Growing up Girls

I often miss the baby moments with my girls and long for the toothless smiles and soft coos. It's funny how quickly we forget the sleepless nights and colic or the stinky diapers. But then I marvel at each stage my girls go through. I am amazed daily by the beautiful, strong, compassionate and willful young lady that Brenna is becoming. And greatly enjoy the thoughtful, cute, funny, ornery little girl that Cailyn is and look forward to watching her go through the ages I've been blessed to go through with Brenna. I wish sometimes I could keep them young forever and protect them from bad things and heartbreak. But I can't. I can only guide them and pray for them. I know that I am so very blessed to have them. I know that they are God's children that He has entrusted me with. Above all, with prayer each step of the way, He will guide me to be just the mom they need me to be.

I am so very blessed to call them my daughters!

Scars

Every time I start with new students, there’s always at least one who asks about my scar.  I explain that I was very sick and needed help to breathe and the doctors had to help me. But it always reminds me of a scar that I often forget is there.  When you meet someone new, they look at your face first. That scar just happens to be right under my face. We all have scars some that everyone can see and many more that we can cover or that can’t be seen at all.  I’ll start with the simple ones, the ones that I can see.  When I see my tracheotomy scar, it’s a reminder of something I have overcome. The pain is gone, the wound has healed, and the sickness that necessitated the trach is over.  But the scar remains. I survived.   The things I have overcome as a result of that illness are far greater than just surviving, but that in itself is no less than a miracle.

My other most visible scar is from the c-sections that brought my daughters into this world. Thankfully, no one has to see this one but me.  And it doesn’t bother me a bit. Of course it’s a reminder of the birth of my girls, but it’s also a reminder that with God’s help, I overcame infertility. I continue to pray for those going through this trial.

There are many more scars that I could show you, my appendectomy scar, the one from my gallbladder, and various scraped knees and cut fingers. Then there are those scars that we all hold deep within. I don’t have many wounds anymore. They are wounds as long as you still hold anger, bitterness or unforgiveness. I wrote a prayer at one of my very lowest most painful times. And then I began to heal and overcome. When the time came that I was doing really well. Several people had complimented how well I was doing dealing with this situation.  At first I was flattered and thanked them, and then I heard God reminding me that I wasn’t doing it alone. After that, if anyone commented on it, I would tell them that I couldn’t do it alone. It was only through the grace and mercy that God was showing through me that it was possible. Two years later, the written prayer long forgotten, I came across it again.  I was blown away by the words I didn’t remember writing in my despair. The words I had written echoed as the same words I had spoken giving God the credit for my overcoming. I had written a prayer specifically asking Him to give me the strength to overcome this tragedy in my life with His grace and mercy. I had asked God to allow His grace, mercy, and strength to show through me so that I might overcome and be a pillar to my girls. Thanks be to GOD!  Praise the Lord, my wounds are healed I am left with only scars to remind me of the trials that He has made it possible for me to overcome and to forgive. The saying goes, “to forgive and forget.” I don’t want to forget. I want to remember and rejoice in what He has helped me overcome!

Mom's Big Chair

For Mother's Day 2008, I wanted a chair large enough to hold both my big girl and the baby I was expecting. So, three year old Brenna and her daddy picked me out a big, soft recliner.  When Cailyn arrived, my girls and I all fit in it together just fine.  Lots of things have changed in our lives since then!  My girls are now eight and five. We don't fit nearly as comfortably as we used to, but none of us mind a bit. I don't think a day goes by that we don't all find our selves cuddled/squashed in my chair together at least once.

This evening, a girl sitting on both sides of me, Brenna found an eyelash on my cheek and told me to make a wish. I couldn't think of a single thing to wish for.  I had just gotten home from my first day at my new job... That's right, I am finally employed again!!!  And here I sat with my girls loving on me. No, we don't have it all. But we have all we need and we have a house and a big brown chair full of love!  (Even if it is a messy house.)

My Sticky Shoe and Father's Day Too

Most Sunday mornings, I don't have the girls. While they ate never far from my mind, while getting ready for church, I'm usually on my own. This morning , I slipped on my shoes just before walking out the door and didn't notice something wasn't quite right until I was at church. I was walking Brenna to Sunday school and said to her, do you know what reminds me I'm a mommy this morning? She said no and asked me what.  I said I'm reminded I'm a mommy because there is something sticky in my shoe! She giggled and asked how that made me a mommy. I told her I was pretty sure that people without children probably didn't come to church with sticky stuff in there shoe. She looks at me with this straight, serious face and said, "I don't know Mom, I guess we better ask someone without children." 

I struggle with Father's Day and Mother's Day both.  Mother's Day is much easier to understand my emotions.  Mostly it's just that I really, really miss my mom. I miss her every single day. And then I feel guilty for being sad on Mother's Day because now I'm the mom and I'm supposed to be happy and celebrating these precious girls that God has blessed me with the honor of raising. 

Father's Day, I'm a little leery writing my feelings for 2 reasons. One, ever the peacemaker, I don't want to hurt anyone and two, feeling guilty is just dumb. I have 2 dads whom I love dearly. I know my dad loved me without ever really knowing me. And I know that my dad, who raised me, loves me and his granddaughters. It was a rough road though.  The girls' dad loves them and is a great dad who is no longer married to me. I feel guilty for not being able to provide for them the example of a good husband and a Godly marriage. I can't give them a father who loves their mother.  And that is why I ended up crying with my friend in the church bathroom this morning over being a single mom and having a sticky shoe to boot. 

If anyone's wondering, it was frosted flakes in my shoe... Which I washed out while my tears changed to laughter with my friend. 

Help Fix the Broken

This morning, or maybe sometime during the thunderstorm overnight, I woke up to what I believe is God’s calling.  I wish I could remember now exactly what I “heard.”  Several of my friends who have gone into ministry often speak of when they felt a calling into ministry.  It felt a lot like that.  I feel like I’m being called, but I’m not quite sure of the path He’s calling me into.  I started praying right away saying, “Are you sure Lord?  I’m all for it, I want to follow your path, but you’re going to have to be real clear on this one. I don’t know where to begin let alone what direction to go.  Lord, lead me even push me because I’m going to need a whole lot of guidance if this is the direction you want for me and I sure can’t do it alone.”  I must have drifted back to sleep after that. I woke up with the phrase, “Help fix the broken” on my heart.  It just kept repeating through my head.  I get K-love’s encouraging word of the day delivered to my email and I try to make it a habit to read that before my feet hit the floor in the morning.  Today’s scripture was Ephesians 2:10:

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.”

As I was getting dressed, my oldest daughter started reading a poem I wrote for her when she was a baby. I remember when I wrote it, I thought it would be a great children’s book. It’s a poem for her about my mom who passed away several years before she was born. I vowed when she passed that my children would still know her through me.  I probably struggle with mourning my mom most when it comes to my children and them never getting to meet their Grandma Connie.  There are several areas of my life that I’ve felt drawn to write about because maybe, just maybe that’s my route to touch someone’s life.  I don’t know if that’s the direction God’s leading me… But it’s an idea to start with.  I’m broken, I think we all struggle with brokenness in some shape or form.  God can’t strengthen or rebuild something that hasn’t first been broken.

Where are we again

The second thing that made me question how we got to this place in time was my date last week. Or rather my date that didn't happen.  I got married when I was 24 to the man who'd been my boyfriend since I was 18.  At 32, I became single mom.  At first, I dated a lot, when the girls would go to their dad's, I felt like that was what I was supposed to do. And had more strange and awkward dates than I would care to admit.  Then I stopped "looking."  I still get asked out from time to time, but lately, I seldom make it to the actual date part.

My daughters have become much more aware of boyfriends and girlfriends and had started asking questions that will someday, way too soon for my liking, lead to me having THOSE conversations. Now, I have never introduced my girls to anyone, and I don't intend to for a long time.  But just asking the beginnings questions has opened my eyes wide.  I started thinking about the type of young men my daughters will someday date. That'll raise you blood pressure!  I was thinking about the ways I would expect a boy to treat and speak to my girls. And it hit me like a load of bricks. Why on earth would I expect anything less from a man who might be interested in me?  And if I settled for less than what I want for them, what kind of example am I setting?

So my date for last week had asked me out and he'd agreed to my driving myself and an out in public first date. Then he started asking me very forward questions. I gave him a chance by telling him I wouldn't be answering questions like that. He seemed to take the hint and continued asking about where I might like to meet him. Our plans were all set. Then, he says, you know if you want me to take you out, your going to have to answer those questions and be upfront with me about $&@. I smiled to myself and simply said, "I am not the woman you are looking for, but I wish you luck in your search." Followed by a click.  And you know what, it felt really good to not allow someone to treat me with disrespect!

I am in no hurry to find "someone." I heard a song soon after by Anthem Lights called "Hide Your Love Away." I was looking for ideas for explaining things to my girls, but it applies to me too.  I saw a sign on Pinterest that said "Yes I'm single, you're going to have to be amazing to change that."  Only honest, respectful, Christian men who have a great sense of humor need apply...  Until then, I'm doing just fine on my own.

Where are we today?

I keep reflecting on a couple of things that happened this week. And I wonder how we got here. Above all, I wonder how on earth I'm going to navigate these waters and raise my kids in this place we've gotten to.

The first is something that has happened several times in my decade (and then some) of teaching.  A student telling me they were going to tell their mom on me. It struck me differently this time.  Not because it instilled the fear it was intended for, but because this child and many others truly believe that the school/teachers should be in fear when handling disrespectful behaviors and the student should not have consequences.  Driving home, I got the giggles. I was picturing my angel, who never does anything wrong at school, (please note my dripping sarcasm here) saying those same words at school.  And better yet, when she did come home and tell on her teacher to me!  I can tell you, my daughter would get pretty much the same response as I would have gotten from my mother, father, grandparents and anyone else involved in my upbringing.

I love my daughters both more than I could ever begin to describe.  I listen to and validate their feelings and I listen with the understanding that they are children.  They are kind, caring children, and they are ornery girls who act on impulse and then act in self preservation after the fact.  Children don't want consequences and will gladly pass them off on the nearest warm body.  Now in the end, I'm blessed that so far, they come clean pretty quickly.  That may be because they have learned that honesty gets them in far less trouble.

Now all that being said, have I always agreed with my child's teachers? Nope.  But I've never addressed it in front of her, my daughter, and I'm kind when working with the teacher.  Also, being a teacher, I try very hard to make sure I leave the teacher outside my daughter's school and only the mom goes in.

This week, my little darling got a note sent home from school.  It just so happens that last weekend, she learned a new joke.  Her dad and I both told her NOT to tell the joke at school and explained that it was "not school appropriate."  The note said that she told the joke to her whole class! Then went on to say that she, the teacher, didn't think she understood that it was not okay at school... I let the teacher know that she did understand and knew it wasn't okay, but chose to ignore us.  You know you want to hear the joke: What do you call a bumble bee ghost?  A Boo bee!  She also decided to lay in her chair and 'swim' during writing time. It was an out of the box day I guess.

The second thing is the most recent date that didn't happen... But this is already too long so it will have to be another post.