The Mom I'd Like To Be

There are some pretty famous 'moms' out there and I'm not necessarily talking about celebrity-famous.  We've all seen them.  The mom in her perfectly trim 'errand running' outfit dropping the pristine kiddos off at Preschool, or the mom that always has her hair perfectly styled and nails immaculately manicured, or the mom that has never stepped out of the house with her shirt on inside out, or backwards, or spit up on, or <gasp> the same one she wore yesterday.

I see these moms and always IMMEDIATELY think, 'wow...I wish I was like that.' as I mentally go over every thing about myself I would change.  After the self-loathing, I realize...I am me.  I am not them.  Sure, maybe they 'look' fantastically put together, but maybe they are in a loveless marriage.  Sure, maybe their children walk happily and quietly beside them, but maybe that's because their children aren't allowed to get dirty.  Sure, maybe their perky little bodies fit into a negative sizing chart, but maybe they sacrifice cuddle time and sharing family dinners for one more workout.

And maybe...JUST maybe...they look amazing, have well mannered children, are married to the most amazing man possible for them, have oodles of adoring friends that would drop everything to be at their side, have a close relationship with God, enjoy a healthy bank account, and...and that's okay.

It's okay because I cannot compare my life to someone else's life.  My life consists of growing my relationship with God, sharing yummy food with my family, getting dirty in the mud, balancing family and work, adoring my husband, training the littles to be big someday,  and being a better person.  Sometimes I miss a training run because the kids have activities - they'll only be kids for awhile and their memories make it all worthwhile.

I most definitely do not have it all together.  This Valentine's Day we barely managed to address the store-bought cards late last night...but it got done.  Over the last few weeks, as Zoe birthday approaches, the sweetest thing happened. The kids get to choose their birthday dinner.  After each din-sup at our house, Zoe announced she wanted 'this' to be her birthday dinner. There were multiple changes to Wednesday's dinner menu. I think she has finally settled on these really yummy Chicken Parmesan Wraps. I love that the kids love my cooking. I love that the kids choose to eat something I make instead of wanting to go to a restaurant. I love that they get excited and each have lists of favorite things I make for them. This is exactly the mom I am proud to be.

We are given the children that we are meant to parent. I wholeheartedly believe that statement.  My successes and failures are what they need. I absolutely am not perfect, but I'm perfectly suited for these littles...as they are perfectly suited for me.

I'm happy and content with my life...and who knows, maybe some mom out there sees a snippet of my life and thinks, 'wow...I wish I was like that.'

Believe it...speak it.

I hardly know how to start this blog post.  I sit here among the cobwebs on my blog and ideas in my head and wonder, 'just how is this going to turn out?'  And truthfully, 'what are people going to think about it?'  But the yearning to speak it overwhelms the concern about the outcome.  Last Wednesday night, we had the pleasure of hearing Casey Treat speak at COTM.  First of all, brilliant speaker and quite the testimonial, to boot.  As I try to recount the exact topic and the exact statements that he said, I cannot.  I emphatically remember his stage presence, his confidence in what he was saying, his BELIEF in all things...but I only remember, for sure, one statement - believe it and speak it.

There are only a few people (less than I can count on one hand) that know this story.  In part, because it's very special to me but also because the story is a kind of controversial one.  It has to do with faith healing.  Now, before you stop reading (please don't stop reading), let me explain something.  I was raised in church.  I went all the time.  But the topic of faith healing was never a positive one to me.  In all honesty, I thought it was hokey-poppycock (that means whatever you want it to mean).

While I was pregnant with Ben, I was diagnosed with gestational diabetes.  This was not a surprise to me, as I had the same diagnoses with both Ethan and Quinn.  I knew it would mean insulin shots -  a minimum of 4 times a day.  During this time, Pastor George did a series on 'Christ the Healer'.  It was a series, culminating in....oh yes...a healing service.  My initial thought was, 'dangit...I like this church!'  But I decided, instead of throwing in the towel on a church I absolutely love, I'd listen with an open heart about what was said and, oh I don't know, maybe learn something.

So I went.  Every Saturday. I listened. I understood.  And I slowly came to a place where I started believing healings were possible.  To clarify, I always believed God healed people miraculously.  The part I had a problem with was a pastor standing on a stage, putting his hand on someone's forehead, knocking them over, and proclaiming them 'healed'.  But as I listened, I realized it's not all about being pushed over on a stage.  To me, it was about asking God to heal me.  It was about asking God to take something away that He could take away.  It was about getting over my hangup about asking God for...well, anything.  I always though I should just be grateful for what I have...not ask for MORE.  My feelings on that subject could be another post, indubitably (I really like saying that word...indubitably).

The time came.  It was the last message in the series and my concern over Pastor bringing people on stage and knocking them over was put to ease.  It was a very quite, peaceful prayer time.  The music was being played, the lights were low, I held Eric's hand as I often do in church as we sang soft worship songs to our Father. I felt God so strongly that night, inside me, around me, He was everywhere. I never opened my eyes. Tears streamed out as I prayed quietly. I whispered in my mind to my Dad. My prayers are quite disjointed, they would never 'do' for an 'out loud' prayer for people to hear.  This is the best I could do to recreate it, in type...

"God...Father...please..." <swaying to softly playing music> "Please take this...keep Ben safe...my God...Jesus..." <barely aware of anyone in the room...and it was a full house...1200?> "Deliver me...my Papa...make me healthy...I trust You...I need You..." <feeling Ben kick and move inside me> "With boldness I ask...take this away."

Now, I never said the actual words...take the gestational diabetes away from me, please...but I believe He knew what I was talking about.  How could He not??  I had to constantly remind myself that this was a done deal. I could not allow myself to question whether I would be healed.  I could not allow myself to question God.  The audacity!

I didn't tell anyone.  This was between my Papa and me.  I continued to test my blood sugar - I never planned on just hiding my head in the sand and possibly causing harm to Benny-boy.  But I can tell you this...I didn't have to take another insulin shot after that prayer.  I didn't need to.  My sugars were always between 90-100. Lil Ben was born early and weighed 6lbs 13 oz...no problems, at all.

I didn't have to take another insulin shot after that prayer.

I.didn't.have.to.take.another.insulin.shot.after.that.prayer.

For the rest of my life...whenever I begin to question my God (I'm human, it will happen), I only have to remember Benjamin.  I only have to remember that God took away a physical problem.  I only have to remember that He did that...instantly.  I only have to remember that I believed He would do it...I trusted Him and He took care of me, as any parent would try to do.  Except He is the best parent...He will not waiver, He will not fail, He will not disappoint.

For Love of Java

Java.  Joe.  Mud.  Liquid Energy.  Starbucks.  Cafe.  Double Shot.  Latte.  Espresso.  Brew.  Jamocha.  Mojo. Morning Thunder.  Wakey Juice.  My Reason for Getting Up in the Morning.  Whatever you call it, coffee could very well invoke those tender, warm, fuzzy feelings that one normally only gets when they see their stud-of-a-man enter the room.  Yet others, when they smell the intoxicating aroma of brewing glory, only mildly have to contain their gag reflex to keep their reputation intact.  Still others sit on the proverbial fence when the topic of go-juice comes up.

Personally, I was in the camp of those that felt the aroma of coffee was super yummy, but the taste was mildly...okay overtly...disappointing.  And then I met Eric. Yeah, yeah...I know, get ready for an 'overly exaggerated description of a man that can't possibly be true' blog post.  BUT...the man can make some wicked, good coffee.  He has a technique that translates to -- Melissa doesn't attempt to really make coffee because it simply pales in comparison.

It's more than good taste, which it certainly has...I can't help but get those tender, warm, fuzzy feelings knowing that he's left me coffee in the morning.  Or when I'm pretending to be awake because the kids don't realize sleeping in is a GIFT FROM GOD, HIMSELF - and he whips up some of the yummy goodness and delivers it to me with a smile.  Or when he knows I am playing chauffeur to the kids in the morning because he's working from home, so he gets the travel mug ready so I can take it with me.

Every time I smell the coffee seeping through the filter, it reminds me of Eric.  It reminds me of how he takes care of me.  It reminds me of how lucky we all are that he devotes himself to us.  It reminds me of my Eric and that, alone, makes it the best drink I've ever had.

A Lot Can Happen in a Year

Depending on the day I'm asked...life either moves really quickly or moves really slowly.  B is already near 6 months old.  I still haven't painted our bedroom.  Q starts kindergarten this year.  E hasn't been in school since January.

Then, there are those things that appear to move quickly and slowly.  Case in point, my marriage to Eric.  Today marks one year we have been man and wife.  It seems like yesterday we were on our first weekend away together.  We've been married a year???

Simply put...Eric is the man I didn't believe existed.  He is the husband I didn't know I could dream for.  He is the friend that I always wanted.  He is my Eric.

Blending families is not easy.  Gratefully, no one ever promised me it would be simple...or fun.  Truthfully, it has been simple and fun.  Our kids are great people.  I truly believe they will all grow into adults I would be honored to know.

Our first year together has been a blessing that I couldn't have dreamed would ever be a part of life.  I am thrilled to see what the following years have in store for us...livin' the dream.

Is That God?

Church on the Move (COTM) is an amazing place.  There, I said it.  They have a whole creative team that comes up with their ideas and videos and skits.  And it shows.  Last night we went to the Christmas Service called Celebrate With Family and it was far from disappointing.  So much music (my favorite part) and a poignant reading from Pastor George at the end.  So far, near 17,000 people watched the service and there are two more shows to go tonight.  The pics in this post are from services past.


The shows kicks off with Andy Chrisman singing The Little Drummer Boy and, wow...between Andy's voice and the drums beating in the background, it was very, very good.  Then came the Grinch.  Yes, COTM incorporated the Grinch into their Christmas Service.  Beyond that...they incorporated the music from Thriller into the scene.  There was a rap performed while the Grinch played his 20ft tall organ about his being mean and evil and how he should grow his heart or go away (I think, honestly, I'm too old for rap).  Then, there were zombie like creatures that came out (not sure of the link there, either) - they weren't scary, just walking zombie like and they lined up with the Grinch and did the Thriller dance!  E and Z LOVED IT!  Q was on my lap and amazed!  They also sang some songs about Santa and Jesus...beautifully incorporating both aspects of the holiday into the service.


Then Pastor George comes out and reads The Christmas Story while a cello (maybe) is playing softly in the background.  He reads about the prophecy's written 700 years before Jesus' birth and reads about the birth, itself and how Jesus was to settle in Nazareth.  Chills.  Throughout his reading, Q kept pointing at him and asking me if he was God.  I kept saying no, but he kept saying, 'yes-uh...that God'.

At the end, I asked E what his favorite part was and it was the Grinch.  He said, the first two songs almost made him cry...but he 'man'd up' and 'pushed them back' and didn't cry.  I said....well I cried.  And he hugged me.

Life is good.  Christmas is awesome.  Family is inspiring.  Kids are a gift.  I love my life.

The Ultimate Gift -- Jim Stovall

<deep breath> Before I begin my 'book report', of sorts...I just need to compose myself.  You see, I just read this book....correction, I read this book in less than the time it takes to drive from Tulsa to Joplin (about 75 minutes).  I'm so thankful to Eric for suggesting the read.

Jim Stovall is, in a word, brilliant.  I could go on and on about this man's gift - finding joy in his problems, motivating others to greatness, and I love how he writes.  I encourage you to read up on him and what other's are saying about him.

The Ultimate Gift is remarkable.  I've read books that have inspired me, challenged me, made me cry, made me think...but never at this magnitude, never at this depth, never for this long.  There is a sentence in this book that, when I think back, hits my heart in a way that I cannot describe....and yes, I remember the exact sentence ("I have to meet a special friend in front of the swing set at the park.").

Without giving too much away...this is a story about a trust fund baby and his uncle giving him the experience of a lifetime...in hopes of enriching his life.  In order to receive his inheritance, he has to 'pass' a series of monthly tests over the course of a year.  In short, the uncle is hoping to open the eyes of a loved one to the great life that can be had.  I don't want to say too much because I don't want to give away the intricately embedded jewels or the 'ah ha' that should be discovered while reading this story.

This book will be required reading in our household.

Don't Feel Bad

We just spent a few days at Eric's sister's house with most of the family celebrating Thankmas (combo Thanksgiving and Christmas).  It was the first time in many years that a baby was around and there was much anticipation to snuggling the new wee one.

Aunt Shawnda with Ben

One particular evening, Ben was a bit fussy.  I had been nursing for, I'm sure, 13 hours...and just needed a break from His Majesty.  Eric took Ben and started the long proven 'bounce/jiggle' that tends to calm little ones.  And, of course, it worked!  I was enjoying a quiet moment without a baby attached to me.  Zoe was sitting on the floor near my chair and looked at her daddy, then looked at me.  She said with such empathy, "Ya know, I think my dad just has more experience...because, ya know, we were babies before."

I paused.  I stared at her big, doe-like eyes.  I contemplated how to respond.  Didn't this little girl know I have been responsible for two babies before Ben?  Didn't this innocent, small human know that a mother's instinct can be stronger than any life-experience?  What about MY experience??  What about the hundreds of times over the last 12 weeks that I have calmed this particular, little baby??  What about the hours I spent in the middle of the night while everyone slept, except Ben and I?  Where was her uber-experienced daddy then??  Every sentence I formed in my mind, I thankfully realized, could have resulted in diminishing her awe of her daddy.  I just couldn't do that to either of them.  So I paused longer.  I asked her, "Zo...did you know that Ethan and Quinn were babies once, too?"  Her response was a soft, "yeah"...and if to say, "oh sweety...yes, but that's not the same" or maybe "awwww, you think you're experienced...how cute."  My mouth dropped open, but there was really nothing that could be said, at that point.

And that's when it hit me.  There's really nothing that could be said, at that point.  See, she is still at that beautiful stage where she truly believes that her father can do a.n.y.t.h.i.n.g!  Her dad can answer any question -- and be RIGHT.  Her dad can solve any problem and resolve any dispute.  Her dad can kiss away tears and his embrace can soothe hurt feelings.  Her dad can battle imaginary monsters and squash real bugs.  With a brush of his strong hand against her delicate cheek, she knows everything will be all right.  She can trust it.  Her dad is the best protector and can rescue anyone without even riding a horse!  She will measure all men against her dad...and rightly so.  Her dad has, in fact, hung the very moon.

As I sit here, Eric is playing Mannheim Steamroller (I mentioned a few days ago how much I love them) because he knows I've just had a rough couple hours....yeah, I guess he does know a thing or two.