Daddy Loves You

My memory of the moment is both crystal clear and fuzzy at the same time. It’s hard to explain, but yet if you’ve ever been in shock, you’ll understand.

My body felt numb and weak and apparently that was obvious to those around me because a nurse pushed a stool underneath my legs and helped me sit down beside my son’s hospital bed. I hadn’t even realized until I sat just how much I needed that support.

My two-year-old son, Karson, was laying on the bed along with Lyle the Lamb, his stuffed companion. My husband, Kraig, stood on the opposite side of the bed and rubbed Karson’s little back. Our heads were reeling with the news we’d received just mere hours before. Doctors were telling us that our toddler had cancer. Now we were crammed in a small procedure room at a children’s hospital watching them prep our son for a bone marrow biopsy.

I was experiencing feelings of denial and shock. Our son had been limping for a week and he presented only mild cold symptoms. Why were they suddenly throwing around words like, “leukemia,” and “chemotherapy?” Wasn’t this just a virus that would pass on its own? Do we really need to do this procedure?

But deep down I reasoned that if these trained medical professionals thought there was enough evidence of cancer from a small bit of blood work, then I must allow them to proceed with further testing of Karson’s bone marrow. They had explained that leukemia starts in the marrow and they must take a look to find out what type of leukemia we were fighting.

And so, in what was literally half a day, we went from a normal morning routine to that dreaded procedure room in a hospital two hours from our house. I can still smell that moment and feel the sterility and darkness of that room. It was awful.

To be completely honest, I’m not even sure I want to draw up those memories or that emotion ever again. I wrestle sometimes with the watershed moments that were burned into my mind in the coming three-and-a-half years of my son’s chemotherapy and treatment. Some memories can bring the sting of tears in a matter of seconds. I used to see them often when I closed my eyes at night. Now it’s much less frequent, but the pain is just as raw. It hurts. So you may ask why I write about it or even bother to relive it at all?

I guess I don’t want to waste it.

As awful as Karson’s cancer was, there was so much good that came from it as well. Most of that good came in the form of God’s gentle presence in the midst of the rough storm. Kraig and I learned so much and felt like we were matured in our faith in a way that would otherwise not have been possible.

And on February 9^th, 2007, as we took the first shaky steps into that journey, my husband… my son’s father, told me of how he now understood the love of our Heavenly Father in a deeper way. It was the first of many things we would learn along the way.

Kraig recounted the horrible moments of having to physically pin Karson down on that hospital bed as doctors used a large and painful needle and tools to extract bone marrow from our little boy’s hip. Karson was awake and acutely aware of the intense pain. As he lay there on his stomach, his face was turned toward his daddy who was firmly holding him still and talking to him. Karson was screaming and crying for the pain to stop and looking at Kraig with questioning eyes as if saying,

“Why, Daddy?”

“Why are you letting them hurt me?”

“Please make it stop!”

And oh, how we wanted to!

Kraig and I would have crawled onto that bed in a heartbeat and taken that pain instead of watching our son have to experience it. But we couldn’t. We knew that we had to allow to the doctors to proceed. We had to allow them to extract bone marrow so that they could determine what course of treatment would be most effective for fighting this cancer. But we couldn’t explain all of that to a two-year-old. Even if we had, he wouldn’t have understood.

And so as Karson screamed and pleaded with his Daddy, all that Kraig could say in response was,

“I love you, Karson.”

“I love you, buddy.”

“Oh, Karson! Daddy loves you so much!”

It was heartbreaking and profound.

And as Kraig shared with me later, he thought about how many times in life our Heavenly Father has had to hold us down through pain, trial, sin and ugliness. And we don’t understand it. And perhaps even if He told us, it wouldn’t matter. All we need to do is look into his eyes and hear His words.

Daddy loves you.

1 John 3:1 says,
“See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are!”

I don’t get it. I can’t mentally grasp it or figure it out. I don’t know why my Heavenly Father has allowed pain in my life or my child’s life. I simply don’t know.

Yet the lesson Kraig learned in that moment, I continue to learn as well. I submit to my Father’s hands holding me firmly through the pains of this life, and listen to his almighty and loving voice reminding me of His unconditional love.

I know my Father’s love. And that’s all I really need to know.

A Delicate Balancing Act

There has been something on my mind lately. I feel as if I’ve been performing a mental balance beam routine with my thoughts. My virtual ankles are starting to ache. I’m striving to find the rest that comes with steadiness and control, but it seems I continue to wobble, even if only in my mind’s eye.

I don’t do well with balance beams. In first grade, I hopped off the end of a balance beam and ended up on my back with a dislocated elbow and broken arm. Ouch. Maybe that’s why I’m sticking with the mental balancing act for now… but it’s been almost as painful.

I just want to be a good mom.

I have goals for my children. And hopes. And dreams. And love. I want to do an excellent job at raising them. I really do. But there are two schools of thought encouraging me, as if two little weighted coaches are on each of my shoulders causing me to tip to and fro.

As I read some blogs, articles, books, or talk to other parents, I mentally lean in one direction while trying to keep my feet on the beam. These voices tell me that I should not miss a moment of my child’s precious life. Dare I look at Facebook or spend an evening out of the house when I might miss a moment that I’ll never get back again? I’m told good parents involve their children in higher learning opportunities, athletic training and intense, intentional intentionality.

Should I be involving my children in more activities? Am I doing enough intentional training? Gasp! I paid more attention to the laundry today at one point than I did my kids. I didn’t even play Barbies with them today at all. Oh great, I forgot to seize the day and make the most of every single moment with them! Have I failed and messed them up for life?!

Deep Breath.

I need to lean back the other way or I’m going to fall off of this beam. So I tune in to the voices that are on the other side. They are telling me that we are raising a generation of spoiled brats. This side reminds me that the world does not revolve around my kids and I need to stop acting as if it does. Stop coddling your children. Don’t give them so much “stuff.” We need to give our children more responsibility and less technology. Our children are not our trophies or our vehicles to accomplish things we wish we’d done in our own lives.
Oh no! I’ve failed on this side too. Maybe I’ve spoiled my kids and not given them enough responsibility. I don’t have a chore chart with stickers hanging on my refrigerator. My preschoolers don’t even have chores yet! Maybe it’s good that I didn’t play Barbies with them today because perhaps I’ve already played with them too much and they are going to grow up to be spoiled, irresponsible narcissists!

Deeper Breath. I’ve really got to relax.

So let me go back to the beginning of this balancing routine. I have goals for my children. And hopes. And dreams. And love.

I’m pretty sure that loving them is allowed and even encouraged, so I can cross that one off my worry list. Hopes and dreams and goals are alright too. But for me, when I truly start to define what those things are specifically for my children… well, that’s when I start to find my rest.

All I truly want for my children is for them to love the Lord with all of their heart, soul, mind and strength, and to serve Him however He leads them each individually for His glory.

And there it is. I’m steady. I’m resting in the truth that nothing else really matters.

Is it ok if I sometimes play hide-and-seek and giggle with my kids at bedtime and stare into their eyes as I marvel at the preciousness of their beautiful faces? Sure.

Is it ok if I sometimes ask them to entertain themselves while I work hard at the task I must accomplish that has nothing to do with them? Yep.

Is it ok if they are in sports and being intentionally trained to be one of the top in their class? Fine.

And is it ok if I sometimes allow my child to struggle through a hard decision without any of my assistance so that they can learn to “sink or swim” on their own? Absolutely.

That stuff doesn’t really matter. I can lean one way and I can lean the other. They are both fine but neither way is all right or all wrong.

My feet are planted firmly on the beam. I lift my eyes and my heart in worship to my Creator who also created my children and gave them to me. All I truly want is for my children to do the same.

And as the voices on either side fade away, I find my balance, my steadiness, my control. I am focused on the God who loves me and who loves my children. I desire to honor Him and teach my children to do the same, whatever that may look like.

And it’s there that I’ve finally found my place of rest.

What Terry Bradshaw Taught Me About Parenting

I’ve been a parent now for over eight years. I’m starting to catch on to how things work. My husband and I aren’t experts, by any stretch of the imagination, but we’ve done some things right. We’ve also made some mistakes and hopefully have learned from them as we’ve grown and tweaked our parenting style.  I’m feeling pretty comfortable and confident as a parent to my own three children.

But wouldn’t you know, this week I was thrown a curveball. Or maybe I should say a perfect spiral.

All three of our children loved pacifiers. Pacifiers are a staple in our home during the baby and toddler phases as much as diapers, Lysol, and onesies. The way things went down with the older two kids was like this. They could have the pacifier anytime of the day or night until they were two-years-old, at which point they could only have the pacifier in bed. When they turned three, bye-bye paci! It really worked quite nicely with the older two kiddos.

And then there’s the third one. Our youngest is approaching her third birthday this Spring and so her pacifier days are coming to a close. I honestly haven’t even given it much thought. I’ve been so laid back with our littlest daughter that I haven’t pushed much of any kind of intentional training. I should probably get on that. But anyway, she has been sleeping with her pacifier every night in squeaky, soothed bliss. Until Thursday.

Thursday night she decides that she wants to trade her pacifier in for a toy instead. Oh really?! This is nice. She’s training herself and is even ahead of schedule. The toy of choice? A small plastic figurine of Terry Bradshaw.

Excuse me… WHAT?!

First of all, you may ask why we even have a small plastic figurine of Terry Bradshaw in our house. I ask this same question and vaguely recall buying him at a garage sale years ago with intentions of giving him to my little nephew who is a big Steelers fan. But, my husband said that was a stupid waste of a quarter (or whatever amount of change I spent on Mr. Bradshaw) because what kid, Steeler fan or not, would want a figurine of a quarterback who played in the 1970′s?

I mean, really… what kid would want this little plastic man. I get it. What was I thinking? What a waste of money.

Yet, Terry remains in our home. He’s frozen here in a stance, ready to throw his little plastic football because I’ve never thrown him away or traded him to another team. I haven’t even given him a second thought. We’re not even Steeler fans.

But our two-year-old daughter wants to trade in her beloved pacifier in order to have Terry Bradshaw in her chubby little fist soothing her to sleep as he looks down field for an open receiver.

I’ve been blitzed. I’m still scratching my head trying to shake off the sack.

I didn’t see that one coming.

Two more nights have now passed and both nights she’s once again chosen Mr. Bradshaw. The toy I would have possibly voted as least likely to be of interest to my girlie, pigtailed daughter. I don’t know if this relationship between girl and plastic quarterback is going to last, but I’m not even going to try to figure it out anymore.

If Terry Bradshaw has taught me anything, it’s this. Sometimes in parenting you’ve just got to call an audible.

Famous Wise Sayings (Mommy Style)

I have great and utter respect for Benjamin Franklin, Albert Eisenstein and Thomas Jefferson. The guys who wrote the Chinese proverbs and whoever thinks up the sayings on fortune cookie papers aren’t bad either. Some people just say some smart stuff. Ya know?

But today I’d like to keep things real. What if the famous wise sayings of old were written by a mommy who was still wearing her bath robe and slippers and was able to just say it like it is. I’m talking about Mommy Wisdom. Smart little nuggets for REAL, daily life.

This thought struck me as I cleaned up a spill on my kitchen table and floor for the third, yes third, time in one day. Thus leading me to my first Mommy wise saying amendment…

Don’t cry over spilled milk.

AMENDMENT: Don’t sob over spilled milk. Deep breaths and/or moderate sighing is encouraged. If more than one spill has occurred in a given day then deep frustration with an occasional sniffle is completely acceptable.

Early to bed and early to rise makes a man happy, healthy, and wise.

AMENDMENT: In bed for the majority of the night and not rising until absolutely necessary is pretty good.

A penny saved is a penny earned.

AMENDMENT: A penny spent to entertain your toddler on the mechanical horsey at the local grocery store is a penny well spent.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again.

AMENDMENT: If at first you do succeed in getting your child to promptly obey you in public while wearing a smile and without complaint, then you’d better hope somebody else saw it.

It’s always darkest right before dawn.

AMENDMENT: It’s always loudest right before bedtime.

As you make your bed, so you must lie in it.

AMENDMENT: If you make your bed, that’s awesome.

Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

AMENDMENT: Kuddos to you if you’ve ventured to the store by yourself with multiple kids in tow.

Too many cooks spoil the broth.

AMENDMENT: Help in the kitchen is always welcome.

Many hands make light work.

AMENDMENT: Many little hands make many little hand prints on glass doors, windows, mirrors and walls.

The early bird gets the worm.

AMENDMENT: The son who finds the worm scares his mother with it.

People who live in glass houses shouldn’t throw stones.

AMENDMENT: People who live in glass houses shouldn’t have children. It would be impossible to keep up with all of those hand prints.

You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink.

AMENDMENT: You can lead a toddler to cooked cauliflower. You can even strongly encourage them to eat some… and if they do, count that as a win.

Where there’s a will, there’s a way.

AMENDMENT: Where’s there is a long period of silence coming from the room where the children are playing, there’s a problem.

When the cat’s away, the mice will play!

AMENDMENT: But when the cat gets home, believe me, you don’t want Mom to tell him what you did or else you’re in BIG trouble.

A rolling stone gathers no moss.

AMENDMENT: A rolling ball in the house gather’s Mom’s disapproval.

Rome wasn’t built in a day.

AMENDMENT: The tower of blocks built by your toddler was stacked in less than 30 seconds, but it’s toppling is heartbreaking and warrants many tears nonetheless.

A stitch in time saves nine.

AMENDMENT: Tying your child’s shoelace in a double-knot the first time will save you having to re-tie it every nine minutes.

Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

What the heck does that even mean?! Skip it.

Where there is smoke there’s fire.

AMENDMENT: Where’s there’s no public changing table, there’s a diaper blowout.

Don’t count your chickens before they’re hatched.

AMENDMENT: Do count your children before you leave the house without one.

Necessity is the mother of all invention.

AMENDMENT: Mothers are of great necessity!

Eggs Benedict Arnold

“Mooommmmm! Bubba is egging me!” I heard my four-year-old daughter yell up the basement steps.

Translated: “Mom! My brother is trying to instigate me to do something that will get me in trouble, or in other words, he’s egging me on!”

Yes, it’s true. Our two older children are four years apart in age and our eight-year-old son likes to plant ideas in his little sister’s head that may lead to mild trouble. I have explained to the kids that this is called, “egging someone on,” and that they should not delight in giving another an idea that will get them in trouble.

I should know. I’m an expert egger.

My brother and I also have a four year gap in our ages. Naturally, I am the older and more mature, wise, and creative sibling. Therefore, I’ve had much practice at the art of egging on my younger brother. I pride myself in the fact that I have a pretty good imagination and I’m able to dream up some clever ideas. Mind you, I am a major rule follower and people-pleaser. I do not like to get in trouble.  However… if I could talk my little brother into doing something mischievous then I could still follow the rules, please people and go on my merry way.

As we’ve become adults, my brother has repeatedly clued the rest of the family in on the fact that many things that he got in trouble for were, in fact, my idea. Big mouth! But, I do admit it’s true. I was a fairly talented instigator. I had a good run.

Now I am seeing this same scenario play out with my two older children. The genders are reversed, but it is once again the oldest child who is clever and imaginative and willing to use these skills to lead his younger sister into mischief. All I have to do is look at my son’s face and I can easily recognize that he is in “egging mode.” I know that I must nip this behavior in the bud so that my daughter can learn to get into trouble on her own… but I feel like a traitor to all sibling instigators.

It’s really been a quandary, but I’ve continued to scold my son for leading his little sister astray. I know, I’ve defected.

Just call me Eggs Benedict Arnold.

10 Things I Learned Over Christmas Break

10. Injuries are well worth the pain if they warrant a Barbie band-aid.

9. Flaming desserts are actually on fire and four-year-olds should be advised not to touch them until they are no longer on fire. (However, if injury ensues, see #10)

8. Santa really enjoys homemade chocolate chip cookies, especially since Mrs. Claus has been keeping them quite scarce around the house lately.

7. It’s really easy to guess what one of your gifts will be when you smell a nice fragrance wafting from the area where your husband wrapped a leaking bottle of new perfume.

6. Having a house full of family and friends is just plain fun. Getting snow after everyone has arrived and is settled in makes it even better. Having a Keurig coffeemaker is the icing on the cake.

5.  The longer children have been stuck playing together in the basement the stranger the things that can be heard uttered from their parent’s mouth. For example:  statements like, “No, you may not stick that Lincoln Log in your sister’s crack.”

4. Trying to guess what your preschooler has drawn in a game of “Win, Lose or Draw” is very difficult and although it may look like a jellyfish every time, the correct answer is apparently never jellyfish.

3. Watching your pigtailed two-year-old sing “Away In A Manger,” complete with hand motions, will melt your heart.

2. When you look out the window and see your son playing in the snow… with a plunger… it’s best just to walk away and pretend that you never looked in the first place.

1. Experiencing the joy and wonder of Jesus’ birth through the eyes of your children is a precious Christmas gift.

100% Polyester Love

Ten years ago this week I was a glowing bride-to-be. We were caught up in the hustle and bustle of preparing for our December 7th wedding. It was a whirlwind three-month engagement and I was head over heels with it all. I enjoyed just about every second of the planning and preparing. Our wedding, complete with its sparkling Christmas touches, was a dream. My favorite moment was when I was on my Dad’s arm and the doors to the sanctuary opened and I could see Kraig’s face as I walked toward him down the aisle. His eyes never left mine and he wore a huge smile above that rented tuxedo. There was no doubt he was in love with me. And I was so in love with him.

This week we’ve been in a hustle and bustle of a different sort as we’ve led up to our 10th anniversary. The term whirlwind can now be used to describe our three little tornadoes who breeze through the house and who have swept us off of our feet. We plan and prepare now for their Christmas activities and gifts as well as extended family parties, work get-togethers and 2nd grade holiday shops.

It’s been a busy time, but Kraig has done something to make the week leading up to our anniversary extra special. Starting last week, ten days before our actual anniversary, he gave me a gift. He gave me a note as well that explained that for the following ten days I’d be receiving one gift a day leading up to our 10th anniversary. Even more, these gifts would be themed based on the traditional symbol of each year’s anniversary. So for example, the first anniversary is paper, the fourth flowers, the tenth tin, etc.

Each day I’ve been enjoying the anticipation of receiving my note and gift from Kraig. But so far, the second day has been my favorite.

The second anniversary’s traditional symbol is cotton. Kraig gave me a pair of pink pajama pants. I really like pink and comfy pajama pants are great… but that’s not the best part.

As he clearly explained that these pants were for our “Cotton Anniversary” I read the label largely displayed on the tag. 100% Polyester.

Yep. Not a fiber of cotton in them.

I looked up and saw Kraig’s face. That same smile I saw 10 years ago as I walked down the aisle was there. We may both look a little older and weathered a bit, but those eyes and that smile still tell me that no matter the fiber in the pants, that man loves me with every fiber of his being.

I can’t wait to see what else I get this week. But cotton, polyester, tin or diamonds it doesn’t really matter. I’ve already got the real treasure.