The More Things Change…

One year ago today, I was scrubbing base boards and stressing over the combination of new carpet and three children under the age of four. I was staying up way too late trying to get in those last minute chores after a full day of being a momma. One year ago, we were preparing to put our house up for sale.

In a quest to lessen my husband’s near three-hour roundtrip commute, we took on the stress of selling a home in this lousy housing market. And my writing, which was very infrequent at the time, reflected my stress. And all the stress? It was pointless–the house didn’t sell.

When I look back at my writing from a year ago, I’m struck by the similarities between my life then and my life now. I was knocking myself out in pursuit of a goal that was unattainable. We were dissatisfied with the lack of time we got to spend together as a whole family, and we wanted our situation to change. I wasn’t happy with the person I was on the inside, and while I was giving my house a good spring cleaning, I was dusting over the neglected areas of my soul, as well.

Today, I’m still knocking myself out. I try to do everything–spend meaningful time with my children all of their waking hours, present a spotless home, create home-cooked meals every night–and my goal, while admirable, really isn’t attainable, at least not given the ages of my kids or the fact that my husband’s commute hasn’t changed. If anything, we see each other even less than one year ago, and I’m more dissatisfied with this fact than I was in 2010. And as far as the spiritual–I’m still finding more and more areas of myself that displease me.

And I’ve come to the realization that, while circumstances may change, life doesn’t. Every season of life will have its own challenges, and while they may seem small when looking back, they feel huge during that time. When I read how nervous I was about my ability to keep up a presentable house, I want to laugh. Who cares? But I did at the time. And looking back, I’m able to see that I did the best I could, but moving wasn’t meant to be. Life continued, and we make do.

Likewise, I’ll look back in a year on my writing from now, which is much more frequent, and I’m sure I’ll shake my head at the insignificant things that caused me to stress. I’ll wish that I could go back and visit my past self and whisper, “This too shall pass.”

So I have a goal–to take each day as it comes and live it fully; to acknowledge my feelings without allowing them to overrule my logic; to continue to laugh at myself and my follies; to rest in the grace of God; and to live in the present, not waiting for better days to come. Different days will come, but they will bring their own struggles. I want to be ready to meet them.

Come back tomorrow for this week’s journey on goodness. I’d love for you to share your perspective by linking up your own post!

Our First Date

We hadn’t gone on an official date before, at least, not that I remember, just the two of us without a sister tagging along. Time alone is difficult and precious to come by, but Valentine’s Day afforded the perfect night for dates with Daddy and the girls and Mommy and her little man.

And a little man you were. I chuckled inside every time my little 4-year-old acted more like 40.

“Do you have enough gas?”

“Yes, sweetheart. We have a full tank.”

And off we drove to Zaxby’s, apparently a sacrifice on your part, your daddy bribing you with candy while I was in the bathroom. We had moved up a slight step from Burger King.

With each bite of my chicken finger, I couldn’t help but study your face. Your sweet smile, your perfect eyes and long lashes. You’re my little boy who isn’t quite as little, anymore.

And you were happy and hungry. Our date was prolonged as you requested more food, and we talked about preschool and your day as you wiped the grease off your fingers onto the booth in which you sat.

You helped yourself to three quarters in my wallet and bought bouncy balls out of the dispenser, one for you and your two sisters. And your night was made.

My night was made a little later.

It wasn’t when you came back to your seat and noticed Mommy was without a toy. You helped yourself to my money again and bought me a necklace, a silver star hanging on a silver string that took us 15 minutes to get out of the cheap, plastic ball in which it came. You eagerly waited the rest of the night (and part of the next day, too) to place that necklace in my jewelry box.

No, you made my night, this already perfect night, on the car ride home. After we crossed the parking lot, hand in hand, you climbed over a pile of fast food bags toward your booster seat.

“Why is Daddy’s car so messy?”

“I don’t know. I guess it just doesn’t bother him the way it does you and me.”

“Why does he just throw his stuff all over the floor?…I guess he must be really busy.”

I smiled.

“Mom, I don’t want icing on my birthday cake.”

I was caught off guard by the quick transition and the request to limit the sugar on your cake.

“I don’t want the icing–I don’t like it. You can just make me a cookie cake, but no icing.”

But I don’t like icing.

I took in your words and savored them, for they gave us another connection to share as mother and son. In some ways you are like me–you worry, and people hurting breaks your heart–but we have many differences. Yet, my little man who can smell sugar in the air, has been caught with his hand in the cookie jar more times than I can count, doesn’t like icing like his mommy, either.

And for some strange reason, my heart warmed as I tucked that little detail into the storerooms of my heart.

My memory isn’t very good, but I won’t forget our first date, at least now that I’ve written about it. And while your memory is amazing, one day this date might slip from your mind, as first loves and heartaches fill the spot where it once sat.

Yet, my hope is that as you go from birthday party to party, scraping icing off the top of your cake, something inside of you will tug at your heart, reminding you of your Mommy.

I’m joining Mama Kat for her Writer’s Workshop today.

And don’t forget to come back tomorrow! Have you looked up the definition for ‘forbearance,’ yet? That’s our topic for this week’s ‘Journeys.’ Click on the tab at the top of this page for more information.

Back When I Was a Rookie Parent…

I have never shared this story with anyone, but it’s time….

It was the middle of the night, and Caleb was in bed with us. Perhaps, he had just finished nursing, or maybe he was having a tough night sleeping–I’m not sure–but I am very sure about the events that followed and my rookie-parent reaction.

The black of night filled our room, and the only noise was the heavy breathing of Matt as he slept. Caleb was nuzzled in close to me, resting quietly. Until, BLLAAACCH!!!

And out of nowhere, this precious little boy, around five months old at the time, threw up three times his body weight. Matt and I shot up in bed instantly. The noise–it was horrible. I swear I watched our baby’s head spin around seven times before the vomit left his mouth, gasped as I heard a splash when the throw up hit our bed.

This experience was our first with a child and vomit, and, thankfully, I had just read an article the day before from one of those parenting magazines that I won’t name (because I can’t remember). I never skipped an issue that came to my ‘Inbox’ telling me what my child should be doing at this stage in his development. I read all the articles on vaccines and child safety, and I studied which foods I could introduce to my baby when. I trusted this source. So when this magazine instructed me to have my child seen immediately if he began throwing up and was less than six months old, I took the advice seriously. And I did what any parent would do…

…I called 9-1-1.

That’s right; I hopped out of bed, handing the baby to my husband, picked up the phone in the middle of the night, and dialed the phone number reserved for emergencies. After all, this event was an emergency. My baby had thrown up, and the magazine said he needed to be seen immediately. And the only way he could be seen immediately was if I called the paramedics to rescue him.

My saving grace was that we used Vonage, an internet phone system. We had set it up when we lived in Oklahoma so that we could have free long-distance while we lived away from our family. A plus side of this service was that when we moved back to Georgia, we didn’t have to change our number. Apparently, however, our emergency services were tied to the state in which we first ordered Vonage. When I called 9-1-1, a dispatcher in Oklahoma answered.

“9-1-1, What’s your emergency (or something like that)?”

“My son just threw up, and he’s only five months old!”

Surely upon hearing my son’s age, the dispatcher would signal all the emergency personnel in the area. And in the process of explaining my emergency, we began to realize that we did not live in the same area.

During the confusion of explaining where I lived and figuring out where the dispatcher was, a cloud began to lift from my mind. I noticed the dispatcher did not seem overly concerned that my son threw up, and I decided I did not need an ambulance sent from Oklahoma. The dispatcher asked, “Is your son okay?” and through my foggy memory, I believe he offered to connect me to the correct 9-1-1 in Georgia.

I looked over at Caleb in bed with my husband, his little baby head no longer spinning, and I came to my senses: “No, we don’t need an ambulance. Thank you, Sir, but we are going to take him to get checked out.”

And, no, I did not mean in the morning. That’s right; we put on clothes, strapped that little baby in his car seat, and we drove to the emergency room in the middle of the night. After all, our baby threw up once.

Apparently, I had not yet learned about the ‘after hours’ phone line. I had never heard of such a thing, having never called my own doctor’s office after they closed. After all, if I were sick in the evening, I would just call them in the morning.

And if I were too sick to wait until the morning, I would go to the emergency room.

I didn’t realize that my child’s pediatrician had an ‘after hours’ phone line to give parent’s advice in the middle of the night. I didn’t realize they had anticipated how crazy parents, especially new parents, can act. Had I known, I probably wouldn’t have called freakin’ 9-1-1 because my son threw up once! And I probably wouldn’t have waited in the emergency room for three hours because my son threw up once…and not again the whole time we waited.

Four years later, I still don’t understand why the doctor in the ER didn’t seem more alarmed. I told him Caleb threw up at least an entire bottle’s worth of breast milk, but he didn’t believe me. He said it was probably only an ounce. I reminded him that Caleb was only five months old; he didn’t seem too concerned. But the magazine said that he needed to be seen immediately….

So we left the ER that morning with baby and anti-nausea pill in hand. But I never gave it to him. After all, he only threw up once.

Matt, Jennifer, Caleb--high school reunion night — The Rookie Parents

What’s the craziest thing you ever did as a new parent? Surely, I’m not the only freak!

And don’t forget to link up your own post tomorrow! This week’s journey is on love. Click on the ‘Journeys’ tab at the top of the page for more information. I look forward to reading your posts tomorrow!

Feeling Lost

Yesterday, I took my son to the library in the midst of a day full of errands that didn’t get completed on Saturday. While his sisters and, eventually, Daddy napped in the car, we returned a stack of children’s books and made our way to the back of the library to replenish the load we had brought with us.

Caleb had said he would help me pick out some books, but once his eyes caught the empty computers, he zoomed to fill in one of the vacated seats. I hate those computers. Educational games or not, I wish they weren’t there, distracting kids from the purpose of the building. But, wanting to choose my battles wisely, I surrendered to this issue, and began a search on the computer catalog system behind where Caleb sat.

Knowing my past luck, I wrote down the titles and call numbers of about seven Valentine’s Day books that were supposedly located in this library, hoping to walk away with at least one. I stooped down next to Caleb and told him I was going over by the children’s books. He answered me with a non-answer, the zombie, tunnel-vision look that he gets once entranced in an Elmo game had taken hold.

I walked through the open area to the book aisles, directly across from where Caleb was sitting. I looked at my list and quickly alphabetized it in my head, hoping to make fast work of book selection. As I worked my way through Z and W, I realized right away that my luck had not improved, not finding either of the first two books. I popped up from where I was crouching to look at Caleb, still making words on the Elmo game.

I moved on to the next aisle. More scratching off books on the list. I had started to suspect that perhaps I am incompetent on computer searches, or maybe I didn’t know how to alphabetize author’s last names, but I decided, no–the library’s computers are never right. At the end of the aisle, I looked up again at Caleb and continued on with my search.

As I had walked through the aisles, I managed to snag a couple books that looked cute, even though they weren’t on my list. I decided if I didn’t find any of the Valentine’s Day books on my list, I didn’t want to leave the aisles empty-handed. So, as I popped up for the last time, my crouching and searching through books not revealing one of the titles on my list, my eyes immediately zeroed in on the computer table where Caleb was sitting. Except he wasn’t there.

My heart skipped a beat, and a slight panic set in, but I walked toward the computer desk. Surely he was nearby, perhaps in one of the juvenile fiction aisles next to him. As I neared the desk, I noticed him walking away from me slowly, toward the front of the library. And then he turned around, and I saw the tears streaming down his face.

“Caleb!” I called, moving to him. “I’m right here, sweetie. Did you think I left you?”

He nodded, crying. “I didn’t know where you were.”

“I was right over there, looking for books,” I said, pointing to the book aisles. “I would never leave you, sweetie.”

And with my arm around him, I reminded him of what to do if he ever gets lost. I told him to stay put and wait for Mommy or for one of the library workers to walk by. If he walks away, then Mommy won’t know where he is, either.

While we were talking, I felt horrible. I remember getting momentarily separated from my own mother in the grocery store or a department store–I was never lost, but I thought I was–and my heart filled with guilt at causing my own little boy to feel helpless.

I should’ve made him walk the aisles with me. No more playing the computers unless I’m standing right behind him! I was only a few feet away, and I kept checking on him–he wasn’t even lost. But what if he kept walking, and I didn’t see him? What if the wrong person tried to help him?

As I have a tendency to do, I played out the mental boxing match in my brain, getting in a few jabs before I moved on to the next thing. The boxing match continued in the background while Caleb and I searched for a superhero chapter book, as Caleb wasn’t excited with the selections I had made. And he left the library happy, his mother’s arm around his shoulders, a Superman book in his hands.

But I wasn’t. I was dealing with my own feelings of being lost, not knowing what direction I should head next. The weekend ended on such a negative note for me, and I imagine I feel a little like Caleb felt for those few moments in the library–helpless. But as I type, I wonder if, perhaps, I should remember what I told Caleb: sit and wait. Sometimes the act of searching can make one even more lost than when one began. And, sometimes, one wasn’t even lost to begin with.

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Without meaning to, I had picked two fruits of the Spirit for our first two weeks in Journeys. While I deviated from that theme over the last two weeks, I thought that perhaps we could revisit the idea:

²² But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, ²³gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. (Galatians 5:22-23, New International Version, 2010). Emphasis added

For this week’s journey, we will explore love. Next week, we will pick up with forbearance and move in order until the end. Be ready to share your post on love this Friday!

If you are new to Journeys, click on the tab at the top of the page for more information. I’d love for you to participate!

And if you have a topic that you’d like to submit, feel free to e-mail me anytime: jennifer at matt dash davis dot com

The Boy in Front of Me

Everyone says that I will miss the time when you were small. And sure, there will be those days when I miss squeezing that bouncing little boy–who wouldn’t? You were so cute and cuddly!

Yet, as I watched you take your bat in hand and walk in front of the row of coaches looking on from the outfield, my heart raced a little in excitement. We have entered a new phase of life. No longer are you my little baby, but you have grown into a little boy who makes me proud.

Perhaps Play-doh and preschool didn’t come as naturally for us, but Tee Ball we can do. We can play catch and practice and cheer from the sidelines. We can eagerly anticipate every game with you and assure you when you’re nervous. We can celebrate with you when you win and remind you to be a good sport when you don’t.

Yes, we can do Tee Ball, and we can do ‘Go Fish.’ We can do ‘Go Fish’ and puzzles and put on little plays. We can practice reading stories and writing our own ones (with illustrations!), too.

People said that I would miss those days when you were a baby, but I don’t know. I’m pretty excited about that big boy who is in front of me now.

Did you have a favorite phase in your child’s life? When was it?

And don’t forget about Journeys this Friday! The topic for the week is forgiveness. Don’t really understand Journeys? Check out the new tab at the top of the page, and tell me what you think!

The Sacrifice I Couldn’t Make

I remember standing on that stage, my fellow officers beside me. And while I can’t remember what was said at that moment, I’ll never forget the well-spring of emotions bubbling inside of me.

Some minutes before, I raised my right hand and promised to “support and defend the Constitution of the United States,” and the smile stretched across my face as I uttered, “So help me God.” The captain commented on how smiley I had gotten at the end, and the audience chuckled. And now standing there in the row, knowing that I had changed the course of my life by taking that vow, I felt a pride that I rarely feel for myself.

I was joining the ranks of those who sacrifice for their country every day. My dresses and skirts were now replaced with a blue uniform, my jeans with camouflage, and the career with discipline at its core was now mine to embrace.

And I was brought back to this moment when she called my name. Something in her voice as she called, “Mommy,” the desperate need for me to hold her, to comfort her as the doctor squeezed her arm.

Standing on that stage together, we all heard the little baby cry, “Mommy!” as she saw clearly her mother on that stage, the woman who was my roommate for the last twelve weeks. And all of the emotion I had suppressed gushed out of my eyes. The three months of stress I harbored as I worked under the watchful eyes of those wanting to catch us in a mistake, the three months of sleeping in my single bed instead of the arms of my husband, the three months of having to earn any freedom I had instead of deciding my own liberties–that three months of tension burst out from me.

I looked out and saw my own mother in the crowd, a veteran before me, and our tear-filled eyes connected. I cried like an idiot because I heard the word, “Mommy” and knew the tears that that mommy had shed; I cried because I couldn’t stop.

And as I held my own daughter yesterday, I remembered that officer who went months without holding hers. I thought of those who have gone years.

Before I joined the military, I knew this career would be a ‘before children’ career. I was willing to sacrifice for my country, even my life, but not them.

I held my daughter close yesterday and, with gratitude, thought of my fellow officer, my former roommate, and the sacrifices she had to make. The sacrifice that I couldn’t.

Our Job

If I could go back, I would. I would’ve followed you into the next room and kept my hand on your back.

Unfortunately, we can’t know what the future will bring, and we can’t always protect you. But our job isn’t to keep you from falling–it is to be your legs when you can’t get back up.

Our hearts will hurt when you hurt, when you get poked and prodded and don’t understand why. If we could take away your pain, we would. But our job isn’t to keep you from pain–it is to be your heart when yours is broken.

I would tell you that it gets easier. When you are older, you will understand more, so you won’t get as frightened when you need help. But that sentiment isn’t really true. If we could keep you from getting scared we would. But our job isn’t to keep you from fear–it is to be your courage when yours is lost.

We can’t keep you from pain. We can’t keep you from heartache. We can’t keep you from fear. In fact, we’ve never felt so helpless since becoming parents.

But we will always have arms to give–to wrap around you, to hold you up, to smooth your hair, to give you your milk.

And when you say, “Thank you, Mo-mmy,” or “Thank you, Da-ddy,” our hearts will melt. But we will come back, even if you say nothing.

Because you are our Baby Girl, and that’s our job–and there’s no job we’d rather have.

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This week’s journey:

“But Jesus called the children to him and said, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these.'” (Luke 18:16, New International Version, 2010).

This Friday, come link up with your thoughts on this verse, whether you speak to it directly in context or the spiritual implications in a broader sense. I look forward to reading your posts as you take this journey with me! For more information on Journeys, click the link above or Journeys in the tag cloud for examples.

The Sacrifice of Convenience

The children ran inside with rosy cheeks and the bottom of their pants dragging with the weight of wet snow. As they began to strip off their wet clothes and run upstairs to find a drier alternative, I turned to the stove.

In a pan, I whisked the cocoa powder, sugar, and salt and then turned on the kitchen faucet and waited for the water to turn hot. I added the water and stirred, watching as the powdery mixture transformed into a thick syrup.

“Is it ready yet?” Caleb asked as he ran down the stairs in his new outfit.

“No, sweetie. It takes time.”

And I watched the chocolate goo in the pan until slow bubbles rose up and popped.

I carefully poured in the milk and stirred amidst the sounds of a football bouncing off the wall and a toy shopping cart rolling throughout the downstairs. I, too, felt myself growing impatient for the warm, chocolate treat, testing the temperature every minute or so.

Finally, the drink was warm, and I turned off the stove and added the final touch of vanilla. As I poured the beverage into our mugs, I noticed how smooth and perfect the liquid flowed, and I gathered everyone to the table.

At the request of the kids, I grabbed some cinnamon sticks for everyone to stir, and then we drank. I slowly sipped, and my body warmed from the chocolate goodness.

I looked around the table, at three faces with newly painted chocolate mustaches, and I smiled at how happy they looked. Why in my life did I ever drink instant hot chocolate? I wondered as I brought more of the treat to my lips. This tastes so much better.

I had had that thought numerous times before. Cinnamon rolls from scratch, homemade bread, salsa, macaroni and cheese–in a quest to avoid unnatural ingredients, I had tried my hand at making many recipes the old-fashioned way rather than popping a can or opening a jar.

And the taste–there was never any comparison.

As I sipped my drink, I wondered what other tastes I had sacrificed in the name of convenience. Sure, the time to make these homemade recipes was at least double the instant or pre-made version, but they were always worth the wait.

A lot of things in my life are worth the wait.

What else had I sacrificed because it just wasn’t convenient?

I sipped from my mug and smiled at the kids who looked like they bathed in their chocolate instead of drinking it, and I thought of the many things in my life that were a true investment of time. I moved the warm cup between my hands, now empty, and felt its testimony–that the best things in life don’t come in an instant.

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Don’t forget to join me on Friday for Journeys! Click here to find out more information, or click on the word ‘Journeys’ in the tag cloud for examples. This Friday’s journey: Faith

New Year’s Eve 2010

A simple contentment filled our home as the kids reveled in the extra time with their daddy. Every night during his break was family game night, and, of course, we broke out the Wii on New Year’s Eve. Matt and I smiled across the room at one another as our four-year-old threw strikes and made every spare on a game we had less than a week while we were still trying to figure out our own techniques. Then we all made the haul upstairs, and we proceeded with the routine of getting three little ones in bed.

Of course because we had plans to enjoy our New Year’s Eve together, alone on the couch, watching a movie and munching on snacks, Chloe decided she wasn’t going to fall asleep. Repeated trips to her room, the cushion in her rocking chair worn, finally proved successful, and our toddler drifted to sleep around ten that night.

My plan to make hors d’oeuvres and cinnamon rolls from scratch to share on New Year’s morning didn’t seem that important anymore given the lateness of the evening, so we proceeded to the couch, ripping open a box of crackers. We popped in our movie and snuggled under blankets, our own tiredness hanging heavy on our eyelids. Yet we were awake enough to stop the DVD at quarter ’til midnight, grab two glasses and our sparkling cider, and find Dick Clark on the TV to help us count down the seconds until the New Year. At midnight, we gave each other the obligatory kiss and watched as confetti danced over Time Square.

We resumed our positions under the blankets and returned to our movie, the first half of it behind us. And when it was over, we put our glasses in the sink and headed up the stairs, the first time in 2011. And once again, we snuggled under blankets.

Looking back over the night, if New Year’s Eve is any indication of this coming year, I think we’ll be all right. After all, we just might stay awake for movies now.

Don’t forget to come back tomorrow and link up for the first installment of Journeys!

The Journey to Iceland

“We’re going to see Iceland.”

I looked up from the mess I was clearing away at the table to see my daughter, dressed in a cowboy hat, coat, and little pink backpack filled to the brim.

“Iceland?” I questioned. I was certain I had never told my three-year-old about Iceland, as geography is not my thing, and I was curious as to where she learned of the place.

“Yes, Iceland. We need to go.”

I could hear my son in the playroom, clamoring to fill his own bag with necessities for the trip.

I was instantly concerned. When my son emerged, he was wearing a blue vest and a baseball cap. I wasn’t sure that they were dressed appropriately for the journey, and I feared that they would need more than the bags on their backs for this kind of adventure.

But they were ready to go, and my questions about the weather and where they would stay once they arrived did not deter them from taking that first step out the back door.

As I grabbed my camera and coat (wouldn’t you take a camera if you were heading to Iceland?), I couldn’t help but wonder where this journey would end and what I would find. I wanted to act in my kids’ play, but I needed to understand my character’s motivation first.

Unfortunately, it’s not unlike me to focus on the destination instead of the journey in more than just my children’s play. When I feel God’s leading, I want to know all of the details immediately before I begin. If I am going through a trial, I know God will use it for good, but I want to know what that ‘good’ is while I struggle. If God calls me to Iceland, I want to know how to pack.

During the Christmas season, it’s easy for me to sing about Emmanuel and nod my head and smile as I think of the baby in the manger. I can proclaim that God is with us as I recall the story of the virgin birth and a newborn whose arrival caused the heavens to break open in songs of praise while a group of shepherds shook in awe and fear.

I know Emmanuel, yet I forget what His name means. I forget that not only does God orchestrate the journey with an end that fits perfectly in the giant puzzle of the universe but that He also takes the trip with me, offering to carry my pink backpack when the load becomes too heavy or take my hands in His when I’ve forgotten my gloves.

Emmanuel. God With Us.

Even on trips to Iceland.

I watched as Hannah Grace led the way through the yard, determined that we make it to Iceland in time for dinner. We were to have Taco Bell. And suddenly, I heard an important piece of information:

“Hurry! Iceland is waiting for us, and he’s going to take us to Taco Bell.” He. Iceland is a person. The story began to make sense (well, sort of).

So we journeyed on to the place in our yard where a beautiful summer garden once bloomed, and we ate Taco Bell with Iceland. And I learned that I didn’t need to worry at all; we had exactly what we needed for the journey.

If you haven’t already, check out yesterday’s post to see what’s starting new this Friday!