Skip Day

   My mornings with the kids are very routine.  Everything from the time they rise to the things I make for breakfast.  We all run quite smoothly on routine.  Our routine has developed over years and it grows and fluctuates as the kids get older.  I am very lucky, my sweet Tater and my Turner B. get themselves going with little prodding from me. 
     Part of our daily routine is our car ride prayer time.  Now, I'm not saying this is the most holy of motherly practices- its simply our routine.  Some mornings I don't feel like leading the prayer.  Some mornings actually pray "Dear Heavenly Father I pray for my kids to stop fighting so I don't have to tear their behinds up when the get home from school."  Not exactly my most shining moment, but motherhood is full of tarnish.  Thankfully most mornings all of our prayers aren't laced with threats, they are more based on guiding each of us through our day.  I am hoping that me talking to God out loud with my kids everyday will help them to always be comfortable doing the same.
     Last Friday our morning went off with out a hitch.  Kids were good, no fights erupted while they brushed their teeth.  We got in the Jeep on time, each said our morning prayer.  Just an all around good and average Friday morning for the TBC's.  We drop Tater off first.  She always hops up to kiss me and we say our I love you's.  Depending on the amount of sibling warfare that has taken place each morning my kids may or may not tell each other goodbye.  Some mornings they are still bickering as the door closes behind Tate.  Last Friday Turner mumbled an "I love you Tate" as she got out to bounce into school.  That simple little phrase mumbled under his breath made my heart swell. 
     Turner and I pulled out and headed to his school.  I mentioned to him that it was nice of him to tell Tater that he loved her.  He said "I just wanted to cheer her up, she's still sad about Saraphina".  Tate's  hamster had passed away the week before.  That tiny little act not only cheered up Tater, but it made it almost impossible for me to let Turner out of the car. 
      Turner and I had talked about maybe having a skip day, just he and I.  Last Friday seemed like the perfect day to spend time, just me and my Turner B.  Like bandits Turner and I pulled right past his school.  What did we do with this awesome day full of possible adventures?   I offered to go to the movies, go out to lunch, something fun.  Nope, he knew I had planned on cleaning out the garage.  So, the two of us spent a glorious day pulling everything out of the garage together,  we enjoyed the sunshine, we organized, and most importantly we talked.  Turner and a I have an ease that comes when its just the two of us.  We both enjoy working on things together, much the way I always enjoyed working on things with my Dad.  Busy hands make for easy conversations.  We worked all day.  We got filthy, laughed, rearranged, organized, and made the garage a big functional masterpiece. I pray that I always have this easy bond with my kids.  I pray that we always enjoy time spent working together and talking.  I have no idea if Turner will remember the day spent cleaning the garage out fondly.  I know that the day I spent working with my boy will go down as one of my all time favorite skip days. Letting him stay home with me may have been selfish- not for having his help - but for storing away a memory of he and I all day uninterrupted together.  I'll be selfish if that's the case.  I cant wait to steal Tater away. Maybe clean out closets, or wiping down baseboards would give me an entire day of conversations with the world's most beautiful girl.  I think we all need a skip day now and again, a break from our routines.  I love that I have such fun little people to steal away for the day, I can't wait for the next.

Shinning in the Dark

    Have you ever noticed how unappealing Christmas lights are in the day time? Tangles of wires, bulbs who's light can't be seen for the sun.  But, as sun sets those webs of wire and dim little bulbs transform.  They shine, they twinkle, and together they make the night beautiful and full of hope. 
    Life of late feels like those Christmas lights with a harsh unforgiving light shining on them.  I can see all the tangles and  I focus on all the ugly.   I haven't been able to see the light or feel its warmth.  I'm going through a divorce.  We are all going through a divorce.   I haven't felt much of the holiday spirit yet.  I am sad, worried, and exhausted.
      For my Turner B. and My Sweet Tater I'm trying to go about all our routines, all of our traditions as best I can.   For the past four years we have participated in RACK'd, which stands for Random Acts of Christmas Kindness.   I love it because it is ours- The kids get so into it, it helps focus them on something besides the "I wants" of the holiday and helps them think about the "I can give".  Every year we have had a family meeting in November and planned out each day - What verse will be included, who we will RACK, what supplies to gather.  Each day has been written on the calendar.  This year I just haven't been on top of it.  There was no meeting in November.  Our verses are not written out, our supplies are not gathered.  I've felt like my sadness is forcing me to just get by, not flourish.   The adjustments of new living arrangements, trying to comfort my children, trying to comfort myself- its taking all of my energy.  It feels dark.  I feel like I am letting my kids down. 
      Last weekend I was home alone.  Did you know how quiet a house can be when the the two people who hung the moon and the stars aren't in it?  I was crying, wallowing in my sadness when my phone rang and it was a fried inviting me to come eat dinner.  I said no, I just couldn't pull myself together.  She didn't take no for an answer.  After another phone call and threats to come physically pick me up I went and had a family meal, without my family.  Going places with out my kids feels wrong.  Like I just don't fit, half of me is missing.  My entire identity is that of Mom.  Last weekend I was welcomed with open arms to dinner, and I was with friends who turned into family.  They loved me through my tears and a small light pierced the dark.
    On December first, at seven at night I thought we wouldn't make our first day to RACK someone.  But, sitting in the front seat waiting to be delivered to wrestling practice was my Christmas miracle.  Turner and I were talking and he said lets put coins in a vending machine.  I actually had a dollar in quarters in my wallet, so we looked for a coke machine on the way to practice.  No luck.  We did see a news paper machine and decided to use it.  I wrote "Go tell it on the mountain, that Jesus Christ is born" on a scrap of paper.  We put the coins in the machine and prayed quickly that it would bless the right person.  It took a dark moment of doubting myself to see that beautiful  sparkling light given to me by my son. 
    December second came and it was a typical rushed morning, peeling out of the driveway trying to make it to schools on time.  My day was full of making orders, sorting through make up, and coffee with a friend.  I've been withdrawn.  I don't feel like myself so I haven't been as social with my friends.  But I had promised to meet for breakfast, so I made myself go.  I worry, a lot.  I run on caffeine and anxiety.  I am pretty good at smiling, but once I'm emotionally exhausted even that becomes hard.  Breakfast turned out to be wonderful.  All the worry I carry over people passing judgment just slipped away.  I sat with my girlfriend and we talked.  I needed that, even though I resisted going.  Worry shared is burden lifted.  My friend took some of my worry off my shoulders, and I saw another tiny shinning light in the dark. 
       After I had picked the kids up later that day we were in the afternoon swing, homework, snacks, signing papers.  I was hurrying to get Tate ready for gymnastics practice.  I was upstairs looking for a leotard for her and she yelled "We haven't RACK'd anyone, have we?" I answered no.  Truthfully, I was hoping to skip it.  I just didn't have it in me to come up with something in the middle of our crazy busy day.  Tate flew up the stairs and asked to hurry up and find her a hand lotion.  My Sweet Tater is full of energy, but along with her energy there is the deepest most caring heart.  I gave her one of the lotions out of my supply.  She ran out saying she was RACKing our mailman.  Just like that both my kids were out the door, chasing a mail truck.  They caught him and told him Merry Christmas, and to keep his hands from getting chapped.  I could feel the warmth of the glow of that light that came on to chase away the dark.
     God seems to answer the prayers we are too weary to pray.  He knows my heart.  He sent His Son to save my soul, and He sent my kids and my friends to save me too.  Every phone call, every text, every card and message- is a light. Together they chase away the darkness.  Even when I just can't talk anymore, having a friend who is willing to just sit beside me  lights another bulb.  In the brightest and happiest times of my life I wouldn't have been able to see the beauty of all of these lights.  Our lives need the dark times, at least mine does.  I needed to have the heartbreaking darkness to be able to see each tiny twinkling light.  To see each light that has been lit from my children, my parents, my sister, and every friend.  All of those lights are beautiful.  They are the hope and grace that I needed in this dark time.  God sends the Light, even when you aren't strong enough to ask for it.  This Christmas I will stand back and bask in the glow of all of the lights my Lord has sent to me.  Family, both new and old, friendships that carry me when I am weary, my kids- who refuse to let me fail.  My lights are beautiful, I am forever thankful for the dark that let me see just how bright all of my blessings are.
   
   

As snow gently fell

    God visits me in the strangest places. He's at school in the pick up line, when a child is kind to a classmate and holds open a door.  He shows Himself to me in the stranger who lets me merge into their lane and waves with happiness in traffic. God brushes past me in the faces of strangers who smile kindly as they walk by in the grocery store. I know it's Him. He makes sure I know He is there.  But oddly enough, today God came and sat next to me in church. 

     I listen in church. I want to learn and to understand. I take notes. I doodle on my bulletin. I hear about God. But I am not sure if I've ever felt Him beside me like I did today. 

    The message was about finding God's will for your life. I took notes. It all made sense and had so many references to scripture, such a beautifully written and thought out sermon. BUT, My God came and sat with me, held me, when our pastor started talking about how his children opened his heart to the world.  

      I've never shared my "testimony". I have always worried that all people see in me is my sin. My short comings. My failures. I've always loved God, but having my son was when I actually met Him. 

  I was "saved" and baptized right after my Pawpaw died. I was eleven. If heaven was real, and it is where my Pawpaw was, I needed my ticket. 

    I have always attended church, I know the hymns. I love how it feels to be in  a room of believers, but it took having my own son to actually feel what God suffered for me. 

      The most perfect day of my life was spent sitting on our love seat holding my new born son. Right next to the window, the beautiful snow covered landscape like something out of a movie.  Watching  snow fall, hearing the beautiful silence that a blanket of snow brings. I held Turner for hours that day. I saw God in his perfect little self. I saw what real, true love is. I held this perfect life in my hands and knew I would spend the rest of my life serving and protecting him. 

    God loves me more than I can ever understand. He loves me no matter how awful I am. No matter how arrogant, no matter how bad my temper, no matter how lazy I am when  I need to worship Him. It took holding my son to see and feel that kind of love. 

     Turner saved me in so many ways. He let me see the value in love. A friend shared a blog post with me about trying to love every single person in your life like they are a child. Treat them as if they are doing their very best, because they are. That advice along with the advice I got from a bible study --- pray to God like talking to your parent. Pray like a small child. Petition Him, talk to Him often. Keep a line of communication open. Set aside a time to listen. And bring Him EVERYTHING!  Don't keep small things from God. It's a learning process. It needs time and faith.

         I'm trying to remember all the times GOD came near me. 'if I could just touch the hem of His garment". 

     I hear His garments rustle. I feel the air they displace as He walks by. Having my children made me aware. He was always there, I just wasn't ready to listen. 

       I was truly saved the day the

snow  gently fell. When God used quiet and stillness to show me the beauty and peace He made for me. He came to sit by me today. I hope I didn't disappoint Him.  I hope He comes near again.  I hope His love for me is truly bigger than all my sin. I hope to hear his garments as He walks near again. 

Uplift, Empower, Validate

   I survived. The kids survived. Really, I think I was the only one in danger of not making it through the first week of school.  TnT loved the first week back, I did not. But with new school years comes so much more new. My gypsy soul loves new- new places, new faces, new songs, new outlooks, new hopes. 

    I recently became a Presenter for Younique.  What a crazy idea?! Build a company that builds women up. I have been welcomed with open arms. Do I know what I'm doing yet? Nope. Do I believe in the product? Absolutely. Did I need this in my life? More than I am comfortable admitting. Joining a company who's mission statement is to Uplift, Empower, and Validate is what I needed.  

    I'm new. I'm the new girl, always. And it's hard. But,  I've lived in Texas for three years. My newness has worn off. So has my  filter. Every year that passes I have less care of offending  or embarrassing  myself. Every birthday brings the ability to hug longer and harder. Because if I am hugging you, chances are I love you. And if I love you, I know one of us is needing that too tight,  too long hug kind of hug. 

    This last week has been very hard. Watching My Sweet Tater fret over her first gymnastics competition, I am not sure who was more nervous, me or her.  But I saw every mother at the gym meet with the same glittering tears in their eyes. And I love being in that club with each of you. My heart soared with each of your girls. Not every tear in my eyes was for my Tate.  Some  were for the girl who hit her back flip flop for the first time, some were for girl who struggled on bars. Being a mother opened my heart in ways I can't still can't understand. 

     As my children get older I'm also noticing how much I love their  friends.  The friends who are older than Tate, but still came by to give her flowers for her first gym meet. They thought they were just being nice to my daughter. They don't know that they gave my heart hope. A sweet gesture for the youngest child in our group of friends, no doubt. But it was so much more. I saw goodness in those girls yesterday.  Teenagers scare me. I pray everyday that the teen years  go smoothly for Turner and Tate. I also pray that my children remain safe, and most importantly maintain that "goodness".  The older girls that sweetly include my Tater in everything and call her their little sister are what I pray for. All of their parents should be so proud. They are raising amazing kids with big hearts, and they all give me such hope. 

    Now we are in week two of school, week two of learning how to uplift, empower, and validate through my new work family. I'm taking notes from the "big sisters" God put in Tate's life. Some kids know how important it is to build each other up- and I'm thankful for each of them. 

And I've Cried

    Where do I begin? Well, for one I've cried all week. My babies are back in school, and they are so happy- but I've cried. My Tater cried a little on the first day, because it was real for her that Turner B wasn't walking her in,  he won't be in school with her again for a long time-  and I cried. I've seen how their little minds are so open and excited but also tired from all the new, all the learning, all the fun and routine of school- and I've cried. 

    I've also noticed how much I need to thank my mom and dad. Babies are amazing, preschool and kindergarten are tender. But sending my very first baby to middle school has undone me- and I've cried. I need to thank my mom and dad for loving me thru all the transitions in my life. I need to thank them for the brave faces that I now find myself putting on.  I learned from them. They were always so happy for new chapters in my life. But now living through it and looking back- I see the cracks in the smiles.  Now I'm in the club.  My heart is being torn out by my kids growing up- and I've cried. All the cliches, all the "God please make time slow down", all the "I'd give anything to go back......"

   I want the life I imagined, but I thank God daily for giving me the one I needed- and I've cried. I thought I'd be the crazy Aunt at my nieces recitals and competitions. Instead I'm the crazy friend at my friends son's football games. I sat and had my heart break for a girl I barely know because she was being picked on for her beautiful hair- so I came home- and I cried. If we are all just trying to survive this crazy, uncertain, wonderful life- why waste words being mean to someone because her hair is different?  Really? That's what kids do now. How do I protect my TNT? I can't keep them from the world. I can't keep them to myself, there is so much wonderful out there. And they are becoming old enough to see it- all of it. The flowers, the different people, the kind gestures of a stranger who holds the door open, the elderly couple who still holds hands. But they see the hateful looks of cowards who fear anything that is different from themselves. They see the news, they hear hate muttered by adults who don't realize they are listening. I can't keep them from it- and I cried. 

     The good thing about having your heart break is that the cracks and tears just become filled in by new friends, new people you think of as family. It forces your heart to grow- but the process hurts. So I'll cry. Next week will be better. I'll make a point to really notice the good. The good kids who sit together and cheer for each other. The good parents who put in the brave  faces with me and love not only our kids but each other's kids too. I'll smile when I see the good in the world. I will try my hardest to smile more, hug more, show up more. I'm going to need "my people", this is a hard journey, thank God we only have to go through it once. Once is good, it's messy, it's not what I planned, it's unexpected, it's awful, it's amazing. And it's Ok if if I cry a little. 

     

The Lonely

I'm so tired of treading water.  The last five months have drug on to the point that I am at my wit's end. My house is wonderful, I have amazing children, a loving husband, great friends.......... But I can't seem to feel any of that right now.  What I do feel is a hole in my chest that won't heal.  I feel alone in a sea of people.  The sea around me moves and goes on about the business of life and I'm here, treading water.  I want the option of having someone else say prayers with the kids at bed time once in a while. The luxury of another grown up to direct the endless questions that come from my kids would be amazing right about now.  

    Mom guilt is making me feel terrible for wanting a break.  I'm using my go-to strategies for summer.   Thirty minutes of reading time per day-check, two math worksheets per day-check, chore chart with allowance incentives-check, planned outings-check, play dates-check,  all of that is easy.  It's not even the kids that I want a break from, it's the lonely.  The lonely.  The no one who doesn't watch TV with you, and you can't laugh with.  The lonely is why the noises in the night become my responsibility to check out.  The lonely took all the warm away and left cold feet and a cold heart in it's place.  It's the quiet after bed time, it's the noise that doesn't fill the room when I try to sleep.  It's the lonely.

     Sweetness is great, and he tries.  He has been moved to night shift. Night shift means one call around six thirty in the morning when he gets off work for a minute or two.  A call for the kids before bed, then I call before I go "to sleep" for a minute or two.  Talking on the phone has never been one of Brad's best skills, add to that people coming in and out of his office, radios calling him, or a yawn every other word and there just isn't a chance for much conversation.  

     I am stuck lying in the bed we made.  We left "home" right after we got married.  We fought like cats and dogs for the first few years we were married, while trying to figure out just what being married meant.  We  learned to depend on only each other.  There wasn't a mom, dad, brother, sister, or grandma with in a thousand miles, so we learned to hold on to one another.  I won't lie, learning that wasn't pleasant, but it was so good for our marriage in the long run.  The bed we made has become being the outsiders.  We aren't a part of either of our families the way we once were, and that is OK.  There is no way to remain that close once you leave- you can never go home again.  So home has become where ever my Sweetness is.  Where ever we have our kids and lay our heads is our home, except that's gone now too.  

      Brad keeps telling me we will look back on this separation and laugh, I know he is right.  I just can't see day break on the horizon when my head is slipping below the water.  I can do all the work, that's not a problem.  I can maintain the yard, rip out flower beds, clean the house, do all the chores that we used to share.  Work is not what I'm running from.  I lean harder on work when I'm sad.  I try harder to throw myself into physical exhaustion when the lonely is calling for me.  I will work out, shovel, rake, mow, edge, vacuum, mop, wash, and clean, my fingers to the bone to run from the lonely.  So my house is beautiful, but the lonely is always there waiting.  

     Hopefully we only have a few more months of this to get through.  Hopefully summer will be easier than I think and it will fly by.  Hopefully learning to live together the second time around will be a much happier experience,  hopefully the lonely will leave.  

Adrift

 Life for me has been full of "Well, never thought I'd have to ___________."   Sweetness has been gone since late January and my list of never thought I'd have to's is filling up as a result.  We are all learning the rhythm of his absence.  The excitement as his arrival day nears, the  quick as a blink time together, the dull ache after he leaves, and the variable tantrums that bridge the gap before he returns again.  We are all dealing in our own ways.  Thank goodness my Sweetness is strong for me when I need it, and I try my best to fake strength when I see him waiver.  

    Today I am prepping my own breakfast in bed, never thought I'd be doing that.  What I want for Mother's Day is to pout and be a bad sport because the man who promoted me from wife to mother isn't going to be here.  Tomorrow my kids want to treat me, so I'm helping them.  I want their memories of Mother's Day when Papa was gone to  feel like a success.  So my toaster is out, coffee is premade, the English muffin has already been cut.  The skillet is out and has been sprayed, eggs are on the lower shelf in the fridge.  They will make me an amazing scrambled egg on an English muffin and I will love it.  I will wish the coffee were hot and that I'd be waking up next to my husband, but this situation will have to do for now.  I want the day that is mine because I have children to be good for them, they have always been good for me, after-all.  

      I'm now the good and bad cop.  I think it's what I get for ever complaining that Brad was always the fun parent.  I now see that being the "fun one" is certainly not as easy or as fun as I once thought it was.  It takes a lot of energy to bring joy.  My husband is the king of joy in our family and I am scrambling  and struggling, trying to fill his size twelve empty shoes.  I didn't realize how much thought he  put in to surprising us and making the weekends seem fun. A lot of prep work goes in to turning seemingly ordinary days into life long memories. 

     The kids are dealing with Papa's absence in their own ways.  Their moods vary as much as my own from day to day.  By far, no matter how sad and selfish I am feeling I can still look outside of myself and see just how much  this affects the smallest TBC.  Tater is such a Papa's girl.  They have a bond that I just can't replace.  Since Papa left she lashes out at me, she is more emotional, and she argues with her brother more.  She just can't deal with her feelings.  I completely understand and I ride those same waves of emotional confusion with her.  

   Turner is my strong little man.  He misses Papa, but he shows it in different ways.  He locks the house up at night, he shuts down the TV's and lights, he tries to keep the grass mowed, he takes out the garbage.  He too is trying his best to fill those un-fillable shoes.  

   Our house is out of balance.  We are lonely, but we worry for Papa too.  Who is taking care of the husband I made into a father?   I hate the thought of him alone with no one to drive him nuts.  I hate that no one is smiling at him when he gets home.  We have our routine down pat.  We wake up together, I make his breakfast, I pack his lunch, he kisses me good bye and all is right with the world. I miss it.  Sweetness is such a big man, he gives so much.  He deserves to be taken care of and I just can't do it from a thousand miles away. 

      What I want for Mother's Day isn't cold coffee and stale toast, I want to get to be a wife again.  I want to cook for my husband.  I want to be irritated with his mess.  I want the TV too loud and the house to be a wreck because he is his own tornado.  I want him to get the kids all stirred up right before bedtime.  I want man size clothes to fill up the washing machine.  I want clods of dried clay in the carpet when he walks through the house in his work boots. I want to watch him mow the grass.  I want him to take the kids' side and let everyone stay up far past bedtime. I want the chance to take him for granted, but I promise I will never take him for granted again. 

     Four months is a long time. I hope it is long enough for the lesson God is trying to teach me.  I'm blessed to have friends who have adopted my family. We are with them for holidays.  They have hugged me when the tears I can't hold back roll down my cheeks.  They have my kids over to play. Their  husbands help Turner with baseball. They are our cheering section, support group, family, and my sanity.  If God is showing me that family can be found anywhere, I understand. If He is trying to make me appreciate my husband, I promise, I understand. I am scared it's patience He is trying to teach me...... He has brought me to this lesson before. I've always tried to hurry through it.  I'm scared of God's timing. I know I am supposed to trust in it, but I just don't know how to. Our life is so up in the air, I actually thought I was doing OK. No roots, no certainty, it was OK as long as it was the four of us. Now our anchor is gone and this ship is adrift. I miss my anchor.