From refugee to refuge

     Let's first begin by defining some terms together in order to be certain we're all on the same page.  According to dictionary.com, refuge is "shelter or protection from danger, trouble, etc.".  It defines refugee as, "a person who has fled from some danger or problem, esp political persecution".  My idea for this blog is discovering how to go from being a refugee to finding refuge.  When I think of the term refugee, I think of one who is running for his/her life in that moment of definition.  I think of someone who is in danger, one who is struggling, one who is anxious.  Once the person has found refuge, they would probably no longer use that term as their identifier (in my mind).  I constantly feel like a refugee in life.  I feel like I am running from one thing and toward another, and as hard as I try and pray, I can't seem to break the cycle.  I'm tired of feeling as if I have my whole world shoved in a pack and strapped to my back.  I'm tired of feeling like a failure when I know I'm not, not yet anyway.  I'm tired of feeling like I'm not doing something well, or that I'm not good enough.  Mostly, I'm tired of feeling tired.  I know I complain about this a lot, but stay with me, I promise there is something relatable for most people in here...
     Satan knows how to get to me in life.  He starts giving me thoughts that start out simple and true but then turn into something ugly and evil.  I constantly have thoughts like: "I'm frustrated at home because I'm tired of staying behind on things that need to be done."  It's a true thought.  There is nothing at all wrong with feeling frustrated over being behind on laundry, struggling to keep your kitchen clean (relatively at least), or forgetting to pay a bill on time.  However, my thought, after a while, becomes: "I'm a failure as a person because I can't even keep up with laundry, my kitchen is disgusting, and I can't even manage finances. I GIVE UP!"  Do you see how a simple, true thought has led me to a place of hopelessness?  IT'S LAUNDRY!! WHO CARES?!?!  We all know the answer to that, me.  In your case, you.  We do care.  We have to care actually, because laundry does eventually have to be done.  The danger and evil are in the progression from frustration to hopelessness.  Here's another one.  I begin with the thought:"I'm frustrated at work, because I can't stay caught up with my work, and I don't feel like I even know my co-workers anymore."  In a few weeks the thought becomes, "I hate my job because I am a failure at it, and there's no way I could ever do any better than I am now because I don't have any more of myself to give."  The first thought is simple and true.  The second thought is not.  It is destructive; it is hopeless.  I'm tired of taking those thoughts, piled up with more thoughts which are related to things as simple as menuing, grocery shopping, or making dinner, to things as important as, health, weight, and relationships, and having to run as far and fast as I can in what I assume to be the right direction.  Where then, is my refuge?
     I know that literally God is my refuge, but how do I find my way to His place of comfort?  We all know, thanks to Science class, that it takes more energy to begin motion than to keep something in motion.  My problem is that I feel the need to literally stay in motion.  Have you ever said something like: "I better do it now, because once I sit down, I won't get back up"?  I do.  That means that I run in from work, immediately begin cooking dinner while trying to play with and hold my kids, feed them as soon as it's ready, hurry and clean the kitchen, work on whatever other thing is absolutely necessary for the day, and then collapse around the time my kids go to bed.  What part of the day was enjoyed? None of it.  Sad, huh? It's amazing that the days I accomplish the most, are sometimes the most miserable.  I take this as proof that my joy is being stolen by my obligations.  My God and my family are what is most important to me, but those are the places where my life suffers.  
     Dean and I are constantly saying that we don't want our kids to get the worst of us.  We want to give them the best of who we are, and we want to give each other the best of ourselves as well.  It's hard though, because we use ourselves up before we get a chance to really even be together.  My relationship with God suffers because my quiet time either doesn't happen or becomes a complaint session on my part.  I pray a great deal, without ceasing so to speak, but I'm pretty sure my prayers are starting to sound like directions given from a waitress to a short order cook.  "I need an order of peace with a side of patience and kindness!  Don't forget to go heavy on the blessings, please! Oh, and you didn't forget about the hope I'll need later!"  Forgive me, Lord...Or maybe I sound more like a sick patient in with the doctor, "You see, I need help with this pesky little ache of stress, and then I need you to fix the heartache from missing my kids, and then I need you to take a look at making me happier, and if you could, maybe you could soothe this little frustration over here, and then.........." God help me remember who You are.   
     I've always spoken very openly to God, I mean He does know everything anyway.  As a child, I basically adopted the idea that God is who I am constantly addressing in my every thought.  Rather than ping ponging thoughts around with myself, I feel that God is who I am really wanting feedback from, so I constantly talk to Him.  It has made me good at prayer.  The problem is that I still need to set aside prayer time.  Talking to Him all day has, in some ways, hurt the way I talk to Him.  I need prayer time where I am still and quiet, waiting for a word.  It's great to pray constantly, but I need to remember that I can't always be the one doing all the talking.  God knows my heart.  He knows that I am sincere in my prayers, and He knows that I acknowledge Him as the creator of the universe.  I am the slave, and He is my master.  I mean no disrespect in my prayers that come out sounding demanding or whiny, but I still don't want that to be my instinct.  I want to go from feeling like a refugee, to resting in my refuge.  I just haven't gotten there yet.  
     I am determined to take action in this situation.  I need to change several habits in myself in order to do so.  I need to work on my prayer life, enjoying my children and husband, and trying to find balance in necessities.  My first goal is to change my prayer habits.  Every time I catch myself saying one of those split second "God, please help me" prayers, I will add to it a praise and acknowledgment of His greatness.  I will make sure that at some point each day I seek God's will for me.  Step one starts this week.  I will let you know how it goes, and I sincerely hope that if you are in the same situation I am, you will try this with me.  Here's my prayer for week 1 of going from refugee to refuge:
"Lord, You are so awesome.  You are why I am alive, and God, You are what I live for.  Help me to remember that You are my reason for living as I go through this life.  I want my every thought to be pleasing to You God.  I was not put here to live a life of stress and anxiety but to bring glory to You, and while I know that this imperfect world is full of those things, I also know that in You, I can find peace.  I am so sorry for becoming the mess I am.  I beg your forgiveness, and I praise You for Your love and blessings.  Please guide me on this journey to Your refuge, God.  I seek Your face.  Bless my friends who need this journey as well.  We await Your guiding touch, and we praise You no matter the outcome.  We want to be the women You created us to be, and we will start now.  We bless the Creator of the universe. We praise You, we praise You, we praise You.  Amen"
 

Mother of the year....NOT!

     So I found myself in this situation a few weeks ago where I was driving down the road after literally running out of my work place (don't worry, I got my class covered), telling myself not to cry, get upset, or even show any sign of stress.  I had somehow forgotten to get Princess picked up from school.  Luckily, the sweet ladies at preschool were taking good care of her by having her just keep on going into the afternoon program like nothing was wrong.  I was devastated.  Princess seemed fine, but she asked several times that day why she had to stay late.  This is when it is hard to be a working mom when you're shuffling everyone between so many people that something gets forgotten.  My mom normally picks Princess up on that day, but she was on vacation and somehow I had forgotten.  It's an honest mistake, but what if Princess hadn't been in a school that offers such a wonderful environment?  To make things worse, it happened again the next week.  Luckily, my father-in-law called to check, which prompted my babysitter to call SIL, who then went and got her.  It worked out, but the fact still remains that I forgot to have it taken care of, which bothers me.  I feel like I am absolutely doing the best I can with the juggling act I have in life, but there are still some major moments of failure, and I honestly don't know how to do any better than I am doing now.  I go through times when I say I'm going to quit my job and stay home so that I don't have to worry about the hectic schedule I have, but then we'd have to give up private preschool, my health insurance, my retirement, and basically all unnecessary things in life...HMMM..nah!  I could hire someone fulltime to keep my twins everyday and pay (at the very least) $600 every four weeks....*Cough* Not an option....I have a calendar that I fill out to help, but there are always little added things and changes that I just can't adjust for most weeks.  It's a stressful, seemingly hopeless cause which makes me feel like a failure. 
  AND THEN I REMEMBER as a 9 year old girl getting left at the church by my parents who had driven separate cars, not once, but twice.  I remember my dad's secretary having to come to the school 15 minutes after it ended to pick me up once.  These aren't important memories, they are just things that happened.  The schedule got hectic, an appointment ran late, I got lost in the shuffle.  I didn't feel any less loved.  I didn't feel distressed by the evidently hectic lifestyle my parents were leading.  In fact, until just this moment, I assumed that my life now is more chaotic than my mother's was at my age.  How selfish is that?  I believe myself to be an exception in my chaos when in reality I am simply an average mother.  Is it right? Does this make it okay?  Has our society done this at harm to us?  I don't know the answer to these questions.  One thing I do know is that no matter what the situation, motherhood is hard.  It is hectic, stressful, and sometimes frustrating, but man is it worth it! 
     I love being a mother.  I am so proud of my children who are so special as little individuals.  I look at them and constantly see all the good in the world.  Maybe I do fail sometimes, but they all know at the end of the day that mommy loves them so much.  For them, that's enough.  So, I'll pick myself up, brush off the dust of guilt, lean on Jesus, and walk on forward in this journey...and all the while, I'll still be learning to love the chaos.

Mirror, Mirror

     I'm sure there is a moment in every mother's life when she looks at her child, or children, and feels as if she is looking directly into a mirror.  This has been happening to me a lot lately.  I can think of several different occasions within the past two weeks that I looked at each child individually and saw myself.  The problem with it is that I didn't see the good version of myself that I have pictured in my head.  I saw the uncontrolled, pushy, demanding, temperamental parts.  Geez.
    We'll start with Bubby, since he's the least like me.  He has this tendency to just plow over people to get what he wants.  He will literally run over his twin to get to me.  If I'm standing at the sink washing dishes and he wants me to pick him up, he forces his little body between my legs and the cabinets and pushes with all his weight against it to get me away from the sink.  I don't know where he learned to be so adamant about getting his way.  Oh wait...
     Then there is Tinker Belle, who is mostly expressionless.  She has recently learned a new look.  It's the "I'm gonna kill you" (but not literally) look.  If you say something she doesn't like or look at her a certain way, she lowers her little eyebrows at you.  I can't imagine where she saw such a mean look.  Well, maybe...
   Lastly, there is Princess, my mini-me in life.  She was nagging (ahem) me about wanting something for two straight hours before I lost my cool and ranted about how she had to stop nagging me, during which my voice cracked and I almost cried, which made her begin to cry because she can't handle it when I cry, and she yelled back at me in the same tone, with the same desperate expression that she just couldn't help it.  It was some twilight zone type stuff...THEN she developed an unexplainable fear of our bathrooms.  She doesn't want to be in there by herself, and it's not exactly easy to drop everything and take her all the time.  This fear started randomly because of a decorative crab made of brass that was my grandmothers.  I can't imagine why anyone would have such a bizarre fear..(*nervous chuckle*)  Wonder where that came from?  Perhaps it could be...

     I know that I have some good traits as a person.  I truly care about people, I'm tender-hearted, and I am loving.  Why is it then that I feel like the only traits I have given my children are bad ones?  My parents told me once before the twins were born that Princess was strong willed and that while she needs to learn control, that is a trait that will help make her successful in life.  I'm not sure it's very endearing in preschool, but I know they are right.  I also know that the trait came from me.  Dean is definitely strong-willed, but she got the agressiveness from her mother.  I sit here asking myself, "Why don't they mimic the good things?" "Do I not do anything that is positive in front of them?" "Do I subconsciously only see the bad traits I pass along to them?"  "Should I start saving up for bail in the future?" (just kidding)

This is one of those times that I'm just going to have to try to improve the personality traits I project and pray really hard.  Here's the best I can do in my current state:

"Dear God, you know I'm crazy.  You also know that I don't want to make my children that way by showing them only uncontrolled behavior traits.  Help me, God, to realize that I have three little people depending on me to stay close to You so they can learn how to act.  Make me better, Lord, as a person, mother, wife, teacher, and woman.  I will praise You forever. Amen."

Sparrows (and other little things)

^"29 Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care.³⁰ And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. ³¹ So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows." Matthew 10: 20-32

 "Look at the birds of the air; they neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them. Are you not of more value than they?" (Matthew 6:26)

     I've always loved these verses of scripture that remind us of how God feels about us as well as the song they are said to inspire.  That song, "His Eye is on the Sparrow" written by Cevilla Martin, has always spoken to me in an intense way, especially the key line that says, "His eye is on the sparrow, and I know he watches me."  I am in awe that I serve a Creator who takes care of even the smallest of His creations.  What is even more humbling to me is that He doesn't just watch over me, insignificant speck that I am, He also cares for the "insignificant" parts of my life.  Why is it He does so?  He has an entire universe under His watch and care, so surely I can tend to the little things in life, right?  Even if I mess up the little things, they aren't going to destroy my being, so why does He feel the need to tend to my tiniest of woes?  Let's think about it...
     I found myself with only my youngest of children at home the other evening, which rarely happens.  Princess was with Papaw, Tinker had charmed Dean into taking her with him on the tractor, and Bubby was left with me.  He was grumpy from allergies and not at all happy about being left behind.  At 14 months old, he didn't understand why a little case of allergies made a ride through a hay field with Dad a bad idea.  In an attempt to cheer him up, I did what I knew he would love best...I took him outside.  Those who know me, know that this is a big deal.  I am not crazy about being outside just for the sake of being outdoors.  I have no problem with the outdoors, I just get bored hanging out in the yard.  I really wanted to be inside cleaning up so that I could get in bed as early as possible, but I knew it would help Bubby's mood, so out we went.  I've already confessed that I'm bad at imaginative play, but in addition, I'm also bad at coming up with a way to play outside (I mean that is why we bought a swing set, right?).  At a loss for what to do, I walked him around the yard, looked at the butterflies on the butterfly bush, knocked off the tiny flowers on the white crepe bush, piled the few dead leaves up in a tiny bunched for him to stomp through, and had a little tickle fight on the ground.  The tickle fight was his favorite part.  He'd throw his little head back and let out a laugh that surely started in his toes.  He'd start laughing before my hands could even touch him.  He looked at me with those blue eyes that you could swim laps in, and I know for sure that I saw true joy deep within them.  Then it hit me.
     It was the small gestures of my attention that made him so joyful.  The time and effort I put into helping him forget how bad he felt made him feel loved.  At one point, he wrapped his chubby little arms around my neck and planted a slobbery kiss right on my face.  Would he have been okay if I had stayed in and let him follow me from room to room while straightening up?  Sure, but he would have been miserable and the mood would probably have worn off onto me.  Why then, would I put off things that had to be done in order to just cheer him up and tend to the little problems in his life?  Because I love him, of course.  A sense of renewal ran through me as I realized that God wants to do just that for us.  He wants to take us out of our sour mood and show us the beauty and joys of life.  He wants to give us moments of love and affection.  He wants us to know that even the little moments matter, and we're not alone.  What a wonderful Savior we have.  
  If ever you feel alone, ladies, just remember, you serve a God of the details.  For surely, if His eye is on the sparrow, He's watching you and me too.

"God, I'm so in awe of Your love, that I am truly speechless in Your presence.  Thank You for caring about the little things.  I will love, praise, and worship You forever."

The problem with GUILT and SPANX

The problem with guilt and spanx is that they'll both make you find yourself in a moment of panic when you realize you can't breathe.

*First and foremost, you need to know what spanx are.  Some women feel them to be a wonderful tool of compacting your body so that nothing jiggles.  They are sort of like control top panty hose on steriods.  You can buy them in various lengths and they extend up to your ribcage.  It's sort of like being a tightly packed sausage link.  While nothing jiggles and you do feel thinner, you should never try to take a "short" potty break, because these bad boys are not easy to get on and off.  Do yourself a favor and give up liquids for the day.  If you feel like you're going to pass out, it's normal. * 

  
     As you all know very well, I'm never short on things to feel guilty over.  As an educator, I'm given a nice amount of time off throughout the year to be with my kids.  The drawback to that fact is that I feel like we are settled into a routine just long enough to get comfortable, then it changes for a week, two weeks, or the summer.  Then, we adjust to a new little schedule and things change again.  It's like starting a new job every year, and having just enough breaks to make you want more.  PLEASE don't think I'm complaining.  I honestly don't think I could do anything that required more time from my kids, so I'm extremely thankful for my job, but there's always a little guilt involved when my little chickies have to readjust and I'm forced to leave them crying after me.  This is has been the worst year so far.
     Princess was elated to begin preschool.  (She attends a half day session at a Christian preschool nearby.)  The first two days were wonderful.  Despite the fact that she has never had to get up at a certain time in the morning, she hopped up, got dressed, and was ready to go.  After those two days, however, she informed me that she would not be returning to preschool, and as a matter of fact, she didn't think her dad should go back either.  If he were to decide to stay home, she reasoned, she could simply give him the money from her piggy bank so we could pay bills.  As precious as the offer was, I had to break it to her that preschool wasn't something she could quit.  Thus began the mommy guilt.
     Due to the location of the preschool in repect to our work, I am the one who takes Princess to school.  I have to drop her off as early as they are accepted in order to make it to work on time.  However, Princess decided (AFTER entering the school on the third day) that she didn't want me to leave so quickly and began crying rather obnoxiously.  It was every mothers nightmare.  My child seemed broken hearted and I had no choice but to 1. leave her crying and feel heartless OR 2. give in and forever cement in her mind that throwing a tantrum will get her way.  There's no way to win.  Maybe, MAYBE, if I hadn't left two crying 13 month olds at home, my heart wouldn't have hurt so badly as I peeled her off of my leg, handed her to the teacher, and turned around and left.  I doubt it, but maybe.
     I headed to work that day in my "teacher clothes", i.e. dress clothes.  I'm not the size I was right after having the twins, but I'm not exactly back in my old clothes either, so I have to decide each morning if my clothes are going to be a bit too loose for comfort or a bit too tight for comfort. (I know buying new ones would make sense, but my pride and my wallet don't agree.)  Anyway, I had found a solution to the problem of my skirt not wanting to zip:  I found a pair of spanx that had been given to me by my mother or a friend close enough to give you something of the sort and put them on.  I know I didn't buy them because I would never willingly buy a torture device.  I'll be honest though, I kind of liked that they made my clothes fit better, even if the phrase "stuffed sausage" ran through my mind several times as I got ready.  It sure did make that zipper feel better.
     I was running late for work, so I rushed in the building and got a little winded in the process.  I was feeling anxious because teaching isn't one of those jobs you can actually be late for and I hate cutting it close.  I was feeling nervous, frustrated, guilty, sad, and a little weary.  I knew I'd make it throught the day though, God had my back, and even though I hadn't said much to Him, I felt pretty secure for the day ahead because I stopped by a friend's room and asked her to pray for me.  (I figure if I'm not up to it myself, I should at least have someone else intercede, right?)  The day continued, and I don't remember much about it.
     At the end of the day, I went to leave and realized that I had lost my keys.  I went to the first floor, got the secretary's keys, walked back up the three flights of stairs, and looked for my keys (which were in the bag I had carried down and back up with me).  When I finally got into my car, I was once again winded.  When I couldn't catch my breath, I realized I was having some sort of attack.  I freaked out a little, prayed, called Dean, and drove all at the same time.  When I came out of it, I realized that something had to change...
     I'm going to be honest, I still don't know if it was the guilt or the spanx that led me to the panic attack I had in the car.  Just to be sure it doesn't happen again, I swore both of them off.  I realized a rather humorous comparison between spanx and guilt:  they will both squeeze the life out of you if you let them.  I had carried around my guilt for so many days that I had just wrapped myself in it to make it easier to carry.  I wrapped it tighter and tighter throughout the day without even realizing it, and it began to strangle me, literally.  While the fact that my stomach was squished all day might not have helped, I know my spirit was the real source of the attack, but I had hardened my heart in order to make it through the day.  "I can't deal with this right now, God".  I tend to say that so often lately.  I figured if I could just push it down, and push it down, I would be able to quench it out completely.  I was wrong.  God wouldn't let me forced it away, not because He wanted me to feel guilty, but because He wanted me to give it to Him.  I did. 
     As I was driving down the road, with Dean on the phone telling me to pull the stinking car over before I wrecked, I gave it to God.  And you know what?  I realized I didn't want it anyway.  Clinging to that guilt didn't make me stronger, it didn't make me a better mother, and it sure didn't make me a better driver.  Why God, do I cling to the things that hurt me?  I'll never know.  Here's my prayer for those of us who tend to wear our guilt like a tight pair of spanx:

God, You know my heart.  You know how much I love my family, and You know how much I love You.  Forgive me for taking on guilt that keeps me from being as close to You as I can.  Help me to fight off Satan's attacks when he brings me guilt to wear.  Make me the best I can be.  Bring comfort to the ladies around me.  Help us realize we are not alone and that this world is not our home.  We love, praise, and adore You, God.

HeliMOMter

     I don't know if any of you have ever had a pediatrician hint around about a part of your personality, but I have had two separate doctors make "passing comments" about me.  Dr. Baby Genius said something along the lines of, "You can't control every movement when you have three kids, huh?"  Another Dr., whom I deeply respect in that same practice, said, "I love studying personality traits in parents of twins.  You can't micromanage that many children at once; it's impossible." 
     Now, call me paranoid, but I seriously doubt that our general conversation just so happened to lead us in that direction during two separate doctor visits.  Granted, the craziness that ensues when I roll into the tiny room to wait on the doctor usually has me apologizing to nurses and doctors, and maybe, MAYBE, they felt the need to excuse my lack of control at the moment.  I don't know.  I do know though, that Princess suffered from my constant desire to control her every movement until I was so pregnant with the twins that I could no longer get close enough to her to hover for fear of knocking her down with my belly.  In short, becoming a mommy to the twins cured me of being a helicopter mom...sort of.
     It was easy to be a helimomter with just Princess.  She always wanted to play right at my feet, which made it easy for me to instruct her constantly on her every move.  She ate when I ate, so I just fed her.  She always wanted me there to help her with each task, so I simply did everything for her.  I know, I know; it's amazing she's normal (as normal as four year olds get anyway).  I'm sure there were moments in her little two/three year old mind when she wondered why mommy never actually let her walk into the store but carried her instead.  You may be wondering the same thing.  Honestly, it never occurred to me.  Why let her walk and risk her running away from me and getting run over when I could just carry her in instead?  I know it sounds crazy ( I would insert a "but...." here, but I have no defense and I truthfully still think it's a decent argument.)  I eventually had to stop carrying her because I was afraid I would fall and hurt both of us and carrying her weight on top of my own got burdensome.  It was then that I taught myself that we could in fact just walk hand in hand into a store without having to be unrealistically afraid of a runaway car injuring only her...Fastforward to the present.
     While I feel that I have gotten much better about being a helimomter.  I know that it's my natural tendency.  I truly just want to prevent my children from getting hurt, and maybe there is something deep within me that wants to keep them from making mistakes that may cause them pain, frustration, or even embarrassment.  However, I'm so glad that God gave me just what I needed to keep that tendency in check, chaos.  It's exhausting to micromanage one child, and it really is impossible to do so with three (especially once they are all mobile).  It's okay to teach your children to do, or not do, certain things, but we have to understand as mothers that so many lessons learned in life are done so by making mistakes.  The little things we learn "the hard way" help make us the kind of people who think about an action before taking it when we are older.  While I would love to have the energy to use every moment of my day making sure Princess, Tinker, and Tank all do everything perfectly and safely, I don't think it would be the best way of life for them.  They need me, but they need me sane, and I have to let go sometimes of things that aren't really all that important. 
     How can one possibly do so?  Well, first, you decide what you want to control most that is in essence unimportant.  Second, you let it go.  Princess's wardrobe is one area that was strangely difficult for me to let go of, not that I can't literally control what she wears, but because I knew that some days she needed that freedom from my constant control.  She loves fashion in the way many four year old girls love fashion.  She likes dresses, particularly pink ones, her American flag swimsuit, her polka dot rainboots, and she loves her white cowgirl boots, which in her mind match everything.  I don't always let her pick her outfit, but 95% of the time, I at least work out a compromise.  This is my way of not helimomtering.  It sounds silly, I know, but it really is hard for me.  It's just as hard as knowing that I can't possibly always keep Tinker from finding something that I'm sure is covered in germs and putting it in her mouth, or keeping Tank from tripping over something when he gets exciting and starts running towards me without any regard to what is in his path.  I'm not all the way there, but I'm trying.  I wanted to post about this because I think so many times our stress as moms comes from trying to control what isn't even important to control.  By all means we should make our children behave, learn respect, do things that are good and holy, but I had to learn that making Princess cry over what she will wear to Walmart, isn't worth the cost. 
    I'm on a journey, ladies; come with me.  Let's be good mothers, not helimomters.  Let's stop being a broken record in the ears of our children of "Do this", "Don't do that", and start being the voice of love and support.  Here's my prayer for us:
"Dear father, thank You for giving me such a deep love for my children.  I know that You have given me the ability to love them and a sincere desire to care for them in the best way I can.  Help me, Lord, to focus always on what is important.  Help me to let go of the trivial things that I don't need to waste time obsessing over.  Help me, Lord to be a great mom, a Godly mom.  Help me not lose my mind in the midst of this beautiful chaos. I praise You always."

Groundhog Day and Time's Winged Chariot

     As a working mom, I try very hard to appreciate every moment with my kids.  I'm extremely blessed to work in a job that contracts me for 10 months but spreads out my pay over 12 months.  Therefore, I have two months home with my kids in the summer.  You would think it would be easy to relish every moment of those two months, right?
     Here's my problem.  I'm an antsy person.  I don't like being at home all day every day.  I like my home, and I like spending time there, but I like being free to go places too.  When I had Princess, I didn't change my lifestyle too much in that area.  I loaded her up and took her wherever I wanted to go.  The twins, however, changed that.  Last summer (actually up to October) and this summer I have had to learn how to be happy just being at home with my three kiddos.  (Luckily, my husband stops in during breaks in his day to help break up the monotony for me.)  It's been a blessing, though.  It has made me a better wife, mother, and person in general.
     For the first time ever, I spent several weeks of this summer just getting my house back in order.  I have busied myself with homey type things and been pretty content.  It's an amazing thing really, because before now, I could only handle being at home (meaning not leaving the house at all) for a couple of days in a row before going stir crazy.  Dean never minded it, but I can tell he loves the new me even more than he thought possible.  He loves that I'm around for when he has a moment to stop by (he farms our land, so he's always pretty close by), he loves that the things of our family bring me sincere joy, he loves that the kids are around to go out with him when he is doing something that allows for a tag a long.  It's great, but there are those days...
     Some days I wake up and feel inexplicably restless.  I then do a mental count in my head of how many days it has been since I left the house.  It's never been more than a week since we go to church on Sundays, but it is sometimes quite a few days.  On those days I feel like Bill Murray in the movie Groundhog Day.  At those times, I have begun to feel (subconsciously) that every day is exactly like the day before with no changes, no variations but ones that make things more frustrating, and everything is stuck in repeat.  It's not that my everyday routine is a bad one, it's just that after a while, the small irritations become increasingly irritating.  It's on those days I call someone up and get out of the house.  We may go to lunch, out shopping, running errands, anything to make the day different.  These days are usually pretty stressful when you're dragging around twin 13 month olds and their 4 year old sister.  Even poor Princess can get stressed from the ordeal just trying to eat in a nice restaurant can become.  **As a side note, a lot of people have made the mistake of saying things like, "I take three kids out by myself all the time" to which I respond, "How many are not walking? Only one, huh? That must be nice to only have to carry one.  And how many aren't potty trained?  Again only one, Hmmm.  That does sound manageable.  Try packing a diaper bag for two, loading up a four year old, putting two babies in carseats, carrying two babies and your wallet (forget the diaper bag at this point) in the store while having the older one hang on to your pocket, putting the two smallest in the buggy (you know, the part they aren't supposed to be in), and then trying to actually buy something.  I'll probably get out more as well when my kids are more mobile. " ** Sorry for getting off subject, but you see where I'm coming from.  It's not easy to just get out and go, but it's worth giving up.  I have learned how to get through the groundhog days.  I just throw in some variation.  It is something I do tend to deal with though.  Ironically enough, I also deal with feelings that are completely opposite.
     On the days when I'm loving the routine of my life, I have this sense of urgency to appreciate every moment, because it will be over before I know it.  I am lucky to get two months of vacation in the summer, but two months passes so much more quickly than I could ever imagine.  I'm constantly thinking of the quote from Andrew Marvell that says, But at my back I always hear time's winged chariot hurrying near.  It feels like time is flying behind me, rushing me forward.  I literally feel like I have to enjoy life as quickly as possible so that I don't miss anything.  I think that is why I always stayed so busy before; I was trying to squeeze as much out of summer as I could.  It didn't work of course, but rather made summer feel shorter instead.  When I was thinking about this post, I almost named it "Groundhog Day and Dorothy's Hour Glass" instead because the image of Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz kept popping up in my head.  You know the scene when the witch has her in her castle and she turns over the hour glass and says she's going to kill her when it runs out, and Dorothy sits there staring at it frantically, biting her fingernails, and crying?  That's kind of how I feel at times too.  It's a strange juxtaposition of two completely opposite feelings.  I try not to let myself get depressed by the days ticking by, but I try not to feel stuck in the repetition those days offer either.  As is normal with me, I feel this to be a spiritual lesson.
     God has taught me that 1.  I need to just be still sometimes.  That doesn't mean I get to sit in the floor and play with my kids all day.  There is always plenty to do.  What I do mean by "still" is just being willing to live the simple part of my life.  The part where I'm Mommy and Wifey, not Mrs. 2.  I need to quit worrying about time passing by so quickly and just be in the moment.  You can't look beyond today in dread of it ending and actually enjoy any of it, so just stop and be in the moment, even if it's stressful or hectic. 3.  Don't do things to purposely make the time go by faster or make it feel longer.  Neither works.  In the end, even if every moment is miserable or exhilarating, it will be the past, and we will make of it what we want in our memories.  It's been a great summer, probably the best of my life and still I have little nuances, so I wanted to write this for those of you struggling to enjoy your life right now.  Here's my prayer for us all:
  "God, you are so awesome to give us life.  Sometimes we take the joy out of it by stressing over whether we are enjoying it to the fullest.  Please forgive us for doing so.  Show us how to enjoy life and appreciate it fully.  In the good times, we praise You for goodness.  In bad times, we praise You for Your perfect will.  Thank you for this life. We praise You, we praise You, we praise You."

Looking forward and checking the rearview...

     I'm a person who always looks to the future, the next thing, the IT factor of my life.  I know you already get that about me, but I have to keep it in check spiritually.  I just last week attended my 10 year high school reunion.  Now, it's a little awkward to talk about this on here because I know that several people who follow this blog, knew the "high school me" as well as the "now me", and honestly, I don't know (and may not want to know) how a lot of people viewed me in high school.  Now there were people who knew me well and knew my heart then as well as now, but I would have to say that number is pretty small.  I've changed so much in 10 years in some respects, and in other ways I'm exactly the same.  I assume most people feel that way from decade to decade.  Here's the hard truth...
     I met Dean late in my high school career, so he only knew a little bit of the high school me.  He jokes with me that I was a "mean girl" because he thinks of me as being preppy or snobby, a laughable idea now since there is not even a shred of pretense that I am at all sophisticated or "high class".  His accusation isn't necessarily true.  I wasn't really all that mean all the time, but I could be sometimes.  The sad part of that is that some people may have only interacted with me sometimes, and who knows if they saw the nice me, the mean me, or both.... It used to really bother me, that thought.  I told a few people off, made a few enemies, acted in a mean way.  I also took up for some people, made some friends, tried to show sincerity.  My biggest problem then was a spiritual one.  I was fighting in myself.  I had major issues with body image, self esteem, self worth, you name it.  It's hard to be a teenage girl (or boy) in any time period, and the late 90s-early 2000s were no exception.  Instead of keeping my focus on God always, my eyes wandered towards the enemy camps.  My biggest regret is that I doubt many people would think about me as a high school student and say, "Man, she pointed me to Jesus Christ!"  It makes me sad.  I was a hypocrite; I still am sometimes.  I have my spiritual demons...mostly linked to my mouth, which I fight constantly to control. 
     I guess I was hoping that tons of people would show up to the reunion and I could prove that I am not the person that I once was...But as I think about it now, I'm pretty sure none of us are.  Literally, it is impossible to think anyone from my graduating class could possibly be the same, and I sincerely thank God for how he has changed me.  It is so freeing to know that I don't have to be perfect, pretty, smart, skinny, or anything else that I thought I had to be then.  All He wants is someone willing, and it's okay that I'm a little crazy, it just adds character.  I've never been one to hold a grudge, so I can't relate to those movies where people go back to their high school reunions to show off for people they used to hate, love, or just look up to.  Honestly, that is one of my best traits, and it makes working with teenagers a lot easier for me than for those without this trait.  I can have a run in with someone today, but I'm willing to wipe the slate clean tomorrow. 
     I'm not one to dwell on the past; it makes me crazy when I do because I tend to only see flaws, faults, and short falling.  Maybe that is why I push so hard into the future.
     Ten years ago, I could never have imagined my life now.  I was talking with some friends at the reunion, and someone made the comment to a friend, "I can't believe you're a dad!" to which he replied, "Well, it kind of just happened."  (This particular friend is actually trying to adopt his son legally whom he has had since birth and who has some serious health issues, so please pray for him!)  So many of us could relate on some level to that comment.  For many of us, our little blessings (children or other types) came at a surprising time, in surprising circumstances, (ahem) in surprising numbers, and some of us just aren't there yet to see or receive those blessings.  We all had master plans for our lives, but I can't imagine anyone's "perfect plan" has been what we imagined.  My life is so much better than I had planned for, and I sincerely hope my former classmates can say the same.  I hope they are blessed beyond what they had dreamed years ago.
     My glance in the rearview of life has made me evaluate my goals for the future.  I constantly ask God, "What is next?  Show me where to go from here."  I have a great job.  I love to teach English.  However, my heart is wandering right now.  Pray for me sisters and brothers.  I feel His hand leading me, but I'm so impatient because I don't know to where I am headed.  It's scary to think I'll even hit publish on this one.  I will probably have to publish it before proofing too much lest I chicken out from bearing my heart so freely to the world.  If I could, I would spend my working time encouraging others, specifically ladies.  I have yet to figure out how to make that pay the bills though.  I just know one thing, I have to find what it is I can do for Christ that is more than I am doing now. 
     The only thing giving me the courage to say this to you is the thought that probably others feel as I do about some aspect of this post.  Surely there are other ladies out there who look to the future and wonder what it is that God will do with them next.  I love to hear God speak to me.  I crave it, yearn for it, need it.  I have always needed to be told I am loved by those around me.  in retrospect, it seems that the best lessons I learn from God are those that I must wait on in His silence.  He knows me well.  He knows that to get my attention and to hold me back from going too quickly in a direction without all the preparation I need, He must lead me one step at a time.  I'm going to be honest though, I'm weary, I'm tired from the silence, and I need to know that this spiritual journey I'm on is leading somewhere.  I'm so blessed.  I'm happy in every sense, but I know He has something that I can do for Him, and I want to do it.  I just don't know what "IT" is...

Maybe this time, you guys should write the prayer....

A blessed year.

     On June 29th, I woke up with an accomplished feeling.  I had survived the first year of my twins' lives.  I had this feeling of winning the game Survivor.  Don't get me wrong, if it had been Survivor, I'm almost certain every member of my family (immediate and extended) would have voted me off the island at some point.  However, since that was not an option, I made it!! Dean made it!  Princess made it! Tank and Tinker made it, too!! We all survived the chaos for a whole year.  It was rough year in some ways.  It's hard to change the dynamic of your family by adding to it, and adding more than one at a time, shew!  I had the blissful "we made it" thought, but then I was humbled by another thought.  We hadn't just survived, we manged to eventually thrive!  Tears come to my eyes at this thought, because all I managed to pray for was survival for those first few months.  Then, I started praying like a survivor for us to thrive.  I didn't just want us to make it through the day anymore, I wanted us to enjoy it.  I wanted us to have time to look at one another and really see the person we loved in front of us.  You know what?  We did.  By the grace of God, the five of us, especially Dean and I, learned how to truly enjoy our new lives.  We may wipe enough booties to make us poop experts sometimes, but we laugh, rejoice, and have fun.  It has truly been a blessed year, and there is so much I want to say about it that I'm not sure how this post will turn out.

     There are so many things I will no longer take for granted such as:  sleeping in the dark (rather than with a lamp on), sleeping at all, going out to eat easily, going out to eat for less that $30 ( I can't imagine what it will cost us in ten years!),  "running" out to the store without finding someone to watch my kids or loading three kids in the car, buying less than 4 gallons of milk a week, silence, time to talk to my husband without interruptions, expendable income, exercising alone, feeding only myself at meal time.  There are surely more, but nap time is going to be over soon, so I must press on.  These things may seem bazaar to you, but they are things I have learned to cherish.
     One thing that snuck up on me when the twins were about 6-7 months was the fact that our finances were much tighter.  I knew, of course, that having a baby is expensive so having two would be even more expensive, but I was still in survivor mode for so long that it kind of hit me all at once that things weren't as easy financially.  We keep an account for the big things (mortgages, insurance, etc) that I don't carry with me and one for groceries and conveniences (cell phone bills, tv satellite, etc.)  One is used as a way to save up for the big things that tend to be due semi annually or quarterly.  Why you may ask?  I spend too much money and that keeps me from doing so too badly.  (I say this with shame.)  We don't live lavishly, but I like going out to eat and I can shop just about anywhere (walmart, thrift store, dollar store, you name the store and they've got something I need.)  Anyway, when I had the twins, we took on tons of doctor bills and expenses that come with children, but I never changed my lifestyle to accommodate these new expenses.  So, I have now had to begin being a more proactive spender.  We still go out to eat, I just make sure I know how much money is in the bank so that I'm not transferring money later to buy milk.  It has been good for me to be honest, and I don't think I'll ever go back to swiping a debit card without thinking about the fact that I need to make sure there is enough money in the account to get me through the month.  Luckily, there was always extra in the other account, but it could have been bad.  I guess it's a good thing Dean tends to be....frugal. :)
     I'm so humbled by the changes Dean and I have made.  To be honest, with Princess, I didn't allow Dean to be the best father he was capable of being for a long time.  I repent to God for that so much.  I was so controlling and obsessed with her that I didn't let anyone really enjoy her like they should have, especially Dean since we often have shared time with our kids during the working months of the year.  With the twins, I had to learn to let go.  Dean is more natural with our children than I am, and since the birth of Princess that has been true.  I think back now that I have learned a few things, and I understand now why he thought I was so crazy when Princess was born.   (He didn't necessarily say it that way, but a woman knows...)  I look at him now with such admiration.  What other man would be able to handle a three year old and two newborn babies by himself while I slept, went to the store, or just escaped for a while?  He's amazing; he's more amazing than I give him credit for most of the time.

     I lay in bed the other night thinking about how far we've come.  A year ago, we went to bed with 8 bottles pre-filled with water and a container of formula.  We would sleep with a lamp on, two bassinets beside us, and our bottle prep station set up and waiting.  I don't know how much powdered formula I have spilled in the bed, but I can guarantee that if you want to torture someone, spread a little bit of that stuff on their sheets.  I have been so exhausted that I simply couldn't go any further, and my cup has been so full it overflowed with blessings and love.  I have been deep in the valley and high on the mountain, sometimes in the same day.  Children are amazing that way.  They make us feel emotions so fully, and they remind us of our relationship with God. 
     Here is how I have changed.  I went from being a woman who filled every summer day with something to do to a woman who can stay busy all day with no plans made.  I went from being a woman who knew God's grace to one who feels it every moment.  I went from being a woman who grocery shopped on the fly, to one who makes a list and sticks to it.  I went from being a woman who liked to spend money to being a woman who appreciates value.  I went from being a woman who was busy to being a woman who understands the importance of appreciating the childhood years of her children.  I went from being a woman who could clean her house in two hours to being a woman who couldn't clean it in a whole day, and that's okay.  I've become more of a homemaker, and you know what?  I don't hate it.  I'm an obsessive personality who needs to be planning, thinking, and doing.  So, I've simply had to change my focus from doing as much as possible to running a tighter ship at home.  I like making out a menu, and then a shopping list from the menu, and keeping us on a grocery budget. (I'm still new at this part.)  I like knowing what to cook on any certain day (especially since I am the one deciding ahead of time).  These things bring order to my chaos.  To be completely honest, I think I understand why life is so chaotic anyway.  It makes us turn to God and focus on the important things.  I don't know a single person (other than a few elderly ladies) who doesn't live a chaotic life.  Even those who have fewer responsibilities in life tend to describe it as chaotic.  Most of this we bring upon ourselves, of course.  You know what is humbling?  Those few elderly ladies I know who do not live chaotic lives would love to have that excitement back.  What we complain about, they long for.

     If nothing else came from the name of this blog, it has helped me so much.  I feel that I have truly learned to love the chaos.  I now know that loving my chaos doesn't mean I have to be thrilled during every moment of it; rather, it means that I can appreciate each moment as one that is effecting my life.  Tinker Belle pulled off her diaper the other day after her nap, which let the poop she had just deposited in it escape.  Did I love going in to find her completely naked and poop and pee everywhere?  Not necessarily; but you should have seen the sly little smile on her face, and honestly, we couldn't do anything but laugh.  (Dean took care of the mess by the way.)  Every moment isn't glamorous, but I'm learning that it's okay.  Sometimes it's the late night snuggle with a teething baby, or the smile Princess gives me when I bought her favorite fruit at the store that reminds me what life is about, our legacy.  If my children are my legacy, and my goal is to teach them to love Jesus and share His gospel, then my life gets a lot simpler, even in the midst of the chaos.  Princess rode in the buggy while I shopped last night and sang her own version of a praise song in the store.  She raised her little arm in the air and touched her heart with the other hand truly praising God to the extent she knows how.  I was so touched that I could have cried, and when I realized she was copying what I do, I almost lost it.  That is what it is all about, praising God, not just through singing, but with our lives.  Chaos keeps me close to God.  It makes me depend on Him fully.  It makes me focus, not just float through life.  It has been the biggest blessing in my life to have my three children, that which I expected, and that which I did not expect.
     Thank you, my sisters, for living this year with me on the blog.  At one point I thought that maybe I would stop writing the blog when the twins turned one, but I realize now that my chaos is far from over.  I don't know how much longer I will feel led to write, but maybe we'll all be little old ladies on here sharing stories about our grandchildren getting married and such.  All I know is that I still need you all, and if you're willing, I'm going to keep on.

Here's my prayer for this post:

"Dear Father, thank You so much for my first year as a mother of three.  Thank You for Dean, a man strong enough to handle a woman like me.  Thank You for Princess, my big girl, my helper.  Thank You for my precious babies.  Thank You for letting me watch them this year and all of the milestones that first year holds.  A year ago today, I couldn't imagine what they would look like at a year old, I couldn't imagine them crawling and walking, but I am so blessed to see these things come to pass.  Thank You for motherhood and friends to share it with.  Thank You for my sisters who read this blog and support me through triumphs and heartbreak, God, I need them so much in my life.  I pray that You will bless them with Holy chaos, and that they will draw to You in it and become stronger Christians and women because of it. We praise You, we praise You, we praise You.  Amen"

Family Roots and the Virtuous Woman

     I have this dilemma when people ask me where I’m from.  I honestly don’t know what to tell them. This is not because I feel that I’m from nowhere, but because I feel I’m from two different places.  I have lived in the Appy Mountains so long, that people in the Swamps of Georgia would probably consider me as “being from” Virginia.  However, “holler rules” say that if you weren’t born here, you’re not “from here”.  It may sound harsh, but I kind of like the tightness of the groups.  I’m accepted by both, mostly.  I have some little mountain babies so that helps with the locals; however, my family always indoctrinates them with ideas of the “south” (aka deep south, dirty south, whichever you prefer) so that they know their southern(er) roots.  This lets me know that at least they think of me as being from there, or at least from them.  I don’t feel this to be a disadvantage in my life.  I love having two sets of roots, it makes me versatile (as long as I stay south of the Mason Dixon line anyway).  There is one thing that makes me very homesick for my birthplace, my family.  I miss my cousins, my aunts and uncles, fresh peaches, my mom’s pecan orchard with gorgeous old trees , and I miss my Nanny.  I so wish that I could be close to them sometimes, especially my Nanny.

     I don’t know about you, but there’s something about the women in my family, the matriarchs specifically, that just makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.  Where I come from, genetically speaking, the women are the heart of the family, the men are the head, and God is the soul.  Maybe you don’t like that kind of traditionalism, but I love it.  I find it comforting, natural, and (most importantly) biblical.  These are things that are important to me in a family unit. 

     Going to visit my Nanny, my only living grandparent, reminds me over again that the woman’s place in a family is so important.  She is in so many ways the hub of our family.  Living so far away from my relatives makes it pretty hard to be especially close to them, but with most of my family, there’s this awesome way that we can just pick up on conversation as if we spoke yesterday, not 6 months ago. There’s a connectedness I feel to them, which is something we all need in life.   If you don’t know this already, the Aldridge family is a pretty large one.  My Nanny has nine children, who all have between 2-4 children, who are in turn growing up and having children of their own (and a few of them are old enough to do the same).  There are more than 90 of us.  I was going to do the math, but it gets overwhelming, and honestly, I lose track even when writing it down.  At last count, two years ago, there were exactly 90, and I know of at least 5 that wouldn’t have been in that count, maybe more (I couldn’t say for sure).   It must be hard to be the hub of that many people.  She holds so much responsibility; you see, no matter how close we are to each other or even how often we visit Nanny, she’s just innately special to all of us.  She’s the warm and fuzzy feeling we get when we think of the word “family”. 

     In my mind, Nanny is beautiful, smart, and basically the perfect wife and mother.  Am I looking through some sort of smoky lens and perfecting her?  I don’t know, but I don’t care.  She’s special.  I live in fear of her old age and what it is doing to her (ie making her forgetful), and I live in fear of the day she may leave us.  I know everyone else feels that way too, and I’ve talked with some of my cousins about it, but it made us feel worse, so we dropped the subject.  In all of this, I’m so very much like a child.  I want to cry when I think of her forgetting things, because I want my Nanny to stay just how I imagine her, I want her to be around to see my kids grow up, I want to scoop her up and move her in with me so I can put her in a plastic bubble where she can’t fall and get hurt.  Being so far away probably feeds this fantasy since I do imagine her much more often than I actually see her.   In other ways, it makes me treat her almost like a child, trying to do things for her without her noticing when I’m around or practically forcing her to go out to dinner and pick the place.  I am such a practical person in so many respects, but going to see Nanny just makes me a little nostalgic (or maybe a lot). 

     I used to think of the Proverbs 31 woman as my bitter enemy.  I mean, who can live up to that kind of pressure?  You have to do ALL of that to be considered a virtuous woman for crying out loud??  Then, I went to a conference break out session about being a good hostess.  The speaker pointed out that the Proverbs 31 woman did all of these things throughout her lifetime, not all at once.  It became clear to me then that being the virtuous woman was a journey, not a daily goal.  Why it didn’t occur to me (and many other women) that this woman couldn’t have been a stay at home mom AND a working mom all at the same time, I’ll never know.  It is probably because we get caught up in the hugeness of that list that we don’t think about the amount of time it would take to become the master of so many traits.  I guess that’s why I idolize my Nanny; I see her towards the end of that journey, and I want to be that.  However, my yearning for such will make me focus on the end of the journey, not the blessing of travelling it. 

     I feel this way about my mother too.  I have seen her on her virtuous journey much more than I did my Nanny, but it doesn’t make it any less impressive.  I then compare my place on the virtuous journey timeline to my mother’s and then my Nanny’s, and I am in awe of the beauty of the female role in a God centered family.  The heart, the place where emotions are, the place where comfort and acceptance are found, the place where hurt goes away, the place where Daddy can be held up(even though he’s big and strong).  Isn’t womanhood a wonderful gift? 

     There are times when I think washing one more dish or changing one more poopy diaper is going to make me scream, but what a privilege to be the heart of my little family.  I can already see in the eyes of my children and nephews that my mom “Nana” is to them what Nanny is to me, the Virtuous woman.

    On the long ride home from visiting my family in southern Georgia, I was thinking of how hard it is to leave once I get down there.  In the movie, Sweet Home Alabama, Reece Witherspoon’s character says, “My life in New York works… But then I come down here... and this fits too”.  I can relate to that idea completely.  I know my visits only consist of hanging around my Nanny’s house and not venturing out into the real world she lives in, but I really do feel connected to that place.  I wonder more and more if I would have that feeling if she wasn’t there.  I don’t know, but I don’t ever want to find out.  Then I realized that an idea that probably fits me better is found in To Kill A Mockingbird.  Scout is talking to Dill about running away and says, “I wonder why Boo Radley never ran away” to which he answers, “Maybe he doesn’t have anywhere to run to.”   That’s the catcher for me. That is why I think of Georgia in such a sentimental way.   I always have somewhere to run away to, somewhere where the world I’ve built can’t find me, somewhere where people love me just because I was born, somewhere where I can cry and complain, somewhere where they’ll give me sweet tea and hug me when we greet and when we part, and somewhere where I don’t have to have my hair perfect (which is good because that is an impossible task in that humidity).  Georgia is where I can run away to, or maybe it’s Nanny’s house.  My child thinks those two ideas are the same, as do my nephews.  Georgia=Nanny’s and Nanny’s=Georgia.  Maybe they are right.  I know that no matter what I’d go visit my other relatives, but Nanny is part of my heart, the part that keeps me walking down that virtuous woman path.  My biscuits will probably always taste like crap, and my dumplings are microscopically thicker than Nanny’s, which ruins the whole batch, and when it comes to stains, my child bypasses me to get my mother’s help, and she is always going to be better at throwing a get together than me, but I’m sure in the future, I’ll have traits that my kids and grandkids want too.  Nanny’s better at me than basically everything, as is my mother (which Princess tends to point out), but one day, I’ll have to be the heart of a downline of descendants myself, and what a blessing.

     There’s a saying out there that you “can’t have roots and wings”, but I don’t look at it that way.  I don’t feel like a little bird that has been groomed to fly away.  Instead, I feel more like a tree that began as a seed that fell into the ground.  As I get older, my roots grow even deeper while my branches reach higher and form their own forks.  I can be grounded in the background of the virtuous women before me, which helps me as I become the heart of a family myself.   Maybe one day, I’ll be home to many people.  I hope my example points them to Christ as those ladies who came before me have for their children and grandchildren. 

Here’s my prayer to all of us ladies who are or will become the heart of a family one day:

“Dear Father, thank You so much for giving me the responsibility of being the heart of this family.  Help me to always remember that You are the most important member.  Help me to remember how important the role of the men who lead the family is as well.  God, walk with me down this virtuous woman path, please help me to be strong in my journey.  I want to give You the glory for my family’s success, and I want to ask forgiveness where I’ve failed You in my efforts.  Be with my sisters who are struggling with their place in the family unit.  I lift them to You, God, because being the heart is so wonderful, but God it can be so hard.  I lift up those ladies who don’t have the great examples that I do.  Please show them what a virtuous woman should be.  We praise you for the good and bad, God, and we acknowledge that Your will is perfect.  We love You, we love You, we love You.  Amen.”

For your viewing pleasure, I've added some pictures from our trip...

Twin A- Tinker Belle to the rescue..

     I often wonder if my twins have some sort of special connection.  It seems some times that they have a very special bond, but at other times they seem to feel the other twin a nuisance.  It worries me more than it should, but I gained a little perspective the other night.  Tank suffers from pretty bad allergies, and had been having some trouble with them a few weeks ago.  We were treating him as the doctors had directed, but it didn't seem to help much.  He was grumpy at bedtime, but he went to sleep pretty easily.
     We separated the twins a while back in hopes that they would no longer wake each other in the night and maybe start sleeping a little better.  It sort of worked.  Therefore, the girls are in a room together, and Tank is on his own.
     At about 5 am, Tinker Belle began going absolutely crazy.  She was screaming in a way that was very different and very alarming.  I jumped up from the bed, and said something to Dean to wake him up.  As I entered the hallway, I heard Tank struggling to breathe, so I darted off to the side as Dean continued into the girls' room.  I picked him up, and began the routine for treating nighttime croup.  Steamy shower, walk outside, head over boiling pot, breathing treatment, repeat.  It sounds crazy, but it works.  He learned to be pros at it with Princess.  Not five minutes into the routine, Dean comes and begins helping me.  I asked him what had been wrong with Tinker Belle.  He said nothing.  When he went in her room, she was crying, but when I went down the hall with Tank, she stopped.  He gave her sippy cup to her and came to help me.
     I could have cried.  I realized that she could hear her brother and knew something was wrong.  When help didn't arrive, she called out for it because he couldn't.  As I'm writing, tears are streaming down my face at this amazing little show of heroism.  I went back in to the girls' room while Dean walked Tank around outside, and looked in on her, sucking away at her little cup with her eyes wide open.  I know it sounds crazy, but she looked worried.  I rubbed her little peach fuzz head and assured her that Bubby was just fine.  She was quiet when I left the room, but she didn't sleep much more that night.
     I guess this proves to me that my babies do in fact have a strong bond, and even though they may fight over every single toy in the house, they love each other deeply. Another thing it taught me is that even though she is a tiny little thing, representing the 1th percentile, she can still be a hero, she can still be strong, and she can still look out for others.  She isn't weak, she isn't at a disadvantage (well, maybe when they fist fight), and she isn't too little to help.  She is "fearfully and wonderfully made" for a special and important purpose.
     I started thinking about this as a spiritual lesson.  Tinker knew her brother needed help, so she cried out for help for him when he couldn't.  She interceded so to speak.  How often do we see a brother or sister in Christ who is in need of help and either can't/or won't call out for help?  How often to we cry out to our Father for them?  The thought breaks my heart.  My prayer for us today, is that we will recognize when others around us are in need of help, and we will be willing to cry out in the darkness of the night for help to come to them, even if they are too weak, stubborn, or lost to cry out on their own.

     Ever since she was tiny, Dean and I would hold Tinker up like she was flying and say, "Tinker Bellllllllle, to the rescue!"  She always loved it, and she would smile ear to ear when we did it.  I guess now she has earned her little hero award.

Ringmaster Part II

     I know I promised it wouldn't be very long before I posted again, but you know how life gets out of control sometimes.  Sissy's wedding was wonderful, and tiring.  I think I learned now more than ever that she, Adod, and I are all three just Greeks in training. (I don't know if I've mentioned this, but Sissy and I refer to our mom's as "the Greeks", which we got from the moms and aunts off of "My Big Fat Greek Wedding".  We loved those bossy loud ladies so much without knowing why until one day we got lost in a nearby city with our mothers in the backseat.  It all became very clear.)  In truth, we are more like the Greeks than we realize, and we are ever getting closer to being the same.  We are all just lively, energetic, opinionated women.  No wonder there were almost a few fist fights and maybe a couple of tantrums during the weekend.  It was wonderful.
     Sissy was one of the most beautiful brides I have ever seen, and I 'm not exaggerating.  There was a beauty radiating from her that is God given.  Things fell together perfectly thanks in large part to Godmother (her mommy).  Lots of people helped out; so many family and friends were there from out of town as well as those who live here, so there was always a lot going on.  Sissy held it together pretty well.  There were very few times that we saw a crack in her composure, and even then, probably only those of us who know her best would have seen it.  She never speaks harshly to people, and there were a few times she got a little snippy and demanding.  I think any bride has that right.  If ever there were a stressful week in the life of a woman, that is one.  Anyway, she was absolutely gorgeous, the ceremony was perfect, and Taylor will be a wonderful husband to her.  He was one of the most precious grooms I have ever seen during a ceremony, and it is obvious that he is deeply in love.

     As for Princess, she was a beautiful little flower girl.  She was already tired by the time pictures started and the day broke heat records, so that made things a little difficult in the life of a four year old.  She was not the easiest she had ever been to deal with, but she was the most beautiful cowboy boot clad flower girl I had ever laid eyes on.  It's amazing to me how as a parent we can look at our child one day and love them even more deeply.  She did her job well coming down the aisle, but couldn't last on stage through the 45 minute ceremony.  She went and sat with my Godparents aka Memaw and Pepaw.  How she almost fell asleep in that heat is amazing to me.  She had fun at the reception, of course, and only requested ice cream as her prize for doing well.  (Yes, at one point I was willing to bribe her.)

     Dean, my personal hero once again, dealt with our real life while I was in a wedding wonderland last week.  He shuffled his two work schedules around quite a bit.  He kept them, dressed them, and kept them quiet at the wedding.  He and his dad (his parents also attended, because they know the family, and well, it's a small town and we're all freakishly close) took the twins out of the covered outdoor area and let them play in the grass.  My mom went to my house for a few hours earlier in the day to help him out some, so that he wouldn't be too far behind on the farm.  It was a wild few days.  Just to give you a feel for it, here's our schedule for part of that week:
Wednesday night--Dean and I held our weekly small group and then went to my Godmother's to see Adod and her husband before the chaos hit.
Thursday - I worked all day, Dean worked half a day and then left due to us not having a sitter, I went home to relieve Dean so he could get some work done, an hour later, a different sitter came, I left to go to a bridesmaid's dinner with Sissy, Dean came in about 3 hours later to relieve the sitter, I was with Sissy and the other girls until about 1 am, while Dean got everyone fed and in bed.
Friday-- Dean went to work, I got up at 6:30 (the kids must have forgotten I was up late), cleaned the house, took all three children on an hour long jewelry delivery run, then I went back to town and met my parents for breakfast, dropped Tinker Belle off with my mother in law, took Princess and Tank with me to a PreK evaluation for Princess (30 minutes in the opposite direction), came back from there, took those two with me to the store to pick up some necessities (ie toilet paper), picked up Tinker Belle, a plant hanger, and some jars that were borrowed from a neighbor for the wedding, and headed over to Godmother's where I'm not even sure what help I was other than offering my cute babies to snuggle my godmother who was bearing the heaviest burden of stress at that point.  I then went back home, put the twins down for a nap, got myself ready (and Princess) for the rehearsal, was rescued by AThack from way back who babysat for me because Dean had to be part of the graduation for his high school students and couldn't go with me and wrestle the kiddos.  My mom left the rehearsal, went back to my house and picked up the twins when it was over and then took them to the rehearsal dinner for me.  After the dinner was over, I took them all home, put them to bed and as soon as Dean got home, we collapsed in bed.
Saturday-- I got up at our regular time (6:45), made breakfast, straightened up, and Adod and Sissy picked me up at 9 am.  Dean stayed with all three kids for a few hours, mom came and let him finish up some farm work, then he went back and took care of them and got them ready for the wedding.  Sissy, Adod, and I were all at the beauty shop for the next several hours, then we picked up Princess and went to Godmother's to get our make up done and get ready, then we went to have pictures done at the wedding site, then went back to Godmother's for a freshen up moment, then went back for the actual wedding, then did a few more pictures, then off to the reception.  After the reception, Dean and I were together once again and took our little brood home to roost.  We sat up for a while with Princess, and then called it a night. 

Then we were up again at 6:45 the next morning getting ready for church.

     It's amazing how busy life can be.  These events were all wonderful, but man was I exhausted when it was over, and I'm sure there were a ton of other people who felt the same way.  Before I had children, a weekend like that would have been supplemented with sleeping late and naps and such, but those are just things of the past now.  It's a blessing, still, because Bubby (Tank) loves his early morning snuggles with mommy, and Tinker Belle is so happy when she first wakes up that you can't be mad at her for waking you early with her little "uh ohhs" that she sings from her crib.  This week is another busy one.  Babysitting issues continue, Princess has a dance recital coming up which requires more practices than I personally feel necessary for a four year old, and Premier is having a busy week in my life.  Those are all on top of our regular schedule.  But you know what?  I'm looking straight in the face of summer and thanking God that I have a job that allows me so much time with my children.  I'm reminded why I chose a job that doesn't pay all that much or receive a whole lot of recognition these last weeks when students come by to give me a card or a hand made gift (which doesn't happen too often in a high school), and I know that I'll be on baby time this time next week.  Life is busy, but it is still blessed.  I might have been crying yesterday about what I'm going to do for a sitter the rest of the week (which I still haven't figured out completely right now), but I know I'm lucky for the situation I have.  Sometimes we have to remind ourselves of the truth rather than worrying with the little things.

Here's my prayer to all you other busy mamas and women:
"Thank You, God, for a full life.  Thank You for people around me who are in exciting stages of their lives.  Thank You for the blessing of children to complicate my schedule.  God, I know there are those out there who would love to have so many people around them and so many things to do, and I praise You even when it seems like too much.  Thank You for my parents, in laws, and friends who love me and my children enough to disrupt their own lives to help me accomplish my duties and goals.  Thank You for a husband who is a full time father, Thank You for friends like AThack who will give up a Friday evening to watch my babies, thank You for my mom who will put off her own duties to help my husband with our children, thank You for parents-in-law who will work their schedules around ours when we need them to, thank You for my Godsisters who make me feel like a true sister.  God, I thank You for so many things, and I am humbled because I know I don't deserve them. Thank You for stress, for without it, my life would be empty. I love and praise you."