not a winter mom.

I suck as a mom. That is, as a winter mom. I am not ashamed to admit it. I literally know that I am a more loveable and likeable mom in the summer. That is not to say I don’t love winter. I do . I have Michigan blood in me. So of course I love winter . I love to build snowmen, shoveling, skiing, sledding, and snow days. Yet having Michigan blood in me also means that I love the lake, sand dunes, camping, gardening, mowing the lawn, hiking, boating, skiing, swimming, campfires and a great tan. With that said though I have noticed that I do better as a mom in the summer. I think I was supposed to be born in California or somewhere magical where the weather is always warm and the pool is always open.

You see in the summer the kids are all home. I love them home. I love being home with them. I see other moms Facebook status’s that they are dreading having their kids home. While others are signing their kids up for different activities all summer and they end of being a taxi driver instead. Not me. I want them home. They need to be home. Together. Just us as a family.

And this is why I am a better after the last day of school.

-Popsicles.( Who doesn’t smile eating one?)

-Bike rides ( Grateful that they love to be outside and could care less to play any video games)

-Library reading program (ok. Really only 3 of my children fully participate. The other two could care less if they ever read an entire book ever. Proud mama moment)

-Camping ( the best, cheapest vacation we have ever done with our kids, best memories and you constantly smell like campfire which is a plus)

-Michigan (if we could move there for the summer we totally would, so instead we take as many trips as we can to visit family )

-Pool ( We have amazing friends who let us live at their pool and we also get passes to a local swimming hole. We literally will spend hours a day there, every day. I am so lucky my kids love the sun and are little fishes like me.)

-Campfires ( I love the smell of campfires. I know it’s weird. Whatever. I love it.)

-Smore’s( I think smore’s should be a food group. Along with caramel. So we try and have them as much as our bellies can take.)

-Friends ( I love being the house that kids come to for play dates, popsicles, lunch with our door constantly swinging open.)

No schedule( This one is my favorite. We have no schedule. We don’t sign our kids up for camps all summer. They can go to church camp and that is about it. We really want them here with us. Playing. Laughing. Fighting. Learning. Reading.)

And to be honest serotonin. I know you usually don’t see that on your “what I love about summer lists” but it makes mine. In the winter it seems to not even show up in me so by the time that spring rolls around I know my delivery of serotonin is coming soon. I am a happier mom. Full of energy mom. Cannot wait to try out a new park mom. Love to pack a picnic mom. Yes you can have three popsicle’s for lunch mom. Don’t judge. It’s summer.

bikini’s are stupid.

One of my biggest struggles is watching my oldest get older. Of course I struggle with all my kids having more birthdays. But my oldest. She was my beginning. She was the reason I get to be a mom. She was when I discovered how much I could love someone who couldn’t love me back.Why God chose me to carry her, love her, be transformed by her I will never quite grasp. But He has.

When I was a mom to two young toddlers I went to story time, play dates, and the infamous MOPS (mothers of preschoolers). There I learned from other moms.I met some of my dearest friends there. I learned how to sooth a screaming baby. What bottles to buy. What books to read to them that would surely get them into Harvard. (We’ll be lucky the last few kids even go to community college) How to discipline effectively. What crafts and outings to have with my little bundles of joy. But now. Now here I am with a toddler. Two in elementary. One in middle school. And then one in high school. And not just in high school but she looks like she could be in college. Lord have mercy.

And I don’t have a group. There is no MOT (mothers of teenagers) . Apparently after they are toddlers we moms don’t need any more support or help. I have no group of moms to go to once a week to bounce things off of. To gain wisdom from. To know what to react to and what not to. What battle to fight and which ones are only going to cause more rebellion. To talk about wonderful things we so blissfully experience during the years of 12-I don’t know when it ends.

I just realized the other day that I have three years left with the oldest. Three years until she graduates and goes away to school. This scares me if we are being honest. It keeps me up at night. If I am being a good mom. If I have listened enough. If I have fought hard enough for her. If I yelled too much( I have) . If I have been too strict or not strict enough. If she knows how much I want to keep her in a safe little bubble and not let the world hurt her anymore.

I know this is unrealistic. I know.( my therapist likes to tell me it is) But I still feel these things. I still feel alone in this teenager crazy hormone world. I have maybe a couple of mom friends who have teenagers. That’s it. There is not a group to go to and just cry talk every week. I want to bundle her up and send her to Alaska.( Because in Alaska maybe not every other girl wears a bikini) And then she can come home when she has found a nice guy who wants to travel the world or has decided to become a nun. But until then I am on my knees begging God to protect her. To never stop chasing her. To bring her to her own knees .For her to fall in love with her Savior. To want to live a life serving Him. And if this doesn’t happen that I trust that she is God’s. She always has been. She always will be. And her life is part of His story and He gets to write it. I don’t.

faithful.

Today was the National Day of Prayer. I didn’t stand by the flag pole or go to any ceremony of special significance. I instead went to be with some of those that have been instrumental in these past few years. Women who prayed fervently for me when I didn’t know what to pray. Women who prayed for our sweet youngest before we even saw his face. Women who get all the “adoption issues” and laugh when there is nothing left to do. On this day of prayer though I am reminded while scooping out buttered noodles for all of our little ones to eat, that our God is so faithful. Nothing like buttered noodles and a house full of little children from all over the world to bring the National Day of Prayer to another level.

I was reminded so clearly this past Sunday about how far He has brought me. It was four months ago that I was dreading going to a large gathering at church. I didn’t want to go; I was afraid to go. The people. The questions. The answers I couldn’t give. The eye contact . I would have rather just hidden in the ladies’ room all night and hand out towels than have an adult conversation. I dreaded anyone asking about adoption. Uganda. My life. My heart. All of it made me want to wear a sign on my forehead that said “now an introvert” or “too damaged; stay away”. But I went and made it through and begged God to start healing me.

And then He healed.

Last Sunday as we gathered for our church’s corporate prayer and worship services I stood with arms open wide ready to receive what that Spirit has in store for me. I was no longer crying the whole way there trying to conjure up a story as to why I couldn’t speak with anyone. I still didn’t talk to as many people. And I am ok with that. I know what healing feels like. I don’t know the exact moment it happened. It took weeks, months, and long nights. I do know what it is like to not be afraid to wake up in the morning. I do know what it is like to have God so intimately speak to me and show Himself to me that I only I could see it. I do know that it is like to lay everything down at His feet. I do know what it is like to speak the darkness out loud and it lose its power over me. I do know what it is like to bathe myself in Scripture day after day just to be able to breathe. I do know what it is like to ask for help. I do know what it is like to feel the hand of Jesus lift me from the pit. I do know what it is like to have people I have never met in person before reach out to me and just encourage at just the right time.

I do believe in a healing God. I believe that HE heals. I do also believe that we need to participate in the healing. That we need to be honest with ourselves and others; that we need to die to ourselves every day. I believe that part of healing is realizing that I needed to take better care of myself. I had been separated from my kids for so long and then came back in a depression that I no longer wanted to miss out on life. Part of that is knowing that God gave me this body and mind and I need to take care of it. It honors God when we take care of what He has given us. I do know that He heals. I have felt it. I have seen it. I am a product of it.

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This song has been my anthem.

circles.

Keep your circle small. Words a once die hard extrovert had ignored for years. I thought well they must be talking to my introvert friends when they say this. I thought I needed my friends all the time and the more the merrier. But that came with my people pleasing attitude. I wanted others to be happy. I wanted to be happy. All the time. I wanted to talk to strangers in lines and know their stories. I wanted to be available to anyone anytime to meet for coffee, play date, lunch, pick up their kids, watch their pets all the time I wanted to be available. You could call me day or night and I would probably pick up the phone. Or text and I will surely get right back to you. Can you say codependent much?

Before I even left to go to Africa this past fall there were signs that life had gotten out of control my circle had gotten so big that it was more like a circus ring. I wasn’t present anymore. I wasn’t a good friend. I sucked as a mom. And don’t’ even get me started on what kind of wife I was being. But so many people had supported us through this adoption and I wanted to make sure that I please them. I wanted to make sure that I had said goodbye to everyone. That I had taken every chance I could get to meet with my sweet friends and even people I barely new. Because if I was being an example for my church and faith community than I had better run myself ragged and burn out right? That is what being a “good Christian” is all about. Seven days before I got on the plane to Uganda I experienced my first full blown panic attack. I lay on my couch as my friend talked me off the ledge and told me what was going on with my body and spirit. I continued to have panic attacks until I boarded the plane. If that wasn’t’ a sign that I needed some space than I am not sure what it. In order to give myself space and room to actually think on my own God had me fly thousands of miles away and look myself in the mirror. In Africa I never experienced another attack. I was limited as to who I had contact with and the only communication I had with people back home was all dependent on if we had power that day. Yet they came back again before I even got on the plane to come back to the states this past November I knew my circle needed to be smaller. God had so clearly shown me that things needed to change. I was bringing home the sweetest little boy who was dealing with horrendous fears of his own. He needed space to grieve and this mama did too. Even the thought of walking in to the airport with all my family and friends there to welcome us home sent me into a panic attack. They continued throughout the next few months. Some days were better than others. Then there were days when I needed someone physically to remind me that I was ok. That I was safe. That God is faithful and He alone can save me. I asked for help. I actually participated in the help process. Many times we ask for help because we feel like it is the right thing to do but we fail to actually “do” the healing process. So I took meds, I changed the way I ate, I showed up for therapy, I stopped any alcohol consumption, I exercised my tail off trying to raise my serotonin levels, I said no, I stopped watching 99% of what I used to watch on TV. I am sensitive to what I see and hear. I choose to leave conversations. I choose to not be around those who make me anxious. I am not ready to have a house full of people yet. I made my circle much smaller. Although some are are upset with me that I cannot be who I used to be I need to be ok with that. I cannot meet up with them when they ask. I cancel when I feel that my anxiety is coming to the surface. I am not volunteering for anything without running it by my husband and family first. I try and avoid being away from my family especially during the week. I confide in only a couple of people. I need to feel safe . I want to feel safe. I am healing. And in healing my circle is small.

“ It is important for you to control your own drawbridge. There must be times when you keep your bridge drawn and have the opportunity to be alone or with those whom you feel close. Never allow yourself to become public property, where anyone can walk in and out at will. You might think that you are being generous in giving access to anyone who wants to enter and leave, but you will find yourself losing your soul.” – Henri J. M. Nouwen

washing feet at 15.

When she was five I found chicken eggs in her closet. Not real chicken eggs. Like from the grocery store eggs. Right out of the carton eggs. You would think that I would notice that a dozen were missing. Beneath princess blankets and stuffed animals were straight from the fridge, eggs packed together neatly .And a five year old looking on as I tried to hold in the puke while removing them from her closet. She started crying ,carrying on about how “all her life” she had wanted baby chicks. And this was her only ticket to getting one. She promised that she knew what she was doing because she had watched her kindergarten teacher do it weeks before, so she must be an expert. She had a need to care for something for someone. Even if it did come from the fridge.

By the time she was in late elementary school her course of action changed and she wanted nothing more than to be a veterinarian. She would beg us to look up petfinder.com to find our newest pet. She would dream of living on a ranch where she would feed her own horse and groom it as soon as she returned home from school. Her dreams had clearly exceeded our pocketbooks and the house in the city.

She has always had a gift of loving others. But it wasn’t until this past fall in Uganda that I got to see what God has done in this little girl who wanted to hatch eggs in her closet.
It was a quiet afternoon and things around the guest house were settled down. After putting her brother down for a nap I asked my friend where she was. She pointed to the front porch. I stood in the doorway and watched what I can only describe as humbling. There was my sweet baby girl washing the feet of the women that took care of us. That walk miles to work each day in the red clay. That never utter a complaint. They spend hours scrubbing the floors, making beds, cooking amazing meals with smiles always across their faces. They are there before we even wake in the morning and go home well after dark to then take care of their own families. These women are the epitome of strength and courage to us. But there she was. Kneeling before them washing, talking, laughing, and listening. To their stories. To their lives. To who they were. She in that afternoon became an image of humble. A servant of the King. She was becoming the girl, the young woman, that God has been making her to be. I stood in the doorway with tears running down my face. I have never been more sure that God has unbelievable plans for her life.

Happy birthday my sweet girl. At 15 you make me more proud to be your mom.

stop trying to be laura ingalls

One of my mentors recently called me out on some things. Okay, perhaps not so much as a mentor but my therapist. Don’t go all “judgy judgy” on me, we should all pay for some sound advice sometimes. She let me know that I was not Laura Ingalls and needed to stop acting like it. Ok. Perhaps she didn’t use those exact words it was more like “why are you acting like you can do everything for everyone all the time?”

I look at Pintrest and see all of these amazing ideas. I scan Facebook to see supermoms making their own detergent, homeschooling, and still taking a shower every day and I wonder where did I go wrong? Ever since I came back from Uganda I have felt this overwhelming need to “make- up” for all the time I was gone. I have been determined to be a better mom. A better wife. A better friend. And apparently the measure all of that was figuring out what everyone else was doing better at. So I had been cooking these amazing meals with all the food groups included. Packing lunches that the kids would love to eat. There would never be the infamous cafeteria trading going on with my kids. I even have been making our own bread. From scratch. Like I forgot they made bread and sold it at the stores already sliced. Telling myself that this is how I was going to show my kids that I loved them. That I was sorry I had left them for so long. That I would never leave them again for so long. I thought that I was speaking their “love language” of non- processed foods. You can imagine how well this all went. It took about one month. One month of non -processed foods, amazing dinners, a prescription of Xanax and too many trips to the therapists office to discover I had hit rock bottom.

Apparently when you have five young children, your hormones are a wreck, you are reintegrating into your family and world, it is not a good time to raise the standards on yourself. And the standards that I had set for myself were beyond unattainable or even acceptable. No one ever told me that I needed to do all of these things. This is just what I had told myself. That in order to obtain my position as a loving mom I needed to at least do as well as all the moms on Facebook and Pintrest. But there I was flat on my face in a pile of flour wondering who I was supposed to be. And then I learned this. Again. I just needed to be present. Just there. I just needed to breathe and be in this moment. Not the moments that I lost. Not in the moments that may or may not happen. Just the moment of now.

So here we are. I bought bread. And they really like it. And I am present. And it is just where I need to be. I don’t need to make my own detergent to be a good mom. I can decide that some of my kids need to go back to public school. I can make macaroni and cheese from a box. And they will be ok. They will thrive. Because I am here.

The other women.

 

When my oldest daughter was still in utero. Or really since I peed on that stick. I knew that I could not do this one my own. Part of it was being a very young mom and the other was realizing how fortunate I was growing up. So when my oldest was about nine maybe ten I gave her a list of phone numbers of women in her life that I trusted enough to give her Godly counsel. She carries that list everywhere. There are things that she just doesn’t want to talk to me about, and that’s ok. But I wanted her to have safe place to go to when mom or dad aren’t there or she needs another perspective. I completely support and agree with the line “it takes a village”. And I wanted to make sure that my kids had strong, amazing, confident, Godly women to call on. The list has surely grown over the past couple of years seeing we have been over abundantly blessed by a church we call family. Even so, now two of my daughters carry a list.

I was fortunate enough to be brought up “in a village” environment and was determined that my daughter now my five children would do the same. I am perplexed by those women and mothers that feel like they can and want to do it all on their own. They make no attempt to make friends and reach out to those around them. I just feel like it is so much easier to be a part of a village.

I was raised with aunts and grandmothers who were always intertwined in our lives. They were second mothers to me. Teaching me things that my mom gave full room for me to learn from someone else. She too was busy raising five children. That is where the village of aunts stepped in. My aunts taught me important things like all the words to the Footloose soundtrack and how to play volleyball like the guys on Top Gun. They taught me how to shop for a bargain. They taught me that you could look beautiful and better with secondhand garments. They taught me to appreciate the piano and let the music engulf every part of my being. My aunts brought me to my first concerts. Don’t be jealous of my early exposure to REO Speedwagon and Richard Marx my cool aunts were completely responsible for that. They taught me how to get the best tans with baby oil and peroxide. They let me stay summers with them staying up late into the evening having “girl talk”. My aunts taught me how to be a good mom. How to be a servant of Christ. How to care for the fatherless. How to be respectful and kind. They taught me to seek Christ and hold Him in the highest honor.

And now that I have five little ones. And some are not so little anymore, I need help. And women around me have taught me that we each have something to offer and teach to each other. I cannot teach my children how to sew. That is my mom’s job. I cannot bring them to Taylor Swift concert. That is my sister’s job. I cannot teach them what it is like to work full time and have an amazing career. That is my other sister’s job. I have friends who will teach them better by example how to be patient, generous, amazing educated women. They will be taught what it is like to fight for your spouse and how to date with a Christian perspective. They will know what it is like to be the church and take care of each other. I will not teach them to drive. I could, but I think I will leave that to their dad and uncles. I cannot teach them to make the perfect bread. That is nana’s job. I cannot teach them how to pick out the perfect outfit. That’s my friend’s job. I may not teach them everything they need to know but I do know that I have an amazing group of sisters, friends, aunts, and especially nana’s that will teach them countless things they need to grow to be strong, God passionate people.

Don’t discount those strong women in your life. Whether related or not we all have a responsibility to be the village to the children around us. Let others help you. Invite in the wisdom. Welcome the different perspective. God knows we all need it.

No one has ever seen God. But if we love each other, God lives in us, and his love is brought to full expression in us. 1John 4:12 NLT