Candidly Quarantined...and It's OKAY!!!

Disclaimer: This blog is in NO WAY meant to belittle the situation we find ourselves in as a nation.  I hold in the highest regard those who make the daily decisions about how our state and country should attempt to navigate through these unprecedented times. I have the utmost respect and pride in those first responders and health care workers dealing with this pandemic on the front lines. Finally, I have spent time deep in prayer for those suffering from this illness. Please do not see this blog as more than what it is, which is hopefully just a way to find some light and laughter in these uncertain times.

I've been a wife and a mother for some time now, so I'm basically an expert on all things marriage and parenthood. In my expert opinion, quarantine is COMPLETELY AND TERRIBLY AWFUL! So now that we've gotten that out of the way, I'd like to offer you some tidbits for surviving these trying times.

1. IT'S OKAY to skip home schooling for a day. Even if you hold a degree in education 🙋🙋, teaching your own child is sort of like that one year when you had all of "those" kids and your teaching assistant was on maternity leave and there was no money for a sub and they rolled out some new curriculum that required iPADS and PODS and you had to learn 14 new acronyms for "teaching strategies" and you were required to PLC every week and they were probably going to move you to first grade the next year anyway. If you don't hold an education degree, teaching your own children is probably a nightmare. It's okay to not be a teacher, feel like a teacher or act like a teacher.

2. IT'S OKAY to LOVE all of this time home with your children. Chances are, you've been working your tail off their entire lives and having them home with you is a celebrated and cherished time, even in these circumstances. Even if you're a SAHM (stay-at-home mom, your new acronym for the day) it's okay to continue loving this time with your kids and savoring each new memory made.

3. IT IS ALSO OKAY to not feel any of the above mentioned in #2. If you're a working mother, you are used to getting up and getting it done. You're missing your routine and your normal way of life. You may be worrying about how to financially survive the next few weeks or months and that is so stressful. Having your children home on top of all of that is wrecking you. It's okay. If you're a SAHM, it's still okay to not love this. If you stay home with your children full time you know what a hard job that is. On a normal day, you're able to get out of the house to find something for your children to do or you're able to send them to preschool for a few hours in the morning. Now, you're literally stuck at home with your children and probably a spouse on top of it. It's okay to not love all of that together time.

4. IT'S OKAY to break your "screen time" rules. Are there other things you could do to keep your kids occupied? Sure. Do you want to live in filth and never eat or shower? Of course not. It's OKAY to let them watch a little more tv than normal...whatever your normal is. I am about one episode of Cory Carson away from losing my EVER LOVING MIND, but I showered today...and that's a good thing. It's okay.

5. IT'S ALSO OKAY to not immediately turn into Marie Kondo on Day 3 of quarantine. Just because that one girl you're friends with on Facebook (because she was your college roommate's second cousin) is selling her entire living room to "simplify" does not mean that you need to sell all of your possessions on Facebook Marketplace. First of all, no one wants your old crap. Second of all, this is not a "simple" time in your existence. It's okay to let the house work go for a day. You've got nowhere to go tomorrow anyway.

6. IT'S OKAY to fall in love with Amazon all over again. If you can splurge on arts and crafts and outdoor toys and those new movies on demand, go for it. If you can't...it's okay. These times are difficult. It's easy to find comfort in frivolous spending, but I promise you, it won't get you where you want to be. If you have to think twice before you click "add to cart," then just don't. These times will pass and I promise you, you're kid won't remember what movies they got to watch during quarantine or what things you bought them.

7. IT IS NOT OKAY to compare yourself to people who seem like they've got this quarantine situation licked. They don't. They are holding it together the best they can, just like you are. It's okay to roll your eyes when you read their posts. It's also okay to do the fun things they share. It's okay. You're okay. You're kids are okay. This is not a competition of Survivor. It's life. People are annoying. It's okay. They are surviving the best they can, just like you are.

8. IT IS OKAY TO NOT BE OKAY. This is a weird time to be alive. It's okay to feel all of the feelings...happy, sad, angry, broken. It's okay. If you need to express those things, find a confidant. I guarantee you it's ANYONE you keep in normal contact with right now. They need to hear from you, just like you need to hear from them. If you really aren't okay, you know it. Reach out.

9. IT IS NOT OKAY to forget about your normal life things that keep you sane and balanced. If your church is offering some online churching...watch it! Hear it! Believe it! So you can't watch it Sunday? Watch it later. Watch last week's sermon this week. Just watch it. We serve a God who forgives. Be forgiven, but also be faithful. If you've forgotten what it's like to lean on God and feel that "lean in" in return...what better time than right now?

So, this is hard. But, it's okay. When we are all at  the end of our lives and looking back on this brief (because it will seem that way then) time, this will not be the hardest thing we've ever done. We have this time at home with our kids and it's either great or exhausting or both, but one day we will see them graduate, go to college or work and get married. That's hard. One day we will say goodbye to parents and spouses and loved ones. That's hard. 

When we think about our current set of  circumstances, it seems hard, but it is merely an inconvenience to most of us. A time in our lives when we had to hit pause. A time in our lives that didn't make a lot of sense. A time in our lives that was scary. But a time that God saw us through...and out of.

I leave you with the words of Jesus Christ himself. Nearing the end of his own life, he wanted only to comfort those who had followed him most devoutly, his disciples.

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give you. I do not give to you as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid." John 14:27

Becoming a mother is, hands down, the most beautiful thing that has ever happened to me. Until I actually experienced it for myself I was never able to grasp the depth of that love. I get it now. I totally get it now.

But this blog is not about the beautiful parts of motherhood, even though, in retrospect, every part was beautiful in its own way.  This blog is about postpartum depression. It's probably going to get pretty ugly, so if you're not up for it, I suggest you move along. When I prepare to write a blog, I always consider the purpose of what I plan to write. The purpose of this one is simply to tell my story. It's probably similar to some you've read. My prayer for this blog is that it reaches that one mother who may need to hear that she isn't alone. Whoever you are, this one is for you...

Emma's birth was a complete whirlwind. Bedrest for a month. Preeclampsia at 36 weeks. Failed Induction. Emergency C-Section. I don't know when I actually got to lay eyes on my baby and I still don't remember a lot about those days in the hospital.  When we finally got home, life really was grand. We had this baby that we had planned for and dreamed about. She was perfect in every single way. I can't remember how far in to motherhood I was when the PPD hit me, but it wasn't very far. It started gradually. The recovery from my emergency C was rough and painful. I struggled from the start with breast feeding, which is something I knew I wanted to do. We were busting out of our tiny house and preparing to house hunt. Bradley was barely a year in at his newly co-founded company. I had decided to leave my teaching position after 9 very hard-earned years.

I wouldn't describe it as a bomb dropping on me, because it wasn't that intense, but it was like land mines going off here and there. I cried for no apparent reason. I ignored phone calls. I distanced myself from my inner circle, my husband included. I pretended we lived this perfect life. I pretended.

My baby was not thriving from my breast milk, so we began supplementing with formula. Failure at my natural-given ability.  Work required Bradley to travel more often. I can't hack it alone. Emma constantly received the "under weight" trophy after every single doctor visit. Fail. Fail. Fail. I am not good enough.

It kept on like this for a few months. I told myself I was coping. Coping meant treating my husband like a stranger when he came home. Coping meant finishing that bottle of wine when I shouldn't have. Coping meant yelling and screaming at God for all of these emotions that felt so wrong.

I can't tell you when the turnaround point was. I wish I could. At a certain point I felt safe enough to share a tenth of my feelings with my 2 best friends in the world. Conveniently, those 2 best friends had birthed their children 2 weeks before and 2 weeks after Emma, respectively. Maybe because they are my best friends, or maybe because they are just mothers, they didn't shun me. As a matter of fact, they embraced me.

I am not a medical professional. I am not a mental health professional. I hold EXACTLY ZERO degrees in either field. Before PPD I was a teacher, a fiancé, a hopeful wife waiting for a perfect stint at motherhood.  After PPD I am a MOTHER, a WIFE, a DAUGHTER, a FRIEND, a CHILDREN's PASTOR. I survived.

If you are that mom that needs to hear this, then HEAR this....

-It will get better.
-Tell your doctor about how you are feeling. It isn't weird. It's normal. You've birthed a child. Your body and mind will NEVER be the same. Don't expect it to be.
-It is tempting to shut yourself off from the world. Do that if you need to. But then crawl out. Tell someone (mom, friend, pastor, ME) how you are feeling.
-Know that PPD doesn't just go away. It will always be there. After Adley was born (not that it is anyone's beeswax, but via a much smoother, planned C-section), the PPD was probably worse. I was more successful with nursing, she slept better, she was just a GOOD baby...and it still crept in.
-Bow, Bow, Bow at the feet of Jesus.

When We Pray

This will probably turn into some kind of ramble, but it’s on my heart so I’m just going for it. 

Yesterday in Sunday School we discussed the condition of our world today. We mainly focused our discussion on mass shootings  and how we respond to them inwardly and outwardly. We also pondered the questions we had about how we, as Christians, are called to respond to these things when they happen.  

We read a response from pastor and author Max Lucado who suggested inviting Jesus to join us in these surely turbulent times. He referenced  John 6 when Jesus walked on water to join His disciples in the midst of a storm and says to them, “It is I; do not be afraid.”

“This is the title of steadiness and power. When we wonder if God is coming, he answers with his name: ‘I AM!’ When we wonder if he is able, he declares, ‘I AM.’ When we see nothing but darkness, feel nothing but doubt, and wonder if God is near or aware, the welcome answer from Jesus is this: ‘I AM!’”

It didn’t really resonate with me yesterday in class. Then we sat through a wonderful sermon about listening when the Holy Spirit speaks to us.

All afternoon and this morning I’ve continued to think about my responses to the terrible things happening in our world. Even as a child of God, knowing full well His hand is mighty and present, I still feel angry. I still feel scared. And I mostly feel helpless. What can I do? How can I change things? 

If I am being honest, hearing that still, small voice is difficult for me. And then sometimes it just smacks me right in the face. The first song on the radio this morning was “When We Pray.” 

I thought about how tiny my prayers seem compared to the weight of the world and the heaviness of life waking up to bad news almost daily. I thought about how my prayers are often just out of desperation. They are often intercessory  on behalf of a hurting soul or an ailing body. But isn’t this a desperate time? Aren’t these souls and bodies in need of healing? 

My favorite lyric from that song says this: 

“All the world starts changing, when the church starts praying.”

If you’ve never witnessed the power that prayer has, I can tell you first hand that it is an incredible testament to the strength of God. There is something so powerful in being both on the giving and receiving end of laying hands on a person to have a heart saved or a body healed. 

I say all of that to say this. In a world that seems beyond help and in a time when we feel hopeless to change it, God is saying to us, “I am.” We just have to open our hearts to hear it. 

Per•fec•tion

Me - Perfect Mother = THIS

perfection: noun

per • fec • tion

1 : the quality or state of being perfect: such as

  a  :freedom from fault or defect : FLAWLESSNESS
  b  :MATURITY
  c  :the quality or state of being saintly

2  a: an exemplification of supreme excellence
    b: an unsurpassable degree of accuracy or excellence

3 : the act or process of perfecting

"Perfection is the antithesis of authenticity." ~ Willie Garson

Now that we've gotten all of that out of the way, don't bother Googling Willie Garson. He's "Stanford" from Sex and the City. I will wait while you google him anyway....

I've been pondering this idea of perfection quite a bit lately. What does the perfect mother look like? The perfect wife? The perfect Christian? I can't explain where these thoughts come from. They just have this sneaky way of creeping into my conscious thoughts every. single. day.

I wish I could say that I've come to some profound conclusion. I haven't. I doubt I ever will. But here is what I know...

The perfect wife...

Honors her husband all the time.

Takes it on the chin when she's wrong.

Is slow to anger.

The real wife...

Needs those reminders to let her know he deserves to be honored.

Argues until there isn't anything to argue about.

Is a hot head.

The perfect mother...

Has perfect children. Well-behaved. Well-mannered. 

Keeps a tidy and functional house.

Beams at the mere sight of her angelic children.

The real mother...

Has children. She picks her battles. She is not Emily Post.

Keeps her children in clean clothes. Her house is lived in.

Loves them deeply, but savors private moments to herself.

The perfect Christian...

Tells you they are the "perfect Christian."

Judges you.

Lives a life without sin.

The real Christian...

Wants to share their faith with you, but is probably anxious because you know them.

Walks alongside you, without judgement.

Sins. Falls short. Every. Single. Day.

Perfection. It's a myth. A tall tale. An urban legend. We can wish our lives away waiting to be the perfect wife, the perfect mother, the perfect Christian. While we are on the quest to perfection, we might as well make everyone around us miserable because they don't meet the ideas of perfection the world has created for us.

Salvation. It's a true story. It's a big story. We can strive to be perfect without Jesus and it will never happen. We can accept Jesus and we will still never be perfect. But we will be His. Forever. And man, isn't that perfect...

Me + Bradley + All of Our Imperfections {GOD} = THIS

Dad

Disclaimer: This blog is heavy-hearted compared to my norm. Proceed accordingly.

If 16 year-old Mandy had to chose 3 words to describe her dad they would be: annoying, embarrassing and pre-occupied.

If 35 year-old Mandy had to chose 3 words to describe her dad they would be (in no particular order): selfless, genuine and hilarious (and maybe still a little embarrassing). 

I will be the first to tell you (now) that I had one amazing childhood. I didn't want for anything. I was a happy kid, adolescent and teenager.  I will also tell you, and so would my father, that I didn't have a super close relationship with him then. He was and is the hardest worker I know. He dedicated his entire life to making sure that my brother and I had everything we needed and wanted. Needless to say, he wasn't home a lot. He missed lots of concerts. He missed lots of ball games. He missed things. Growing up I really thought he just missed them. He wasn't physically there. Now I know how much he really missed them. 

If you ask my mother {or my husband} she would tell you that my dad and I were "cut from the same mold." I blame genetics for the reason that we butted heads during my teenage years. Now that I really know my dad as an adult, I realize how identical we actually are. I look a lot like my mother and I would like to think I have some of her best qualities, but I am a carbon copy of my dad. My personality is his. My attitude is his. My ability to hold a grudge is his. My temper is his. My worrisome mind is his. My burdened heart is his. 

Just a few weeks before Christmas we were bombarded with a new word that we now use in association with dad....CANCER.

It happens quickly. There are concerns. There are appointments upon appointments. Tests upon tests. There is the confirmation that it is, indeed, cancer. There is hope because "if you're going to get cancer then this is the best kind because it's treatable." More tests. More scans. More bad news. Bad news upon bad news. Statistics. Now we use words like rare and aggressive. 

Nothing can prepare you for this. Nothing can prepare your faith for this. I am here to tell you that THIS REALLY FREAKING SUCKS.  In the past 2 days I have been the angriest at God that I have ever been in my entire life. I am so mad that this has happened to my dad. This man who would give anything he has to anyone who needs it. This man who is so devoted to his family. This man who carries the weight of the world on his shoulders but still offers a smile. This man who my husband calls his best friend. This man who has loved my mother for 40 years. This man who loves his grandchildren so fiercely. This man. This man who is my dad. My dad.

Here is what I know about my dad. He is strong. He is courageous. He is determined. He is not ready to go. He is a fighter. He prays. He has people praying for him.

But, here is what I know about my FATHER. He has fought this fight. He has won this war. There isn't a day ahead of us that He hasn't laid His eyes on. Whatever the outcome of this journey my dad is embarking on, I rest tonight knowing that one day we will all stand in Glory with Jesus. HEAR THIS THOUGH. It isn't easy to rest this easy. It is a battle every day not to just lay down and cry. But I cry out to Jesus. I throw my hands up to Him.


“Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”

Mommy Is From Mars, Daddy is From....Somewhere Else!

Disclaimer: I'm having a bit of deja vu here, because I feel like I've used this line before, but y'all...I really do love and adore my husband. He reads all of these blogs before I publish them. He is my editor-in-chief, purchaser of my cheap wine, warmer of my cold feet, my best friend and my babies daddy. I wouldn't write anything that I knew would harm him, belittle him, or anything he couldn't take (because he can dish it out just as well). With that behind us....

Do you married people ever just get in a married people funk? I'm not talking about a fight, just a funk. It's kind of like when you're a kid and you spend a lot of time with one friend, so much so that they start to get on your nerves? Marriage is a lot like that at times...or at least my marriage is.

We were in one of those funks this past weekend. We weren't fighting, but we just weren't on the same page by any definition of the phrase. This got me thinking about how different we really are. I think anyone would agree that men and women, in general, are very different creatures. This also applies, in my humble opinion, to mommies and daddies. A few examples...

• A mommy gets about 2 minutes alone in the bathroom each day. The other times she is accompanied by a 2 year-old asking inappropriate anatomy questions.  A daddy can spend a full 45 minutes alone in the bathroom on a Saturday (and a Sunday) morning doing Lord knows what. He is able to completely ignore the chaos happening mere steps from the door.

• A daddy can use words like "vented soffit" in conversation. He knows how to build a PVC frame for a photo booth. He knows what "PVC" stands for. He knows things about dirt and plants. A mommy needs a daddy to tell her that the Washington Redskins are located in Washington, D.C. and not, as it turns out, the state of Washington. 

• A mommy understands the importance of a family photo. She knows that it will be difficult, but she plans it anyway. She doesn't plan it around naps or sporting events like, for instance, the Wolfpack football schedule. A daddy doesn't understand the importance of a family photo. In fact, he would just rather never have his picture taken, ever. Unless it's a photo taken when his family is all wearing red, watching the Wolfpack play football.

• A daddy appreciates history. He appreciates it so much that he spends what little t.v. time he gets watching shows devoted to learning more about history. He loves making random comments about said history, seemingly with the desire to teach his wife about history. A mommy understands that the 30 minutes she might get of t.v. time each day should be spent watching something mindless and trashy. A mommy also doesn't know what to do with herself with those 30 minutes, so instead of watching the entire show, she {SPOILER ALERT}'s it with her trusty pal, Google.

Next to being a mother, being a wife is probably the most challenging title I've ever held. But it's also the most rewarding. I wouldn't be a mommy to Emma and Adley if I wasn't first a wife to Bradley. Sometimes I focus so much on everything that we don't get right, I miss out on the times that we get it exactly right. 

• A daddy knows that the way to a mommy's heart is by saying "absolutely" when she asks to go on a Girl's Night Out.

• A mommy knows that she doesn't need the Halloween candy, but if she brings it in the bedroom, the daddy will indulge with her, thus making her feel less guilty.

• A daddy knows when the mommy is exhausted. He tells her to skip her coffee and take a nap with the baby. Sometimes she listens.

• A mommy realizes that if the daddy didn't work so hard, she couldn't love on her little girls all day, every day. Sometimes she stops to take time to express that appreciation.

...and sometimes, just like that, the daddy reminds the mommy exactly why she married him in the first place. 💜

"Here's to love and LAUGHTER, and happily ever after."

TWO

In preparation for this post, I started reading quotes about parenthood. There are so many out there. Most of them are those feel good, children-are-the-world types of quotes. A few examples...

"While we try to teach our children all about life, our children teach us what life is all about."

"Your children become who you are, so be who you want them to be."

and my personal favorite...

"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking outside your body."

You feel good now, don't you? Told ya so. Today wasn't one of those "feel good" mommy days for me (and if I'm honest, neither was yesterday), so I looked up "funny quotes about parenthood" instead. For your reading pleasure...

"If parenthood came with a GPS, it would mostly just say: RECALCULATING."

"I used to have functioning brain cells, but I traded them in for children."

And this gem...

"Turns out, I'm the mom most likely to teach the neighborhood kids how to swear."

If you care enough to read this, then you know that we recently added a baby to our family.  While we were waiting for Adley to arrive, we got lots of (mostly unsolicited) information about how families handled having more than one child.  There is the camp that believes going from zero to one child is the hardest. Then there are those that believe going from one child to two children is the most difficult.  Lastly, there are those folks who claim that any children after #2 are a piece of cake. Lunatics. 

Emma meeting Adley at the hospital was about the most precious thing I've ever witnessed. I just knew that this was going to be amazing, having two children. We were going to rock being #girlparents. They were going to be the best of friends. Emma was going to be such a big helper while Adley is small and needs lots of attention. And better yet, Emma would be so understanding of that as well, because two year olds are totally rational. 

I feel certain that the good nurses at the hospital were passing out a lot more than just Ibuprofen. We came home and, for a few weeks, life was bliss. Bradley stayed home for several days until we were both ready for him to go back to work. Emma was at preschool in the mornings. She'd nap when she came home and then we had the afternoons to play. Bradley came home at a reasonable time and cooked dinner (thank you, Hello Fresh).  Life was good. We were navigating life as a family of four with grace and ease. 

I can't tell you the exact moment when the proverbial (and lots of times literal, because babies) s#*t hit the fan, but it hit hard. Sometime between late May-early July, we entered into a time that we thought we'd avoided. Calling this phase of child development the "Terrible Two's" is generous. Each new day brought with it a fresh form of hell that we had no idea how to deal with. Temper tantrums, meltdowns, hissy fits, whining that she's hungry but refusing to eat, the list could go on and on and on. Around this same time, we thought it best to start potty training this feral child. Oh, and "monsters" entered her world, and apparently EVERY room in our home.

Bradley likes to tell people that, most days, he comes home to find me in a standoff with a miniature version of myself. It's a battle of wills that she usually wins. My husband is exactly right. This girl is me up one side and down the other. Well played, karma. We battle every day, but I am learning to choose those battles wisely. 

Bradley told me the other day that he knows how Bill Murray's character felt in the movie Groundhog Day. Parenting is kind of like that. Wake, feed, play, thank Jesus for nap time, keep children alive, attempt to cook dinner (see survival technique in photo below and proceed to call CPS), feed, bathe, survive until bedtime, sleep. Repeat.

Old-ish people like to tell new-ish parents that time goes by so quickly; that we will miss these days when they are older. They are probably right. I know, eye roll, middle finger, etc., etc., etc. If you're like me,  the mere utterance of that word, "TWO," sets you on edge. Whether it be the age of your toddler or the number of children reeking havoc on your home, two, it seems, is a blessing and a curse. Consider these few thoughts...

TWO: the number of times a week someone will ask you if you're going to have another baby.
    Rumor has it, this thing is still MY UTERUS. I'll let you good folks know if and when it decides to change the sign to "vacancy."

TWO: the amount of hours, per night, of sleep that you will get. This is an average. Here's hoping yours is higher.

TWO: The number of week nights you will send your husband this text: "Bring wine or die."

TWO: The number of pairs of braces, cars, college educations  and ridiculous weddings you'll have to pay for.

TWO: The number of times per day that you text your mother a photo asking, "Is this normal?" Also, the number of times you search Google to reassure yourself that, yes, that thing you were about to do or feed them WILL give them cancer/brain damage/etc.

And after you've considered all of that, remember this...

TWO: The precious hours before waking and after bedtime that you get to just be "Mandy" instead of "mama."

TWO: The number of times she asks you to sing "Purple Jesus" at night while she hums along and wraps those perfect little arms around you.

TWO: The kisses you get from your husband each day. One to say "I'm cheering for you today. You've got this." And the last to say, "You did good, babe. Thank you."

TWO: The opportunities you forget to thank God for all of it. The chaos, the mess, the love, the life you have.

and...

TWO: The number of times you'd do it all over again, if given the chance, because it really does go by so fast.

My sweet mommy friends: savor it, soak it all in, and for Heaven's sake, tell someone when it's hard, because that is how we teach each other how to be better. And when it's just too much, too hard, and the days are too long, remind yourself that someday, not too far down the road, you'll have two (or one, or more) real, live human beings walking around out there in the big, wide world, thankful that you are their mama.



~Proverbs 31:30~

Sister

For my precious girl

My dearest Emma,

     You're only two, but I know that you've noticed Mommy crying a lot lately. I know this because you always take my face in your sweet little hands and say "You okay, Mommy?" Lately, I've been telling you that I am crying because I am so happy.   It's true. I am so happy, but I am a little sad too, which I think is "normal" and okay, but I want you to know why.

     In a few days, you're going to become a Big Sister. I know that you won't remember that day or anything about it. You won't remember coming to the hospital, seeing your sister for the first time or holding and kissing her.  You won't remember the absolute joy that will be radiating from me and from Daddy.  It's okay that you won't remember. We'll tell you all about it many, many times.

Up until now, it's been me and you. I tell your daddy all the time that you're my "little bestie." We do everything together. We have gotten in a groove and routine and it works perfectly for us. You go to school a few days, then we have the afternoons to play. On the days you stay home we get to do whatever we want. It's the best life, getting to be with you everyday and watch you learn and grow.  

In a few days, our routine is going to change quite a bit. It won't be like that forever, but it will be different for a while.  This is the part that makes mommy a little sad. There will be times that we can't just go do whatever we want and times that we can't spend as much time together as before.  I know that you won't remember life before your sister arrived, but I will, and I'm going to miss it a little. However, I cannot wait for the day that you, me and your sister can explore and adventure together every day.

These past two years with you have been the best time of my life. I need you to know that.  I need you to know that I know why God picked you to be my girl, and for me to be your mama.  Every time I look at you I notice how much you look like your daddy, but when I watch you play and laugh and just live life, I see so much of myself. God knew that I needed a little girl who had her daddy's go-with-the-flow attitude but just enough of her mama's stubbornness and independence to make her an individual.  That's you kiddo. And you're the most perfect thing that I've ever laid eyes on.

As our lives are changing with the arrival of your little sister, I want you to remember that you are the one who made me a mama.  You have helped me learn patience that I never thought I possessed. You have helped me learn who I am and what I was put on Earth to do. You have helped me become better...a better wife, a better daughter, just better. Most importantly, you have taught me to love deeper than I ever dreamed of.

I will never forget these two years that we've had together, just the two of us. I will cherish them for the rest of my life.  Words can't describe how excited I am to watch you become a big sister. I know that you are going to be amazing at this new job of yours. I can't wait for all the fun that we're going to have together...just the three of us, and Daddy, when we let him join in.

You will always, always be my baby girl. Nothing will ever change that. My prayer for you, as you enter this time of transition, is that you and your sister will have a bond that is unshakeable. I pray that the two of you will be the best of friends. I pray that the two of you will never forget how important the other is to you. I pray that you will both always know that out of everything that Daddy and I have done, the two of you stand far and above as the proudest and best things.

Thank you for being my girl and for letting me be your mama.

I love you more than the sun, the moon, and all the stars in the sky.

~Mommy

Going Through The "BIG D" (By Way of Dallas)

"And I made a vow that day 

That I'd spend the rest of my life

Loving my Jesus,

Showing my scars;

Telling my story of how mercy

can reach you wherever you are."

~Casting Crowns

I have this best friend. She and I are so alike, and yet so very different. I have been encouraging her to write her stories. I have told her how healing it can be to put pen to paper. She, on the other hand, has recently encouraged me to shut up. She reminded me that listening is different than hearing. I had listened to this song before, but this morning I actually heard it. That's the inspiration for this little blog.  I'm sharing my scars. This scar has long been healed, but I felt a burden on my heart to share my story, just in case someone out there needed to actually hear it.

I graduated college in 2006 (yes, that's the 5 year plan if you're doing the math).  I had my degree. I had a job. I had a boyfriend that I'd been dating for a while. Check. Check. Check. 

About a year into my career we got engaged. I planned a huge wedding. We got married and lived happily ever after. Check. Check. Nope.

Like most driven women at the know-it-all age of 25, I felt the need to check boxes off. Like a to-do list for my life, I needed to do the things that society expected of me. Graduate college. Get a job. Get married. I thought check marks next to list items equated to happiness.

The thing is, I wasn't happy. The shimmer and shine of that fairy tale wedding quickly faded into a life that was not the perfect marriage that I had imagined, prayed for even. We were two people thrust into something neither of us were ready for, and, if we're being honest, neither of us really wanted to work for. 

We barely made it to the 2 year mark when it was clearly time to throw in the towel.  Now I found myself nearing 30 and going through a divorce.  The aftermath was exactly what you'd expect. I went through all of the stages of grief. 

1. Denial - This wasn't happening to me. How could this happen to me? I checked all the boxes. I'd done everything right.

2. Anger - Why didn't he work harder? Why didn't we love each other anymore? Did we really ever love each other at all?

3. Bargaining - God, please don't do this to me. I'll try harder. I'll change. 

4. Depression - No one will ever love me again. I am used. I am unloveable. I am not capable of having a real relationship. I am going to be alone forever.  My life is over.

5. Acceptance - It's not so bad being alone. I would rather be by myself than in an unhappy marriage. 

I would be lying if I told you life after divorce was roses. It wasn't. There were days when I had to drag myself out of bed and go to work. I had to force a smile, because kindergarteners didn't understand that I wasn't in the mood to be happy that day. I had to be cheery all day and then go home and feel completely sorry for myself. The thing was, I didn't feel sorry that my marriage was over; I felt sorry that I had failed. I felt sorry that I couldn't make him love me. I felt sorry that I felt sorry.

I had to reach the very bottom of "rock bottom." I can't tell you the moment when that happened, but it happened. One day I woke up and I wasn't sad anymore. One day I woke up and I didn't feel sorry for myself. One day I woke up and it didn't hurt. That day I thought would never come...it came.

This blog is not intended to be a self-help excerpt. It's not to discourage people from getting married young. It's not to bash my ex-husband. This blog is about mercy.  

At one point, after my divorce, I came to the realization that, no matter who it was that I'd married, I would have never been happy. I expected my happiness to be a direct result of the things he did. When that didn't happen, I was let down and sad. So I started to see life differently.

Everyday I woke up, went to work, and was surrounded by sweet little smiling faces who were eager to hug me, love me and learn from me. Mercy

I was surrounded by family, friends and coworkers who were a force of prayer and a source of comfort for me. Mercy

I was prayerful and God was responsive. I talked. He listened. I reconnected. I realized. I healed. Mercy

I allowed myself to fall apart, but God didn't allow me to fall to pieces. I allowed myself to feel all the hard things, but God reminded me of the good. I allowed myself to hurt, but God allowed me to heal. Mercy

I allowed myself to feel like a failure at love, but in the end, I learned to love myself. I loved the person I was. I loved the me I'd always been. I loved that God didn't want me to change for anyone but Him. Mercy

I have since found out things about my first marriage that would have broken me. After all this, nearly 2 years later, I met Bradley. Discovering things then stung a little, but they didn't break me. Mercy

If I had to do it all over again, I wouldn't. I wouldn't willingly put myself in a marriage that was doomed to fail. But I don't have it to do all over again, and thank God for that. Mercy

I have a husband who has been through a divorce as well. I don't have to be ashamed of that word with Bradley. We talked about it freely when we first started dating. We needed to talk about it. It was part of our healing and moving forward together. We made a pact a long time ago never to compare each other to the ones who came before. We never have. There is just no comparison. Mercy

So now that I've shown my scars, I hope the right person sees them. I hope that you'll find healing in whatever it is that is burdening you. 

GRANDS

I am writing this two days after what would have been my "Pretty Paw Paw's" 86th birthday. This is not a memorial or an unspoken eulogy. This is just my way of loving on my grandparents. I was graciously given 5 of them at birth. I lost the first when I was 17. I wear the rings of one I was never lucky enough to meet. They all have stained my heart...

Mamie
I never got to meet my great grandma Mamie. I wear her rings on my left hand every single day.  When I look down at them, I think of her. I hear that she was strong-willed, but effortlessly classy. I also hear that I favor her a bit, and I love that. I miss her, even though I never knew her.

Ernest
The one great grandparent I was blessed with was Ernest. He later added his middle initial and was eternally known as E.F.G. I think I get my humor from this man. If my calculations are correct, he was 73 when I was born. I have seen photos of him staring at me through hospital glass. Everyone says that his was the first name I called out..."PawPaw Uhnest."  I remember going to his little house and playing dress up with his coats and hats. I remember the smell of a hot stove while he was working on canning vegetables. I remember rocking on his porch (on a glider than now belongs to me) and watching cars pass by. I remember him asking me if I'd studied "arithmetic" at school. I remember that red jacket and coat he always wore at Christmas. I remember that little dish of rubber bands you kept in your kitchen that I always played with (your great-great granddaughter now loves to play with that dish). Classy and charismatic until the very end.

Floyd
This one hurts my heart. Sept. 2 would have been his 86th birthday. He died when he was 69. I was 17. It was the hardest thing that I'd ever had to face at the time. My Paw Paw loved to read. He always asked me what I was reading, and even more importantly, what I was writing. He loved reading what I wrote. He loved telling me how much he enjoyed it. He told me that I should write children's books. He literally looked at me and said this. I was a child. I wasn't even thinking of being a teacher at this point. One day I will fulfill his wish. I fully believe he sent me many, many mentors to guide me in that direction.

Maxine
Oh, Margie! She hated that name, by the way, so that is why she was lovingly referred to by her middle name, Maxine, or "Mac." Granny, as I knew her, loved fiercely. If you had a bad haircut, a bad outfit, or (in my case) a bad husband, she was telling you about it in the most loving way she could muster. During my divorce I felt awful. I felt like everyone in the world was judging me. My precious granny saw me through it. She got me. She stood by me. And after about 2 years she said, "Do you really want to be an old maid school teacher?" I promise you people, I met Bradley not 2 days later. And can I just tell you...Maxine LOVED her children and her grands, but she LOVE, LOVE, LOVED the ones we picked to marry (Kevin, Randy, Sheri, Eddy, Bo). So this woman ADORED Bradley. She called him "Luckey." She told me I was lucky to have him. My last memories are of B coming home and asking if we could go take Granny to eat at LaHa.

Emma was born on 2/4/15. Granny died on 3/27/15. She had a month. My granny got to hold that baby and tell her how much she looked like that "handsome Luckey." My girl got to sit in the bed with her Great Granny at Hospice House a month later and give her some of the last memories she had. I will savor those moments for the rest of my life. I will miss that woman for the rest of my days. I think about her every day. God's promises are real. This was her favorite verse:

"But be very careful to keep the commandment and the law that Moses the servant of the Lord gave you: to love the Lord your God, to walk in obedience to him, to keep his commands, to hold fast to him and to serve him with all your heart and with all your soul."
Joshua 22:5

Betty
Y'all. She is 86. She takes swim classes. She manages a business. She is the matriarch of our family. She loves Doo Wap music. She plays the piano. She could straight up school you on anything about the Bible. She's my grandma. She is Emma's great-grandma. And honestly, she is the coolest 'old chick' you will ever meet. My grandma raised 3 boys, so when I came around I think she just kind of had a bit of a FREAK OUT! and we've been joined at the hip ever since. She calls me Mandy Jo. She takes me on shopping trips (still!) But most of all, she ADORES my little girl and they play the piano together every Wednesday.  Seeing these two together every week is music to my soul. They just get each other. 

Fred
I am going to be completely honest. Out of all of these 5, I am the most like him. Take us or leave us. Good AND bad. If you know Fred, you know what I mean. I am fairly certain that when I was born, this man's world changed forever. He'd raised 3 sons and now he had a granddaughter. Out of every person in my life, this man has always made me feel like I was the Princess. I didn't deserve it, but he gave it to me. And if that weren't enough, I was dad's princess too. But now, I have this girl. We visit Fred every Wednesday without fail. He looks at her with the most sincere eyes. He prays that the days will come when she wants to spend the night with them (and they most certainly will). He wishes that she smiles with reason and laughs with hope. 

***

If I had known how wonderful it would be to have grandchildren, I’d have had them first. ~Lois Wyse

The One About Friendship...

A few weeks ago, as we were leaving the nursery at church, a sweet little girl we know said, "Bye, Emma." It seems silly, but this made me all kinds of emotional.  Emma had her first friend.  It made me so excited to think about my daughter making new friends as she grows from a baby to a little girl.  I've been thinking a lot about my friends, past and present, and how they've helped me become the person, and in some cases, the mother that I am today.

It's so true that friends come and go throughout our lives, but I like to think that the ones who mattered most (at whatever stage in life) leave us with footprints, stamps, bad tattoos, scars (literally), old t-shirts, and many, many memories.  It is my prayer that my sweet little girl will be as fortunate as I have been in the friendship department.  I hope and pray everyday that she will meet the friends that bring out her fun side, the ones that hold her accountable, and the ones that God planned for her since the beginning of time.

Below is a list of all of the types of friends that I've had, and the types of friends that I hope and pray my girl meets along her journey through life. I've attempted to write it as a letter, of sorts, to my daughter, in hopes that she will one day relate to the friendships that I've had.  I hope that one day she'll know the love of the types of friends, and that she will know how much these very friends of mine love her.

In an effort to not straight up call them out by name, I've dubbed each of them with a nickname.  Since this one is about friendship, I've also given them nicknames modeled after one of my favorite shows.  (Friends fans will get it.)  I hope you each know who you are and how dear you are to me.

1.  The One You Were "Born" With: I heard a quote once about cousins.  It was something along the lines of them being our first best friends.  How true this is.  Whether your cousin/best friend is older or younger, being born in the same family at around the same time makes you instant best friends for life.  This is the best friend who knows exactly how weird your family is, because they are a part of it.  They were there to hear about your first day of school, your first kiss, your graduation, your wedding, and everything in between.  Maybe you don't get to see them as often as you'd like, but nothing changes the bond that you have with your first best friend.

2. The One Who Is Your "OLDEST" Friend: I should clarify.  This friend is probably not your oldest friend, but she's the one you've known the longest.  You journeyed through the ups and downs of junior and senior high school together.  You might have even went to college together, which was where the real fun started.  She could be the complete opposite of who you are, but that could also be what has drawn you to one another for over 20 years of friendship.  She keeps you up-to-date on fashion trends, she signs you up for 5K's that you don't want to do, makes you wear ridiculous shoes at her wedding (you were probably even there the night she met her future husband), but she would give you the shirt off of her back if you needed it.  She came back home after college, like you did, and you've enjoyed watching each other grow into adulthood.

3.  The One Who God Knew You Needed: You probably call this person your "soul mate." You probably met her at a time when your paths were destined to cross.  You probably had no idea how alike you were, or how different.  You probably had no idea the things you would go through, together and personally.  You probably had no idea that this person would pull you from the deepest, darkest times in your life, simply by being there.  You probably hope you did this for her too, when she needed it.  When you look back on the course of your friendship, you will know that God put her straight in your path, and you in hers.  And your life has been so much better because of that.

4. The One Who Is Your Person: Although you likely met her well into adulthood, you still know how to have a good time together.  She's seen you through your career, the end of relationships and the beginning of new ones, and most importantly, she's been alongside you through the journey into motherhood.  She's seen you at your absolute worst, but she always reminds you of when you've been your best.  She holds you accountable.  She knows what you're thinking.  She knows what you'll say before you even say it.  You can pass a look (maybe at a staff meeting) and she knows exactly what you're saying. She is your rock.  She is a forever friend.  Hold onto her.

5. The One Who Married Your Sibling: God bless this girl (or guy, if you don't have any brothers). This person became possessed married your sibling.  She fits into your family like she was always supposed to be there.  She loves your children.  She helped make you an aunt for the first time. She doesn't get grossed out when your dad does weird stuff.  She goes on shopping trips with you.  She supports and encourages you.  But most importantly, this person is the one your sibling chose to do life with, and you love them simply because your brother or sister loves them.

6.  The One Who Knows What It's Like To Live With Your Husband:  This friend knows what it's like to live with your husband, because she suffered through it did it as a child. You were probably worried the first time you met her, but ever since then, friendship with her has been easy.  Hopefully, you have more in common with her than you ever imagined.  Hopefully she appreciates you and treats you like you were always supposed to be a part of her family.  She will love your children like they are her own.  She will not be afraid to tell your husband like it is.  She will be a part of your theme wedding without question. She will go on wine-tasting trips with you.  She'll be someone that you would have probably been friends with, even if you didn't marry her brother.

7.  The One Who Is Your Mama: Dear girl, I know what is in store for us.  One day you will be a teenager and you will think that I am the biggest idiot to ever live.  I know this, because this is how I felt about your Nana from about 1996-2001 (give or take a few years). I know that we will have our issues and our differences, but I will never, ever think you are anything but amazing.  I hope and pray that one day you will think of me like I think of your Nana.  She's gone from being the person I thought  understood me least of anyone to the person I trust with my most deepest wishes, dreams, secrets and prayers.  I know that your Nana is the one I can turn to with anything.  She will listen with love instead of judgment.  She will give advice when she thinks it's best, but sometimes she will just listen, and that will be all I need.  I pray every single day that I will one day share this friendship with you.

8.  The One You Are Married To: Out of all of these types of friends, this one is the most important.  I hope that you meet this man at a point in your life when you're ready for the depths that this friendship will go to.  I hope that you begin a friendship first, which you may very quickly realize is so much more.  I hope and pray that he will treat you like the gift from God that you are.  I hope that he keeps you grounded and holds you accountable.  I hope that he confides in you about everything.  I hope that he is the best friend you've ever had, because that is the way it should be.  Last of all, I hope for your sake, and especially his, that your daddy likes him.  A lot.

Friendship is one of the most important parts of my life.  I could write paragraphs for so many more friends that have blessed my life.  Friends shape our lives at every stage.  Sometimes it takes looking back on life to realize that, but it happens all the same.  I am so thankful that I have these friendships. I can't wait for my sweet girl to know the joy of a best friend.

"Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their labor: If either of them falls down, one can help the other up. But pity anyone who falls and has no one to help them up." Ecclesiastes 4:9-10 (NIV)

Evergreen...Eventually

**Yesterday my dearest friend Kelly asked me if I had been blogging lately.  I told her no, because I hadn't had anything to inspire a blog lately.  Her reply was, "Umm.  That's odd." What can I say? The girl knows me.  I told her that I guessed I would just wait until the s@!# hit the fan before I wrote another blog.  Well folks, the s$#@ has indeed hit the van. So, without further delay, this one is for you Kelly!**

Several months ago, Bradley and I decided that we were ready for a new home.  We first debated on the build/buy issue.  After lots of thoughtful consideration, we decided that we would buy now, have more babies, save more money, end poverty, save the world, adopt homeless animals, find a house plan that we could agree on, and then we would build our forever dream house.  Honestly, I just wasn't sure that our marriage could stand the true test that is building a home together.  Then again, maybe I just wasn't sure Bradley would survive.

I was happy that we decided to buy.  Choosing floor plans and light fixtures and toilet seats (oh my!) is just not my jam.  Through a Luckey family friend, we met our absolutely incredible realtor.  (If you'd like his name, I will happily share it, but I think I'll leave him out of my rant...er, blog.)  This poor man had his work cut out for him from Day 1.  To say that my husband is high maintenance when it comes to certain things would not do it justice.  Buying a house, as it turns out, really brings out the diva in Mr. Luckey.  He was constantly on the phone with our realtor or sending emails with lists of multiple houses that we'd like to see ASAP.  This man took us to at least 20 houses over the course of a few short weeks.  Like two weeks, poor guy.  He made our schedule work, he dealt with our never-ending tardiness and he even held Emma when we had to take her along to see houses.

We had all but given up hope.  I would love a house that Bradley would hate, and vice versa.  It just wasn't working out.  We had decided that we would continue living in The Shack at Beard Avenue, which is what I decided to start calling it, and we would go back to the search for a house plan so that we could build.  I like to think that I possess quite a few highly-favored virtues, but patience has never been one of them.  The thought of searching for a house plan and then getting bids from builders and then waiting for the house to be built was just not appealing to me at all.  

Obviously, my God knows that I am not a patient woman.  Just when we'd given up hope, someone posted a link on Facebook to a home for sale in Trinity.  There was even a video tour.  I looked at it several times.  It was old.  Like, really old.  But it was charming.  It had land.  It was in the school district that we wanted to be in.  Reluctantly, I showed the listing to Bradley.  He didn't hate it either.  Quite the contrary, he loved it.  He was ready to make an offer before even seeing the house.  We called our realtor right away and made an appointment to see the house on Saturday.  As I've come to find out now, we almost didn't get to see the house because there were so many showings already scheduled.

Another virtue that I am not necessarily ready to write a book on is optimism.  My proverbial glass is perpetually half-empty. In two days time, I allowed myself to list all of the negatives about this house before I even laid eyes on it.  It was old.  It wasn't brick.  It was old.  It would be a money pit. It was old.  It was too far from civilization.  It was old.  You get the idea.  I had my mind made up that I was going to hate this house.  Bradley was already in love with it.  This was going to be bad.

Saturday arrived.  We saw the house.  I really saw the house. I didn't see it for everything that it was, but everything that it could be....would be, if we made it our home.  So we did.  We made an offer that night, and by Monday morning we were officially under contract.  We closed on March 31st and were officially the proud owners of the Farmhouse at Evergreen and The Shack at Beard Avenue.

We, meaning Bradley, immediately left the closing attorney's office and went to start pulling up carpet.  We found beautiful heart pine floors underneath dirty carpet.  Thank you, Jesus! The day we closed, our "floor guy" came and started his initial estimate of repairs/replacements of the flooring.  He gave us an estimate, we paid a deposit, replacement floor was ordered and life at Evergreen seemed imminent.  We hired a painter to paint over the rainbow of colors in the Evergreen house.  Y'all  know I love rainbows, but this house needed to be painted.  She started and finished in a week and half.  It looks like a new house, beautifully painted in perfect colors just waiting for a family to get there and love it....

Which (finally) leads me to the s*!@ hitting the fan.  Apparently, flooring doesn't just manifest itself when needed.  There are steps.  Seeking out the right wood, sending it to be milled, delivering said milled wood, and then allowing it to sit in the home for 3 weeks to, get this....acclimate to the environment.  If there were a pile of wood sitting on the floor at our new home, I wouldn't be writing this blog.  We are nearing the 2 month mark since closing and there is no pile of wood at my house.  We have been assured it will be there Monday.  We shall see.

One of the (virtues?) I do happen to possess is eagerness.  Maybe over-eagerness? Once we went under contract, I started packing.  I packed up things that I knew we wouldn't need.  (We have had to open approximately 12 boxes to retrieve things that I knew we wouldn't need).  The Shack at Beard Avenue is tiny for 3 people.  Add boxes everywhere and two useless dogs and things get hectic.  Needless to say, my over-eagerness has caused a lot of overstressed people in our house to be thrusted to their wits end.

I whine about all of these things to get to my point.  We will have our house at Evergreen...eventually.  It will be everything we dreamed of and more...eventually.  We will sell The Shack at Beard Avenue...eventually.  Eventually, this little house that was Emma's first home will be someone else's.  Eventually, these boxes will be unpacked, a house will be made a home, and we will find new things to stress about, because that's what we do.  Eventually, we will be making new memories and forget all about the time in between; the dot, dot, dots... (The ... is actually called an ellipsis, which I have had to explain to my husband/blog editor multiple times.)

When my stress seems like it will boil over at any moment, I promise to read this blog and remind myself that God is our provision at all times.  He provides us with a home to keep us safe through our dot, dot, dots. He provides us with family to love us through our dot, dot, dots.  He provides us with sunshine and Nana's swimming pool to survive our dot, dot, dots.  He provides us with promise of something that we never dreamed of, but something that He knew all along.  He is the start.  He is the finish.  He is everything that doesn't need to be said.  He is our dot, dot, dots.

"The end of a matter is better than its beginning, and patience is better than pride." Ecclesiastes 7:8

This is CAT. She came with the house :)


Thanks for this, my sweet Kelly!