Tate is joy.

     Cried this morning watching Tate. This is her very last time on the floor. She did it big- won gold on the

floor and second all around gold and silver in all events. Covid changed all of our lives, Tate’s the most.  She practiced and did online workouts every day for 3 months. These aren’t the kind of skills you can keep up from home. 

       She lost her favorite coach, her best friends and the sport she was made for. She sat and thought long and hard when the world began to open back up. Not a single girl from her group went back. Gymnast don’t take off, they can’t. One missed week of practice on bars took at least a month to overcome and work back to. 

    The thought of starting from scratch with out Coach Tami and all of the young women from her team was just not possible. 

     I know this is small in the grand scheme of things. We are so fortunate, but that doesn’t take away the fact that she was SO GOOD. 

    I laugh when I say I want to be Tate when I grow up, but I am very serious. She’s the hardest worker I know. She’s braver than any person I’ve ever met. I can’t imagine leaping blindly backwards on a balance beam and trusting my own abilities to know I’ll land. 

     The amount of sheer determination to walk into a tryout to a new sport you don’t know and do your best in spite of being scared of looking stupid is huge. She’s made it on the B or C team for volleyball and basketball. Walked on and picked up a tennis racket for the first time the day before tryouts and came in 4th out of 27 girls. She is just badass.  It’s has to be humbling to be one of the top in the nation in your sport. To not only make it to regionals but medal at the top competition in your sport, then have it all pulled out from under you. 

      Tate shows up. She showed up 6 days a week for hours long practices. She trained every day, homework in the car, two hour daily commute and still pulled a 4.0 in school. Worked through injuries and smiled the whole time. I was so worried for her when the world shut down. I worried this would crush her to lose the sport that she lived for. I’ve learned never to doubt her.  The same dedication she had for gymnastics is still hers. She has just put it into learning new sports, building a new network of friends, trying every single sport she can. 

     I’ll say this over and over : Tate means bringer of joy. I was scared to be pregnant after losing a baby before her. I had no idea the little 8lb baby we brought home would grow into such a determined, powerful, silly, smart, witty young lady. I thought she would bring us joy, I didn’t know she would also bring joy to herself in any situation.  You ARE  joy sweet Tater and I love you more than you know. 

Worth the risk

 Blessings in the germs. 

I hate that my boy has the flu. Hate that he’s uncomfortable, feverish and aching. In the middle of his sickness I am thankful for the bright silver lining. 

     My son is now a teenager. Every day he wakes up a little farther from me. More independent, more worldly, and tearfully- less mine. The flu at 13 is no different than the flu at 2. Everything in me wants to comfort him. Shockingly he also needs me still. 

    I’ll take every hug. If he wants me to sit next to him- that’s exactly where I’ll be. The same way that my busy toddler would get sick and, for a moment, let me hold him..... my man child is sick and will let me hold him. I’d risk flu and a lot worse just to be able to wrap my arms around him and smell his hair. 

     Papa is headed to Pennsylvania, leaving an empty place. Of course I told my boy to grab his pillow and sleep in my bed. The day is coming when he won’t need to be near me when he’s sick. Watching him grow up and apart from me has been the most beautiful pain I’ve ever known. 

    Tonight I lay here listening to Turner  breathing and coughing- so very thankful. Thank You God for a husband who will drive a thousand miles in a day for the job that supports us. Thank You Father for giving me a son who looks grown but will still let me hold him. Thank You Savior for seeing us through 2015 and letting us come through it together as a family.   

      Good night moon..... and all the creatures great and small. I drift off to sleep next to a sick boy, but I have a very full and grateful heart.

Keep on Keeping On

      I went in to to talk with Turner tonight. He was mid Zoom meeting with his football coach and team.  This isn’t what football practice is supposed to look like.
    As the numbers of cases rise in our area, I am a little scared. This prolonged surreal spilt of am I worrying enough/am I worrying too much is wearing all of us down.
     We are choosing to keep Tate home for now. The risk of going back to gymnastics just doesn’t make sense right now.  How long does this virus live in a chalk bucket?  A porous gym floor can’t really be disinfected,  as much as we would like to wish it could.  It has been so hard to tell her no. It doesn’t matter that the gym is opening today, you can’t go. We love you. We know you miss your friends and your coaches, we miss them too.
     Mentally preparing next year’s Varsity players is good, but what are we preparing them for?  Can you see social distancing happening in a dog pile on the football field? Ok boys, hold your breath through each play, no more huddles, spread out.
      I applaud the coaches trying to keep teams who haven’t seen each other in months together. Gyms who hold online conditioning sessions have my heart. It’s amazing for my kids to see their people. To try to keep some of the “normal” in their day.
     For now I will keep praying for the researchers, doctors, nurses and front line. Also praying for the other Mamas who walk the fine line between trying to comfort with “next school year with be so much better” and “I don’t want you to be surprised if there isn’t a football/gymnastics season this year”.
      Washing my hands, trying to be considerate of everyone’s space when we do go out and about. Missing a lot of the things that we all used to take for granted. Until we get to sit on hard bleachers, drive too far for meets, cheer til we lose our voices, sit with the Village, get after game Big Man Squad pics and hug the girls as they leave practice we will just keep on keeping on.

     

Goodbye to the Girls

Ok kind of weird to share about, but I’m weird so here goes 🤷🏻‍♀️

     My breast implants that I got back in 2000 have been recalled. Some personal health issues, the recall, avoiding a higher cancer risk and sparing my lower back helped me make the decision to explant.

       I am an anxious person, so worrying about the surgery is to be expected. What I didn’t expect is to feel like I’m mourning the loss of my breasts. Yes, I know it’s shallow. I chose to get these implants twenty years ago for cosmetic reasons. I was assured I’d always be able to get mammograms and no one ever mentioned them causing a rare cancer.

      I never felt particularly “womanly”.  I was a tomboy with a fairly athletic build and felt like a dude. Call me captain of the itty bitty titty committee. I was picked on, comments about  my figure, or lack there of, were made all the time.  Men, other women, even my grandmothers, all felt fine with letting me know I was not well endowed. Some were meant to hurt me, most weren’t meant maliciously but stung none the less. My flat chest was something I hated, hid and camouflaged. Victoria’s Secret was that I was always wrapped in several inches of wonder foam (I doubt it was really a secret).

      I decided to get “boob job”.  I did my due diligence, researched doctors. I wrote up a long list of questions to be answered. Made sure I could nurse babies if I got implants inserted under the muscle. I made sure my doctor was an accredited member of all the right boards. I researched his malpractice records and the reputation of the surgical center.

       After my surgery I was pleased with the results. I recovered quickly and loved  my new womanly shape. It was intoxicating to fill out a tank top. I felt so confident in a bikini finally.  I was a little shocked that life in general really didn’t change all that much. My internal feeling of happiness didn’t go up, and I really thought it would. I just knew if I could fix this one thing that I had fixated on for so long that everything would be different, except it wasn’t. The only thing that changed was my bra size and getting a little more attention from men that I could care less about. I felt like the 360cc’s of saline had insulated me from hurtful comments.

       Brad and I had been dating for over a year when I had my surgery. He was opposed to it at first, not a boob guy 🤣. He was worried I would change and leave him. I didn’t want to change my appearance for him or for anyone. I wanted to feel happy and confident. I was chasing the idea that a perfect body would make me happy.

      I’m extremely lucky that my surgery was an easy one. I went from a 34AA to a 34D in just a matter of hours. After college and marriage I really didn’t think of my chest as much. Life was busy, we were moving, learning to be married.

    When I got pregnant the only thing I worried about was being able to attempt to nurse. I didn’t have strong feelings one way or another about breast feeding, but I am lazy and didn’t want to be up at night fixing bottles. When we had Turner I am so glad I gave nursing a try. I breast fed both of our babies for 18 months. It was one of the best experiences of my life. Neither Turner or Tate has ever had an ounce of formula.  I think doing what works for you and your family is the most important thing. Nursing just worked for us.  I loved that bond I had with my babies. I loved our time together, quiet nights holding them. I cherished the early morning snuggles that belonged to just the two of us, but that much nursing definitely took a toll on my body. Having implants and adding nursing made me have comical proportions. Loose skin and stretch marks were such a small price to pay for so many happy moments. That connection made me happier than I had ever felt.

      Now 15 years later it’s not the perky breasts of the summer of 2000 I’m mourning. It’s the thought of having a lot of what I held my babies against taken away. My “girls” put in a lot of work. They fed two healthy babies for 3 solid years. They’ve held babies, teased my husband, they’ve been squeezed into party dresses, been pushed back up for the occasional date night, they’ve been cussed for making swimsuit shopping so difficult and been smack dab in the middle of every single hug that I have given for over half my life. It’s scary thinking of being left with nothing.

       I know it’s vain. I know I am not my bra size. I know happiness is not dependent on my figure. My happiness didn’t change when I got them, I suspect the same will be true when I loose them.  This surgery isn’t one I am looking forward to the physical results after. This time going under I’m hoping to have a healthier future. Lessen my chances of cancer and auto immune issues while saving my lower back as a bonus. Even though my head knows it’s silly, my ego is still fretting loudly.

      Having the first surgeon I met with tell me I won’t look like a woman anymore with out replacing the implants was hard. Fearing the scaring, worrying if my husband will still want me. It is all a lot of emotion to sit in. Brad has proven his love for me over and over. We have been through so much together, I doubt this will even make the top ten of our trials, but still I worry.

     I’m still a tomboy, my shape will just match my vibe soon. I will always love working out and I pray to keep my muscular arms as long as I can. I also pray I feel confident rocking dude arms when I don’t have the Jessica Rabbit ta-tas to offset them.

      It’s important how I go through this. I have a very athletic, beautiful daughter watching me. I want her to see me embrace my natural figure. I don’t want her to think her body is lacking in any way, because it’s not. She is so much more confident than I ever was, but I know she notices everything. I want Tate to see me love a body that will soon be a much more realistic example of her physical future. It is so important that I love myself, so I can model self acceptance for her.

        Having my son saved me. When I had a child I truly understood God’s love and sacrifice for me. Having a daughter forced me to love myself in many ways I never had. Tate watches what I eat. I had to get help and learn to cope with my disordered eating. Having Tate forced me to deal with my eating disorders. I couldn’t model those horrible behaviors to her. I had to learn to enjoy cookies, learn moderation. I had to become able to eat out, off plan and not weigh and measure every ounce of food I consumed. I had to make myself eat for enjoyment, not starve for punishment. Having Tate saved my life in the same way having Turner helped to save my soul.

      This is all the rambling of an over thinking mom who is worried about what I’ll see when I wake up from surgery. Can I love my new shape? How hard of an adjustment will it be to go from a 34DDD to a 34A?  Why does it matter? God don’t make junk. He does make paths for me to show me what I need to do. He helps me learn the lessons I need to be ready for the next season.

     I’m sharing this so I feel less alone. I’m sharing for the other women who go through this kind of self doubt and self criticism. I get lost in my worry and have always felt better once I let it out. So if you a little less of me, this is why. The plan is to go in during the first week of May. Prayers and good vibes are so appreciated. I found a great surgeon who specializes in safe removal of the implants and all affected tissues. I’ve prayed about it, I felt safe and comfortable with this surgeon. We’ve talked about it as a family and all agree it’s the right time. My Mom and Dad agree too and are the biggest support. After talking with Mama today I felt a  peace wash over me and knew this was the next right thing.

    Here’s to 2020 and all the small things it brings. Smaller me, smaller worry, less in between me and my family when I hug them, and smaller fears. 💜

I see you Mama

Mama, I see you. Weary from sleepless nights with a colicky baby. I see you hanging on by a thread from arguing with a hard headed toddler for the 4th hour in a row. I see your long stretch of loneliness when you feel trapped by nap time for years on end.

       I see you mama the first time that big kid comes home from school in tears because of a situation you have no control over and you feel helpless. I see you when you want to stop the earth from turning to keep your baby from being in pain.

     I see you feeling lost in your new identity as  “just a mom”.  I am with you  learning to love and accept the body that created the little miracle that is now making us  pull our hair out. I am with you when your 12 year old let’s you know that you are dumb, cringy, and out of touch.

      Just know those moments are passing, they all are. Then there the moments that go by so fast and you just want them to last a little longer. I see your heart grow Mama when that soon to be young man asks for advice. I feel your pride when he includes you. I feel the warm glow you feel when they flash you a smile. I love the big moments too, winning medals, defeating the home town rivals on the football field. Days like today are my all time favorite. A workout or when they share a song they love.

       The good times and moments make it so worth all the tears. It’s here Mama. All the hard days and long nights fade in your memory. Hold these moments. Take pics. Flood your feed, don’t worry about it being annoying. You’ll need these to pop up on your memories, I know I do. Today was a workout, simple as that. Some sweat and smiles with a young man that I’m getting to know as he gets to know himself. A smile, a fist bump and my heart is full. For one hour it was just my baby and me. He was mine again for just a moment.

     I see you Mama. Learning to let go. I’m here with you in the beautiful pain of them growing up too fast. My heart aches with yours as they head towards their future and we worry together about being left in the past.  I see you Mama, smiling with tears in your eyes because they don’t need you like they used to.  Keep as many of these moments tucked away as you can Mama, it goes so fast.

A Man Gave Me a Ring........ but it wasn’t my husband

A man gave me a ring for Valentine’s Day and it wasn’t my husband.

         I bawled like a baby at 6:15 this morning. My son walked into the kitchen, mumbled “Happy Valentine’s Day” hugged me quickly and pulled this beautiful ring out of his pocket. He handed it to me and walked out to go eat his breakfast.

      I have seen him working on this ring for a few months. Saw the metal shavings in the garage. Showed him where some obscure files were when he asked.  I figured it was for his girlfriend.

      This started out its life as a quarter. Worth less than a dollar, certainly no fortune. Time spent with a loving creator filing it down, shaping it and look....... It’s PRICELESS.

       I hugged Turner and told him how much this means to me. Then I went in my room and squalled like a baby, so overcome with gratitude. He’s a boy who growing into a man far faster than I’m comfortable with. He can be moody, withdrawn. The next day he is all smiles and talking to me.

    Neither of us have ever done this before.  I’ve never been the mom of a teenage young man. He’s never been a fifteen in a world that is always sending messages about who he should be. We are walking gently next to each other in this stage. I’m trying to give him freedom while letting him know I am here no matter what. He is trying to show me he’s responsible while still being a child.

        Parenthood is exquisite pain. The sharpest joy I have ever felt. So intense it stops my heart. It’s like walking outside when it’s -15°. It’s beautiful but takes your breath. The pain comes from knowing it’s just passing. Time is passing, relentlessly. I can’t hold on to any one stage no matter how much I want to.

      So far every season is my favorite. It’s the only promise that keeps me sane. Don’t loose your mind because they aren’t sweet little kindergarteners any more, look how much fun you can have with them now! The hugs and kisses are fewer but the conversations are more meaningful. The laughs aren’t from the physical comedy of toddler shenanigans. Now the laughs are from sharp wit and shared inside family jokes.

     Just like Turner worked on this quarter to transform it from mere pocket change into one of my most treasured pieces of jewelry, God is shaping me. My Creator knows the fears and joys of my heart. The fear of my kids growing up and not needing me. The joys of watching them both become self sufficient, good people.

         The rough patches in my path have just been my creator smoothing down my rough edges. He sees the sharp parts and knows how to turn them into treasures.

       Thank you Turner for this. It will forever be my most cherished Valentine. The ring is beautiful. Seeing generosity in your actions, how you have God in your heart, those are the real treasures in my life.

Crepe Myrtles and Crowns

  
     I worked for five and a half hours today in the front flowerbeds.  This is one of my most favorite things to do, even when the heat index is well above one hundred and ten degrees.  I have unknowingly passed this love on to Turner and Tate.  They used to "help" by handing me tools and picking up toys out of the yard.  Now my two stick of dynamite are old enough to really take on some of the work.  Turner has stolen mowing.  I haven't mowed once all summer.  Tate can use the electric weed eater like a champ.  This still leaves pulling weeds, pruning shrubs, planting and what not for me.  We make an absolutely unstoppable trio. 
     Today my TNT worked with me for a good three hours.  We've been gone for over two weeks and the yard was looking worse for wear.  As the temperature climbed I saw my babies starting to wilt.  We had had plenty of water breaks, but this is my passion not theirs.  Turner had started to become itchy, Tate had red cheeks, so I ordered them inside.  They put up a good argument but I told them I still love being outside and listening to my book, so I'd be inside in a little while.  I stayed outside soaking up the blessed sun, listening to a beautiful book, and tending the roses, hibiscus, and crepe myrtles that I love. 
    My children allow me the time I need to decompress.  They know how much I need to be outside, in the sun.  I'll never be thankful enough for receiving such a gift.  While I work out my stress I am all too aware that they watch my every move.  Tate is my little nurse.  She brought me water and paper towels to wipe my face every half hour or so.  Tate is my "new soul".  Where Turner is an old soul- calm, cautious, alert.  Tate is new- ready for adventure, wild, silly, and full of wonder.  Even with all Tate's energy she is very contemplative.
     After working and cleaning up I was driving her to her best friend's house for a sleepover and we talked about our day.  She asked if all the work was done, what else we needed to work on, and why I trimmed the Crepe Myrtles?  I told her what was left, what I wanted to work on tomorrow, and I slowed down to show her a yard with the kind of beautiful trees I wanted our little saplings to grow into.  We all know the house on the corner, it is easily the prettiest yard in our neighborhood.  Classically beautiful landscaping, well trimmed trees, and lush green grass.  I showed Tate how tall and beautiful the Crepe Myrtles in that yard were.  We talked about pruning, cutting away dead blooms, and why the trees can't just be left to grow on their own.  Just a few houses down we slowed to look are the same type of trees that hadn't been lovingly tended.  They still had beautiful blooms, they still provided some shade, but they just weren't as polished and beautiful as the trees in our favorite yard. 
     Stories make more sense to me than just plain facts and figures.  I always try to relate lessons to my kids in a story.  If they can learn to take lessons from their every day world, I think they will turn out as OK people.  So I told Tate that those Crepe Myrtles are just like people.  All trees have the potential to grow straight and tall, provide shade, and some can even have beautiful flowers for us to enjoy.  Likewise, all people can grow up to be good, God like, and better the people around them.  I asked her if she could tell what made the difference in how the trees grew?  How did one tree grow tall, elegant, and look like it was wearing a crown- while the same type of tree just a few blocks away grew bushy and gnarled?  My thoughtful sweet Tater said she knew it had something to do with pruning, but how do you prune a person?
    I asked if she had rules- yes. So the rules Papa and I give her take away things like sassy mouth- that is like cutting away a gnarled up branch. We talked about rules being like pruning.  How our rules take away the small undergrowth that keeps those trees from being tall and giving comforting shade.  She was connecting the analogy, so I stuck with it.  What is the fertilizer?  It's something all trees need to grow tall and strong.  God.  All people need God to continuing growing, loving, and blooming.  Tate gets it.  She said God is like our fertilizer, we grow when He is in our hearts.  Yes mam, we absolutely do. So with pruning to cut away the gnarled up unwanted branches, and fertilizer to grow a tree tall and strong- what else does a tree need? The sun.  So we talked about what The Son does for us? A tree can't live with out it's sun.  Nor can we live eternally without our Son. 
    I suppose Jesus could run and jump and be in anyone's heart without their parents helping put Him there, but I know that's why He is in mine.  My parents read Bible stories to me and my sister every night.  They lead Sunday school, they taught Vacation Bible school, they let me see their relationship with God and gave me a pattern to use for my own life.  I hope I am doing that with my TNT.  I love the t-shirt that says "I love Jesus, but I cuss a little".  It's what I am trying to impart to my kids.  No matter how hard we try, none of us will ever be perfect enough to get in to heaven on our own.  At some point in their lives my children  will have that feeling that they have messed up so fantastically that they can never be forgiven.  I need them to know that Our God is so powerful, He can forgive all of it.  If Jesus still brushes past me in my daily life, even though I cuss a little, sin a lot, and fail Him daily- then He can forgive anything my TNT may encounter. 
      From now on when we drive past the beautiful yard with its tall elegant crepe myrtles, I hope Tate thinks of today.  I hope she sees the rules we set for her as the pruning she will need.  I hope taking away her gnarled limbs and giving her the fertilizer needed sets her up to accept the Son who will give her eternal life.  I hope both my children grow tall, give shade and shelter to those who need a spot to rest, and they both wear a blossoming crown of beauty and the flowers of our Savior's love for all to see.  My fears get the best of me more often than not.  I fear failing as a mom, fear failing as a daughter, fear not being enough.  But on some days when my stories click in my children's minds- I know I'm not doing this alone.  The Son is shining to guide my way, my tangled branches were taken care of by parents who loved me enough to help cut away the bad that had plenty of potential to grow, and my God is always there to feed the seeds of good that were planted long ago.