had this amount of uninterrupted life. an hour or two, here and there, or maybe a short weekend alone, but it's an incredibly rare occurrence.  seriously, think about it, how many mother's of 5 do you know who get a week off?  it's right up there with blue elephants, pink kangaroos and kids with clean rooms. so don't think i didn't treasure this opportunity and take complete advantage of it. i haven't been this focused since...well, since i have no idea...i guess i've never been this focused.  i've hardly done anything more than sit on my screened in porch and write. i wrote and i wrote and i wrote. taking a break only to water flowers or walk the dogs.  that's honestly been it.  and after 6 days of this, i am feeling a little burnt out (i won't mention that to my husband when he arrives home after 20+ hours of driving -- i'm smart that way).  but i am a little tired of my own voice and my own words and i'm quite ready to rejoin the land of the living.  i am certainly ready to see my family.

one morning, i did take a break for a few minutes and experiment with a new hairstyle.  (i have absolutely no idea why, but i did).  i then took a picture or "selfie" (as my kids would say) and i sent the "selfie" to my girls.  we then all immediately decided i had been left alone entirely too long.  (i probably shouldn't be telling you this).44 year old women do not take selfies and send them to their daughters.  i promise you, i have nipped that right in the bud.

but this living alone experiment has been quite interesting.  almost surreal.  there's not a scrap of laundry to be found anywhere in the house.  the counters aren't sticky and  the floors have been clean since monday -- an all time record. i left my favorite chocolate sitting out on my desk on wednesday and miraculously it was still there on thursday.  the television hasn't been turned on once and there are just two tiny bags of trash in the big toter outside.  i have used the same coffee cup and spoon all week because you can do that you live alone.  it's easy,  i just rinse them off and put them right out for the next morning. this was a new concept for me. there aren't any doors slamming or kids screaming or odd things beeping.  the dog occasionally barks and the birds occasionally sing. but that's about it.  i hadn't realized how many birds we have singing in our yard almost all of the time.  it just hasn't been quiet enough for me to hear them.

but this week i have heard.  and it's been truly delightful.

as kind as this week has been, i'm really, really happy to have some of my family returning tomorrow.  i have missed all of them.  tomorrow morning i will hear the sound of bella's tiny feet on the stairs as she comes to find me. and just the thought of that makes me kind of giddy tonight.  i can't wait to squeeze my 10 year old tightly and hear all about his week.  and oh, that husband, i sure will be glad to see his handsome face. though, i'll probably let him sleep in a little.

i think it has been an incredible gift this summer week alone, but i also am certain, more than ever, that when God created adam and said, "it is not good for man to be alone," He meant just that.  it's really good for a little while -- like this week -- but we are designed to be relational, we are designed to be together and this little bit of time solo has reminded me of that more than ever.

this probably won't happen again for another decade, so i wanted to capture the moment in a blog post.  this isn't about bragging this is about recording an important part of history.  well, my own personal history and headline:  minnesota mother of five, left alone for a week!

women, i sincerely wish you all some extra time to yourself, some stolen moments, some hidden hours. it is healthy. men, i wish you the courage to give your woman a little time off as well.  i realize we all come from different circumstances and scenarios, so i apologize if i'm making some assumptions here.  i realize also, some of you reading may be alone and not by your choice.  please know that my intention in writing this piece isn't to cause sadness.  i've thought about that this week too.  i've only enjoyed my alone time because i knew all along my family, by God's grace, would return.  but several times i thought about what if i really was always this alone. that is a different thing altogether. and in no way do i mean to take that for granted or poke it for fun.

so my writing tonight is simply to celebrate the gift of time and space and quiet and calm and simple breathing....to celebrate a husband who would lovingly offer these things to his wife.  it may not be good for man or woman to be completely alone....but it's good sometimes...
and it has been very good in this week of mid summer.

here are a few pictures from what a week alone might look like...(but i'm so not posting the new hairstyle "selfie")!

this is how we spent our mornings and afternoons AND evenings...

when you have over 250 pounds of dog at your feet, i guess you're not really alone.

 though i've always been fond of this guy, i'm ready for a little time away from him.  

why i am actually writing another blog post tonight, i'm not sure.  pure junkie, i guess.

 my morning coffee!

 and an evening glass of wine!

when summer arrives

the first day of summer officially arrived in our home this week.

and let's be honest, though we've all longed for it since march, it's actual arrival brings an incredible mixture of both blessing and brutality.  the children might very well whoop and holler all the way home from the last hour of school, but the mothers behind the wheels of their minivans all seem to have that deer in the headlights look.

on wednesday the last of our kiddos wrapped up their final exams and the backpacks and notebooks and school supplies were all piled high in one giant heap on my office floor. the school year was over, and summer begun.

just like that.

in a blink of my twitching eye, the school bell stops ringing and the vacation chaos begins.

it happens so fast and i find myself standing in the kitchen watching five children and all their summertime accoutrements descend ravenously upon my home and for a moment (or several hours...or maybe days) i wonder to myself, "how in the world am i ever going to keep them busy all summer long?"

because it takes less than five minutes for them to leave muddy footprints and dirty dishes and backdoors wide open.  it takes less than five minutes for the sister bickering to begin and the boy wrestling to ensue and the little one to need a third fruit snack or another cartoon.

my hands begin to shake and my heart begins to race and i desperately dash to the office cabinet for supplies. i grab rulers and different colored sharpies and leftover poster board from school year projects.  and i attempt to bring some kind of order to this already circus-like scene setting up camp under my roof.  it's only hour one of them all at home and i am already creating columns and lines and lists.  chore charts and summer reading charts and dog walking charts to calm the shake and rattle and race of this wild woman facing her five children alone on this, the first official day of summer.

it is like this every year.

there is this time of transition as we move from being so busy we don't know what to do to having so much time on our hands we don't know what to do.  no one slips into summertime easily in my home.  especially not me.  it takes a whole new mama-perspective when summer waltzes in.  keeping my eyes half closed helps a little.  playing music loudly and shutting bedroom doors and pretending not to hear every "mo-ahhh-om!"... those things help, too.   i simply cannot spend my entire day flitting around and addressing every unmade bed, unkept corner or unsettled sibling.  i have to tell myself (many times a day, in fact) it doesn't matter.  let them enjoy this much needed freedom.  let them figure it out on their own. i don't need to referee or regulate every argument or item in this house. routine isn't necessary and rules aren't all that important at the very start of summer. right?

don't get me wrong, i adore summer.  i really do.  it's just the great figuring-it-all-out-at-first which challenges me.  i look at summer and think about all the free time we have and for me that translates into all kinds of things we now have time to do....or get on top of...or organize...or accomplish...or attempt.  i want my kids to sit down and write out their summer goals (is "summer goals" an oxymoron or what?) i want them to creatively create a creative summer 2013 bucket list in their best handwriting.  here kids, use these stickers to decorate!  and we'll put that up on the bulletin board right next to the summer reading book list and the famous summer chore chart.

 isn't every child anticipating the chance to devour 20 new books between june and august?

can't we do educational bridge work every morning and happily take turns emptying out the always running dishwasher or clothes washer?  how about we -- all six of us -- sit around the family room and fold laundry together for an afternoon of fun? sort socks and tell jokes. i just know we can make this summertime thing work...

because that's just it -- summer does take some work.  and the problem is,  it seems like it shouldn't.  it seems like summer should just be about picnics and pretty days. so, we mothers are caught in this juxtaposition of summertime contradiction.  there is something in us which believes we should be frolicking and fancy free with the wee ones. we should be lounging on neon colored rafts and drinking shimmery beverages poolside. we should be worried about nothing more than the color of our toenails or the slicing of a watermelon.  AND YET when five kids are home all summer, there is just so much more to manage! can i get an a-men?  i have mentioned before, i have no brady bunch alice showing up each day to keep us all afloat.  and so...that task falls squarely into the laps of mothers.  this is, by no means, a complaint. i mean only to point out something happening this week in millions of homes across america.  i mean it only for the encouragement of the sisterhood of motherhood in this right now happening summer-hood.

moms of america, it's okay to admit that summertime can cause us to dig deeply -- not just in the sandbox, not just in the burgeoning piles of laundry, but deep in ourselves. my best advice: don't be so hard on yourself.  i remember being a young mom of young children and finding myself disappointed in how summer days were sometimes going.  somehow, i thought everything about summer should be magical and beautiful and wonderful -- full of fireflies and butterflies and never-ending fun. who is spreading this myth, by the way? we wonder what's wrong with us and our children, thinking everyone else in the cul-de-sac is having the summer of their lives.  when our toddlers throw poolside tantrums or refuse to even get into the pool (after we've woken the baby, prepared healthy snacks, squeezed our motherly bodies into swimsuits and spent two hours packing up the car) we wonder what we're doing wrong.  we wonder why it feels so hard.  well, darling girl, sometimes it just is! even in the soft haze of a lovely summer's day.  it might be hard, but don't be hard on yourself.  do the best you can.  and remember, there are other mamas all across the land right there with you.

and by the close of summer day one in the mcnatt home,  i can tell you the dishes in the sink were piled precariously high and the shoes at the backdoor had multiplied exponentially; bella had bumped her head, skinned both knees and watched too many cartoons; we had visited the pediatrician's office for tyler's running injury; we had blown through a box of bandaids, a loaf of bread and two pitchers of lemonade; someone had stolen my kitchen shears and my very last square of dark chocolate; i had driven three 13 year old girls to the mall;  hauled my teenage son and his kayak to the lake; rescued teenage son and his kayak when it began to rain and thunder fifteen minutes later; and cleaned up some cat throw up.

oh yes, summer was officially here!

bella on her 7th hour of cartoons -- AND the dog up on the couch! WHAAAT?

i did make the dog get down from the couch -- after snapping the photo.  (of course)!

my final story to illustrate our illustrious first day of summer happened when i left tyler and bella at the house while running to the market for dinner late in the day. (just a few hours of summer and the cupboards were already bare). while there i got the famous summertime call from tyler, "mom, call me as fast as you can!" while he and bella were playing ball she fell back and hit her head on a chair.  heads bleed a lot and tyler did his very best to take care of it all.  i was at the market.  by the time i raced home she was happily perched on the couch watching little einsteins (yet another cartoon) and munching on goldfish crackers. all was fine. bella was okay.  the cut was not too bad and the bleeding had stopped. i thought about running into the pediatrician's office.  mind you, we had already been there once today, but was confident bella would be fine.  these kinds of things happen in our home -- especially in the summer! but i have to tell you that in the middle of all this drama, i was also receiving rapid texts from my unaware daughter (the one i had dropped at the mall with her friends).  as i was trying to discuss bella's head injury with tyler over the phone i was simultaneously fielding the following messages from 13 year old daughter:

"mom, can i please get my ears double pierced? plzzzzzzz."

"mom can i get a pink bedazzled phone case? it's so, so, so cute! plzzzzzz."

"OMG mom, we are at bath and body works and they have this product which bronzes your hair....and oh mom, can i get some and like it is so, so, so cool and the lady is putting it in our hair right now and it's like so, so, so great and it washes out...i promise...i'm sure...i think ....like, can i do it? can i get some, mom? plzzzzzz. "

folks! i tell you, this is the glorious stuff of summer!

and to think,  all i wanted was to pick up some chicken and green beans at the grocery store.  just in case you're wondering, my teenage daughter is now banned from the mall until she's 35.

so summer comes. not so softly. not so gently. not always so easily....but STILL there's this thing in all of us, mothers and children alike, which welcomes it eagerly and with great expectation.  i encourage you to embrace it and just accept the little truth that it won't be always kind and it just can't be completely smooth, but it will be strewn with moments of sweetness: a first bike ride without training wheels, a cartwheel mastered or a back dive perfected, sidewalk chalk messages from daughters to their dads, late night movies with big bowls of popcorn, board games that don't end because bedtime isn't important, watermelon in the yard and pink lemonade on the porch, bike rides and ball games and belly laughs...

so, load up on popsicles and bandaids.  turn up the music.  close the doors of messy bedrooms and close your eyes when needed.  learn to count to 10 or 100 or 1000 and take a deep breath.  mothers of america, unite!  the children will head back to their classrooms in a mere 80 days!

em cleaning out her junior year notebooks this morning!
lots and lots of paper.  bonfire anyone?