Category: Uncategorized

Ten More Indications that Your Husband is Away on Business for the Week

10. The menu you plan for the week consists of nothing but hamburgers, macaroni and cheese, and pizza.

9. It is Tuesday night, and you are hauling the trashcan, recycle bin, and yard clippings to the curb.

8. Keeping up with the pace set by her brother and sister, your 17-month-old picks this week to attempt climbing out of her crib.

7. Your 17-month-old hints that this is also the week to begin potty training, as you find her several times standing in the toilet waiting for poo-poo to appear.

6. You have to attend your son’s parent-teacher conference, and the teacher requested no siblings.  (Sorry Mrs. C–the conference is only 15 minutes, so the baby’s coming!)

5. Your plan to catch up on laundry is thwarted by two straight days of leaky Pull-Ups and a squished banana (yes, also on the sheets).

4. The rebel forces launch an impressive surprise attack and implement the tactical tag-team operation from ‘the witching hour’ until bedtime, rendering you close to waving the white flag.

3. The AT&T salesmen have impeccable timing, ringing the doorbell as soon as you have two out of the three children in bed.

2. You have an unusual argument with your son over your decision to flush down the toilet the ‘Silly Band’ that was entangled in his bowel movement.

1. You find that you love and miss your husband exponentially more than the previous week!

In case you missed it the first time, here are the first ten indications that your husband is away on business for the week.

Tips from the Pros

The other day I was caught off guard by a message I had received on Facebook: Jennifer–I’m needing advice on discipline with the kids… what tactics do you use with yours? The message went on to detail specific situations with which this particular mom was struggling.

My initial thought to this request was disbelief.  Why in the world would anyone ask me for advice on discipline?  Clearly this person hadn’t read my blog detailing my many failings!

I was also surprised because we haven’t seen each other in years as we’re in different states. In fact, I’ve never met this mom’s children, but we know each other from a brief time in a small group that Matt and I led.  We don’t have the depth of friendship that I would need before I could ask someone for help and admit I’m struggling.

Even if I had that depth of friendship with another mom, I still might not ask for advice.  I carry parenting so close to my heart.  It is the one area of my life where I feel most vulnerable, carry the weight of my failings most days, yet want to succeed more than anything.  After receiving this message, I found it curious that pride and shame at my shortcomings kept me from doing the one thing that could help me succeed with my children–talking to those currently in the trenches.

Sure, I pray every day for wisdom; I talk to my mom, but rarely do I open up and admit to another mom that I don’t know how to handle a certain problem with my children.  I’m afraid of judgment, afraid that even though I am friends with someone, the thought will enter her mind that I must not have control of my children.  I’m afraid that my children’s antics will become the topic of dinner conversation between my friend and her spouse that night.

And I’m afraid that this rationale is rather silly.  Chances are that if I opened up, so would my friend.  She would probably admit that she struggles, too, perhaps not with the same issue but in another area of parenting.  Instead of carrying our burdens alone, we could help each other with the load.  But first we need to share.

I was inspired by this mom’s openness, and as I wrote a response to her, I decided that I, too, would ask for help from the experts–moms, dads, grandparents, aunts or uncles–because there is no shame in it.  In fact, if there is one person whom I don’t trust, it is the person who conveys the idea that he or she doesn’t struggle.  I have to wonder what that person is hiding….

…so today I challenge you to come out of hiding.  In the comments below, ask the experts!  What’s one area of parenting where you need a tip?  And since you’re also an expert, what’s one tip that you can offer other parents or caregivers of kids?  Let’s help each other today and admit that none of us has it all together. And while we know that statement to be true, we also know that each of us has a lot to offer!

I’ll start:  For parents with children that outnumber your own arms, how do make sure that one of them doesn’t pull away from you in a store or any other public place?

My one tip is to make sure you are dressed and ready before your kids wake up.  The days when I accomplish this little task go so much smoother than days that start off with kiddos getting into mischief because I wasn’t fully ready to supervise.

A Week of Tender Blessings

Sometimes writing a ‘Focus on it Friday’ post is difficult as I try to pinpoint one specific experience during the week for which I am thankful.  It’s not that I can’t think of a moment, but I’m not sure how to capture the experience through my writing or convey it in a way that sounds eloquent and thoughtful.  As I was struggling for ideas and words this morning, the thought hit me that the point of this exercise is not to improve my writing or write an awe-inspiring post but to cause me to reflect and bend my knees in thanks.  And if that’s the point of this post, I have no problem writing today, whether or not my words reach anyone else.

I want to remember that this week I felt hope.  Matt and I are attending a small group and working through Dave Ramsey’s Financial Peace University. As I sat next to Matt and watched him prepare a detailed budget on Monday night, agreed or disagreed as he input the numbers, I actually felt excited.  For one of the first times in our marriage, we had a plan for the month that didn’t end in an argument or frustration.  And even though I knew in my heart that life would throw us curve balls to screw up our beautiful plan for the month (three, to be exact, before we even got to  October 1), I knew that we were on the right track.  And finding hope after it was lost for a time is something for which to be thankful.

I want to remember that this week I felt loved by my little boy.  Nothing amazing occurred yesterday, but I went to bed with a heart that was ablaze. For the whole day, Caleb went out of his way to listen, to please me.  Anything I asked, he answered, “Yes, Ma’am,’ and was the most helpful four-year-old a mother could imagine. I told him how much I appreciated his help, and he hugged me multiple times throughout the day, which is rare because Caleb is not overly affectionate with hugs and kisses.

As the day went on, I noticed that Caleb felt very warm.  When the thermometer flashed the numbers indicating Caleb had a fever, my first thought was “So he’s sick–no wonder he’s behaving!” But I quickly scolded myself–Caleb normally responds to sickness by acting whiney, and I was wrong to discount the effort he was making.

My children are determined to bring on winter, and they went to bed in the warmest pajamas they could find.  As I finally made my way to my own bed, I tiptoed in Caleb’s room and began pulling off his warm clothes, knowing he needed to dress lightly if he had a fever.  In a semi-conscious state, Caleb allowed me to lift his shirt over his head and pull his pants over his feet, and then he lay his head back on his pillow.  I whispered, “Goodnight, Caleb,” expecting the grinding of teeth or smacking of lips to serve as a reply.  Instead, the sweetest little voice responded, “Goodnight, Mommy.”  And for some reason, when the word “Mommy” hit my ear, my heart warmed.

I know my son loves me, but I heard it in his voice last night. And feeling love, especially from one’s child, is something for which to be grateful.

For what are you thankful this Friday?  Leave a comment below, or include a link to one of your own posts.  Have a great weekend!

Getting an Alarm Clock

Six a.m. comes way too soon every morning.  As much as I want to convert to a morning person, my mind will never be alert while it’s still dark outside.  Unfortunately, that rule is also becoming true for when it turns dark outside at night,  and if I want any time to pray or write or just to enjoy an hour while the kids are sleeping, I have realized that my best bet is to embrace that early morning hour.

No longer having infants keeping me from a full night’s sleep, I decided to enlist the help of my husband with my morning goal. “Please set your alarm for six,” I would politely request most evenings.  Matt has the alarm clock on his side of the bed and, therefore, all the alarm clock responsibilities.  When I asked this request, I hadn’t anticipated not getting woken up at six.

Apparently, Matt doesn’t always set the alarm.  Other times, his hand immediately slaps it off upon hearing the buzzing noise while the rest of his body lies motionless in bed, not giving my mind the chance to register that an alarm has gone off.  Sometimes Matt does set the alarm, pushing the button that illuminates our wake-up time, but our alarm chooses to act like our children on a bad day, refusing to obey and perform its job.  And my absolute favorite is when Matt gets ambitious and sets his alarm for five and proceeds to hit snooze until seven, during which time my mind ignores the alarm because I have no intention of getting up at five.  And when Matt finally rolls out of bed at seven, he walks straight to the shower, letting me sleep soundly under the covers until our children bounce in the room.

On days when the alarm clock (or my husband) malfunctioned, I would get furious! That was my time that was stolen from me!  Don’t they understand that I will not get this alone time again until six tomorrow morning!!!  I need time to PRAY if I have any chance of succeeding at NOT LOSING MY TEMPER TODAY!!!   I need to WRITE BEFORE I LOSE MY MIND!!!!  AAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!!!!

Ahem.

It hadn’t occurred to me until a couple of days ago that perhaps I wasn’t getting my time because it hadn’t become important enough to me.  “That’s crazy,” I told myself until the part of my brain that controls my minimal amount of logical thought chimed in and inquired, “Why haven’t you purchased your own alarm clock?”

Crickets chirping

Well…to be honest…I don’t want to use my spending money on an alarm clock!!! And, well, if the alarm goes off at six, and I happen to hit snooze, I can’t blame Matt anymore.

Sometimes it’s easier for me to blame everyone else in the world than to take action and fix the problem myself. It’s easier to lament that we would have more family time if we lived closer to Matt’s work and  better dates if we had more money instead of taking the time to think up something creative.  It’s easier to complain that my children are out-of-control instead of getting on the floor, rolling around and helping to control their energy through a wrestling match. It’s easier to get angry at my misfortune of sleeping past six instead of buying my own stupid alarm clock.

It wasn’t until my time became important enough to me to warrant my action that things began to change.  The day I decided to alleviate Matt’s burden of setting the alarm and actually waking up is the day six a.m became my time again.

Thankfully, I joined the 21st century and realized that my cell phone has an alarm clock feature before I went out and bought one.  Who knew?  And I’m now excited to face the dark mornings before my family opens their eyes (unless of course my husband does hop out of bed at five) and take some much-needed me time.

Now if only I could remember to charge my phone by my bed instead of downstairs.

The Pen to the Paper

Sometimes I don’t write for a couple of days, and I really want to.  Children waking up an hour earlier than normal, an alarm clock malfunctioning, someone coming to the door as I sit down–life is full of distractions.  Other times, though, I want to write about an idea, but the post won’t gel in my mind.  I have this instinctive feeling that I shouldn’t write yet, even though I want to get my ideas down.

Some ideas are better recorded in my own personal journal, but sometimes I even feel a pull from recording my ideas there.  The last couple of days I have felt this tension.

For two nights I have gone to bed under a fog of depression and feelings of inadequacy.  Those previous days I was having difficulty parenting, not with issues like keeping my kids from peeing on the floor or from sticking their hands in the sugar jar, but with issues that were a little bigger.  I was comparing myself to people that I don’t even know.  Yes, I did compare myself to Almanzo’s parents in Farmer Boy. Don’t tell me that you’ve never done that!

Their children never questioned them, wouldn’t dare think of it.  Of course, they also didn’t allow their children to speak unless spoken to, and Almanzo knew that if he defied his parents he would get a beating out in the barn.  Matt and I have not created the same environment as the Wilder family, so I don’t know that it was fair to compare myself to them.

Yet I did because if there is one job at which I do not want to fail, it is parenting.  As a teacher, I saw the results of failed parenting.  I want to raise children who love God, who are productive members of society, who are respectful to others, who write thank-you notes…

…and I felt God say that I will fail because I’m not perfect.  And they will fail because they will never achieve perfection, no matter how excellent I parent.  Those words should have felt freeing to my spirit, but they didn’t.

I was too caught up in my feelings of fear, and I wanted to write down everything that I feared, but I couldn’t even make sense of my own feelings.

So last night as I was trying to form the words in my mind, I felt God whisper again.  Two days after my initial feelings of depression, the situation looked a little different, not quite as bleak.  And two days later, because I didn’t have those feelings recorded down, they had no permanence; they were fleeting.

Because sometimes parenting takes faith–faith that the effort I put in now will not be in vein.  Sometimes marriage takes faith–faith that feelings that come and go will never take the place of the foundation of love that is there. Sometimes facing every new day takes faith–faith that the strength needed to overcome any obstacle or challenge will not fail. The prayers I utter every night do not fall on deaf ears, and I will see those good desires come to fruition, for “he who began a good work in [me, my children, my husband, and] you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus” (Philippians 1:6).

I am prone to worry, but sometimes, I have to let my worries go.  Sometimes I have to trust that God loves my family more than I do, and if I want the best for them, He does all the more. Sometimes I have to wait a couple of days before taking my pen to the paper, giving truth and permanence to feelings that will fade with the next sunrise.

And sometimes so do you.  Give your children two more days.  Give your marriage two more days.  Give your circumstances two more days, for we should never write our future before God is finished with the present.

*words in bracket and emphasis added to Scripture reference are my own.

If I Were to Write BabyLand General

A little over a week ago, my mother, sister, our four children, and I made the trip to BabyLand General Hospital in Cleveland, Georgia, home of the Cabbage Patch Kids.  We had quite the experience.  Below is the letter I would send to the staff of BabyLand General if I were to write them…but I probably won’t.

To the Doctors and Nurses of BabyLand General:

My family and I recently visited your hospital, and I want to thank you for the educational experience.  It had been a long time since I saw a baby birthed from a cabbage, and the experience never disappoints.

After my trip, however, I did have a few concerns.  Given the fact that your hospital is filled with precious Cabbage Patch children, all eagerly waiting to be adopted and easily victims of being snatched away, I do think you should have a warning on the entrance to your building: Parents, If you are outnumbered in ratio from children to adults, especially children four years of age and under, Do NOT come in these doors!  Your children won’t be able to resist the number of Cabbage Patch Kids at their grasp, and you won’t be able to stop them! I realize that warning is a little lengthy and rather specific, but I would’ve appreciated it.

Taking my daughter to BabyLand General was like giving her a drug, spinning her in circles, and then releasing her in a room full of presents on Christmas morning; she did not know where to run, yes run, and I didn’t realize I should’ve worn my athletic shorts.  Some of your Cabbage Patch Kids (which of course are all beautiful even though they came from a vegetable) were the exact same size as my toddler, yet my three-year-old had convinced herself that she could carry two at a time.

I apologize if any of your dolls, I mean children, are missing any hair.  Sometimes, their hair was the easiest way for my daughter to grab them.

I also apologize if any of your children were missing shoes or other accessories or just missing all together.  To be honest, I didn’t appreciate having to supervise your children along with my own.  I mean, if I wanted to clean all morning or put on and take off shoes, I could’ve stayed home.  And I don’t know if you realize this fact or not, but Cabbage Patch Kids’ feet are not the same size as human children’s feet–your kids’ feet don’t stay in shoes because, well, they’re more like big, round nubs than anything.  Please excuse me if I offended you in any way.

And I’m sorry if the four-year-old boy running around, throwing the balls you had for sale, and tackling his cousin was distracting to the staff or the babies.  As I mentioned before, I hadn’t realized I was going to be sprinting after my daughter all day long.  I tried to get him interested in the dolls, I mean children, but he said they were for girls.  I’ve never planted those ideas in his head, I promise.  I know children need positive male role models in their life, and I will work on turning my son into one of those role models.  He was, however, very pleased with the basketball game, flying helicopter, and stuffed panda bear that you had for sale.

And while I’m apologizing, I also apologize for any ice cream that you may have found on the floor of your clean hospital.  However, if I do say so myself, why in the world do you think it is a good idea to have an easily opened ice cream chest right next to where parents and grandparents pay for these newly adopted babies?  When my daughter pulled her ice cream bar out of the freezer, I saw a good opportunity to teach her a lesson about stealing by making her pay for the ice cream from her piggy bank and promptly throwing the dessert away.  Grammy, on the other hand, saw an opportunity to treat four children to ice cream.

I would’ve made her eat her treat outside, but you see, we were in the middle of the very important adoption procedures.  She had to take her oath, which she said with full enthusiasm, by the way, and she had all of the paperwork to fill out.  I hope you realize that that paperwork is a tad intimidating for three-year-olds, but I guess so is raising a child.

And one more thing before I close–is there any way to slow down Mother Cabbage’s deliveries?  I saw three Cabbage Patch Kids born that day, and my children helped name two.  And while all of these births were magical and beautiful and such, they got a little excessive and gave a little too much information.  Every time you announced that Mother Cabbage was eight leaves dilated, I hurt.  And I’m so happy that she had an ‘easy-otomy’ because I’ll tell you what–there was nothing easy about my episiotomy.

Maybe we were just there forever waiting for a certain three-year-old to decide which child she really loved.  Maybe that three-year-old took a really long time because she made her decision based on the shoes that your children were wearing, but I digress.  In any event, please give Mother Cabbage my warmest regards for a speedy recovery.  I thought having three children in three years was tough; I can’t imagine have three children in three hours.  On a side note, if the ‘Imagicillin’ that you are giving her starts to wear off, tell her Percocet should do the trick.

In closing, thank you for opening your hospital to us, even though we definitely disturbed your serene environment.  I promise that if we come back many, many years down the road  I will have at least one adult, if not two, per child.  And while the experience was anything but fun for me, I know it was about making four little children very happy.  And one Grammy, too.

Sincerely,

Jennifer V. Davis

The Changing Seasons

We went outside to play at 4:30 in the afternoon, the air considerably cooler than a few weeks before, and I was immediately grateful for the coming fall. As much as I look forward to the warm days of summer spent at the pool, the children splashing in the water, I tire of the sunscreen and swim diapers, the intense heat and suffocating humidity.  I am part of the fickle human race who loses interest in the present and am thankful for the divine plan of the changing seasons.

I am thankful for the changing hues and the sweet smells that travel on the crisp air of the fall, the few weeks reprieve from the scorching heat that preceded it and a last glimpse of color before the bleak winter months that follow.  And yet a part of me looks forward to the chill of the winter, the chance to sip hot chocolate beside a crackling fire and let my nostrils fill with the smell of Christmas trees and cookies baking.  But as the drab and gray days of winter carry on, I long for the new life and blooms of spring, hoping this season will never end.

Each season carries with it a beauty of its own that cannot be found in the surrounding ones.  Each season gives just enough change so that one may endure whatever long stretch of weather may follow and fully appreciate those that don’t seem quite long enough.

I am thankful for the season of sword fighting with sticks, while little pirates who previously played beside each other but not with each other engage in a complete battle, full of giggles and smiles. My heart grows during the moment when the smaller of the two pirates knocks down the other’s sword, yet the larger offers a heartfelt congratulations (And prize–his Iron Man Transformer until Christmas to be exact).

And I am thankful for the season of apple-thievery, as the little baby  who cannot yet take part in their battle chooses one of her own.

Some seasons I wish would stretch longer, watching as they fade as quickly as the golden leaves upon the autumn trees, so I learn to savor them while they are here.  Others drain me as does the heat of summer, taking every bit of strength and energy out of my bones, yet I know this time, too, is just a season; the new life of spring is around the corner.

And so I learn to find joy in every season, for in every season there is beauty, an opportunity for growth and learning, a reason to give thanks.

For what can you be thankful during this season of your life? Come share your thoughts for this ‘Focus on it Friday.’

Unblurring the Line

Jennifer Vignola Davis and Jennifer Escoe Holt--Feb. 24, 2000

It all started on February 24, 2000.  A silly girl and her friend, donning black leather and leopard print pants and sparkly shirts, performed moves of which no one thought they were capable while lip-syncing to the band Heart.  A silly boy, packing up his guitar and Power Point slides after a night of leading Worship, drove an extra hour back to college in the hopes of seeing this silly girl in her moment of glory.  He missed the performance, but he saw her face light up after winning first prize.

And thus began their first date, a night when they went out with friends but only noticed each other in the room…

…if you’d like to read more about that blurry line between friendship and romance, commitment and existence, click here and visit me as I share my first guest post at the sweet SomeGirl’sWebsite.

Little Feet

As I was standing in front of the sock rack in Target, my eyes scanned back and forth between the boys small socks and medium socks.  I whipped out my phone.  My mom and sister treated Caleb to a new pair of shoes a few weeks ago; maybe one of them would remember what size he was.  I dialed Lisa’s number, and the call went straight to voicemail. “This is stupid,” I thought.  “I know he’s in a medium now.”

But I didn’t want his little feet to have grown that big; I wanted to call my sister and have her tell me, “No, he’s a size eight.  Get him the small socks.”  I was upset that my ‘baby’ no longer fit in the toddler category of life, even by clothing standards.  He was now just a little kid.

I’m sure the socks episode was just a byproduct of the kids starting preschool this week, another summer behind us, another year of growth beginning.  As hard as I try to grab hold of the time, I watch as it slips from my grasp, forever pushing forward.

So I have no choice but to be thankful…

Thankful for the little feet that keep getting bigger, that run through the house and jump on the beds (even though Mommy forbids it)…

Thankful for the camera mishap that wouldn’t capture the perfectly posed picture of a brother and sister embarking on a first day of preschool but, instead, the uncertainty and silliness they brought to their first day, captured on a camera phone…

Thankful for the huge smiles that greeted the mommy who was ready for the break but even more ready for her kids to return…

Thankful for every precious day…and determined not to waste them.

For what are you thankful this week?