Monday, April 14, 2014

Stop Growing Up.

To My Children:

Stop growing up. Seriously. This is getting ridiculous. I mean, I don't expect you to stay babies forever, but geez. Give me more than a day


Yesterday, Dinah was just learning to walk and doing that side-step across the living room. Or squealing at the other shoppers in the grocery store to get their attention and then waving when they finally looked her way. Today, she's dressing up as princesses and belting out the words to "Let It Go."

Yesterday, Jack was an 8lb 5oz newborn. Today he's sitting up, army crawling across the room to get into whatever has caught his eye, rocking on all fours, grinning and showing off his five teeth, and laughing at his sister. 

Love, 
Trying to slow down time- Mom

Thursday, March 13, 2014

All The Pretty Girls

I had the following exchange with my three-year-old yesterday. 


Me: Why are you so pretty?
Dinah: Because I'm a little girl.
Me: All little girls are pretty?
Dinah: Yes. 
Me: But they're not all as pretty as you. 
Dinah: Yeah they are. 

Wouldn't it be great if we all had this mindset? Shouldn't that be the way we look at people? I mean, she's right. Just like every mother looks at her daughter and sees the beauty, God sees beauty in every single one of us. He made us, so of course he does. He also made the ocean, and the sky, and the mountains, and a whole host of gorgeous things. Okay, every gorgeous thing. So, I'd say he has some credibility. 


So, here's to seeing people the way God sees them. 

Monday, March 10, 2014

My Friend, Barnabas

Every time I read the story of Barnabas in the Bible, I think about how much more I need to be like him. I mean, his name means "son of encouragement." (Acts 4:36) Every one of us could use some encouragement once in awhile. Or, you know, all the time. What if we all encouraged each other a little bit more? Wouldn't that be awesome? 

Luckily, although not everybody is good at (or works at) being an encouragement, some people are. I have one such friend, and I am immensely grateful for her. Once upon a time, we were in Sunday School together, so I saw her often. Later, our class began to get too big, so we split it into two. Good problem to have, but we wound up in different classes. Now we joke when we see each other that "hey, we do go to church together!" because we usually just see each other from a distance or in passing. 

But, let me tell you, she still encourages me. One time, after reading about how much I hate the cold, she brought me some of my favorite hot chocolate. She always remembers to tell me happy birthday sometime during the month. As a baby shower gift, she and her husband bought us a gift card to go out to eat, with the offer of babysitting to go with it. Genius. She always encourages me to write, which I love, but find it difficult to find the time (or brain capacity) to do. Just when I think I should shut my tiny little blog down, she tells me about reading it, and encourages me to keep at it. 

Yesterday, our Sunday School classes combined, and it was so good to look up across the room and see her smiling face waving at me. After class, I intended to make my way over and get a hug, but I ended up stopping to talk to someone else. Then I turned around to find her waiting for me. 

Thank you, friend, for your encouragement. Your smiling face and thoughtfulness bless my heart, sometimes when I least expect it. And may the rest of us be a little more like Barnabas. 


Wednesday, February 19, 2014

Can I be Honest (and Mushy) for a Minute?

I have cute kids. They make me smile, and laugh. They bring joy and entertainment. They make me want to scream and pull my hair out. I love 'em. I love the three-year-old imagination, and the five-month-old giggle. 

But, you know what? I loved their daddy first. 

That guy. Oh, that guy. He makes me so mad, I want to throw things. There are times when I think, "ugh! I hate you!" The funny thing is, during those times, the very next thought in my head is that love him. I do too (love him, that is). Nobody else makes me smile as quickly as he does. Nobody knows me, and encourages me, and supports me like he does. Nobody loves me like he does. I am so thankful for him. He's a great dad, but first he was a great husband. I struggle with insecurity in pretty much every aspect of my life...except when it comes to him. I never doubt that he loves me. In fact, if I could see myself a little more like he sees me, I'd be a lot better off. 

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Those Eyes

I have a three-year-old. That still seems strange to me, and the truth is she's almost halfway to four. Four?! Watching her grow has always been bittersweet. I enjoy each stage, but they pass so quickly. 

It's almost sadder with the second child. I look at those sweet baby cheeks, and I know from experience how quickly he'll grow up. I see that little toothless grin, and think how it'll be no time before he's three. Instead of my baby, who looks at me with such joy and wonder, he'll be the one being stubborn and testing every limit. It makes me so sad to know how quickly he'll grow up. Then I look in his eyes. 
Oh, those eyes. I get sucked into that beautiful, calming blue, and I feel better. Yes, he'll grow up too, just like his sister. And fast. But, at least his eyes will still be the same. 

Wednesday, January 29, 2014

So Many Posts So Little Time

Someday I hope to get back into posting regularly. Then again, saying I want to get back into it implies I was consistent to begin with. I have a handful of posts partly written, or floating around in my head. I just haven't found the time to sit down and finish (or start) them. 

When I found out I was pregnant with my second, I thought, "Okay, they will be three years apart. That's a good spacing." Here's what I didn't understand: I would be thrown into parenting two instead of one at the same time I had a three-year-old. I further didn't understand that the "terrible twos" were a walk in the park. Threes on the other hand. Holy cow! The attitude. The stubbornness. The testing of limits over and over again. Even my mother, who thinks my daughter is just about perfect, has said things like, "Do you ever think that maybe the terrible twos started at three?" or "You weren't that independent at that age." 

What I'm saying is, I'm still getting the hang of this whole two-kids thing. I'm lucky to eat lunch, and luckier still if I get to eat it warm. If you follow this blog (and I'm probably just talking to the screen here), bear with me while I figure out how to accomplish more than just keeping my children alive everyday. 

Friday, December 13, 2013

The Game That Changed It All

I grew up in an OSU family. My Dad graduated from there. My cousin graduated from there. There was a lot of agriculture around us. I never got heckled over my orange t-shirts in that town. And, probably because I was a Daddy's girl, I decided early on that I was going to OSU for college. I didn't though. 

I started at a smaller college closer to home, saying maybe I'd transfer later. I did transfer colleges alright. After a series of events that could only have been God-led, I ended up at the rival school that I'd always thought I despised. They have a big football program, and they were really good that year. I grew to love that place from the start. I followed the football games along with everyone else, and got more excited with each win. And then, the time came. The Bedlam Game. 

I went into the game torn. The team I'd always loved and supported? Or the team I'd watched for weeks, the roster made up of my peers? At first, I decided it was a win-win for me. As the cheers from the stadium drifted into my dorm room, and my eyes stayed glued to the TV set, the idea of my childhood team losing became much more acceptable in my mind than my school ending a season-long winning streak. We were undefeated, and I wanted it to stay that way. 

Wait. Had I just said "we?" I had. It all changed in that moment. We won that day, and my loyalty completely shifted.