My Baby Can Heal the Flu

This week I was scrolling through Facebook and I saw it was the 20th anniversary of the release of the first Harry Potter book. Images of a boy with a lightning scar flooded my newsfeed and my mind was transported back to the winter of 2001 when I was first introduced to the infamous book series. That winter was one of the hardest of my life and those books helped create memories of light during a dark and uncertain time. In the fall of 2000 my close-knit family (my mom, dad, and older brother) was shaken to the core by a cancer diagnosis. My mom, who is an eternal ray of metaphorical sunshine, found out she had breast cancer. I was only 15 years-old at the time, stuck in that delicate balance of adolescence and adulthood. When my mom told me the news, many of the thoughts that ran through my mind were, ‘can this really be happening’ and ‘I thought only other people got cancer’. Without our approval, we were all forced to enter a world where cancer is real. And it was scary. We had zero warning and no practice, yet we had to try to navigate the new terrain of a life-threatening disease and wrestled with the uncertainties that it held. I am incredibly thankful to be able to say that the story of my mom having breast cancer has a happy ending. But, it was not absent of pain, tears, and a whole lot of fear. 

After medical consults from top notch doctors, they decided the course of treatment would be a lumpectomy followed by radiation and then dreaded chemotherapy. As with most chemotherapy patients, the treatments wore her out pretty badly. All she could do for a couple days afterward was lie on the couch only getting up to use the restroom. She would mostly sleep and read while the time passed and her body tried to recover from everything it had endured. One day during one of her off weeks of treatment, she told me that a friend of hers had dropped off a book that was part of a series. She then asked me if I had ever heard of the Harry Potter books. I told her no and she said she was going to read the first book while she recovered from her next treatment. This new routine had taken over our lives and we all tried to settle into the new pattern of having her be sick after a chemo session. I  tried to stay positive, but eventually I began to get restless as I tried to figure out ways I could help her or at least be some sort of comfort. 

One afternoon I aimlessly wandered into the living room where she was dozing on the couch. It wasn’t unusual to find her resting there. That spot on the couch had become her quiet safe haven. I hesitantly sat down in the chair on the other side of the room and watched her for a moment, selfishly missing the days when we would talk for hours while we shopped at our favorite thrift shops and ate bagel sandwiches for lunch. I wanted to be mature and support her any way I could, but the kid that was still in me just wanted my mom back. But, even more than that, the adult version of myself that was beginning to form truly wanted to be helpful for her. How does a sophomore in high school help her mom as she endures painful and agonizing chemotherapy treatment? As I contemplated what I could do to alleviate her burden, I watched her chest move up and down with slow, even breaths. I paused as I watched her lay there, alive, and quietly thanked God for the simple fact that she was still breathing. I thought she was asleep but after a moment she opened her eyes, most likely having felt my presence staring at her. Then she slowly and intentionally pulled back her knees so that the end of the couch was clear. I wasn't quite following what she meant so she pointed the top of her head to the empty side of the couch. She wanted me to lie down on the couch with her. She was inviting me into her sanctuary. 

And so we found a rhythm within our new circumstances. I would come home from school, quietly plop my backpack on the floor and immediately walk over to where I knew my mom would be. If she was awake, she always shifted her legs at the sight of me to make room. If she was asleep I would carefully climb over her feet and wedge myself into the spot between the couch and her curled up body. Shortly after I joined her that first day, I saw book one of the Harry Potter series laying on the floor next to her (she had already moved on to book two). She saw me glance at the book, quietly handed it to me, and I read. I would come home from school and we would read, together. It was such an overwhelming relief to once again have something that was ours. Sometimes I would hear her burst out laughing at a certain part in the book and she would try to say between cackles 'When you get to the Whomping Willow part, <chuckle> let me know’. Other times I would begin to blurt out some realization from the latest plot reveal and look over at her to see she had drifted off to sleep with her current book resting on her chest. In those moments I would relish the warmth emanating from her feet as they rested under my legs. I hoped that our afternoons together were somewhat helpful. I hoped they made her feel less alone. 

After a long and grueling winter, the inevitable new life of spring came bounding forward. And for our little family we celebrated the new life of my mom, because cancer had been beaten and her life was given back to her. Now more than 15 years has passed and when I see a Harry Potter book on a shelf, my heart feels a little more full because I remember that gift of time I was given with my mom. 

This past winter I caught a nasty strain of the flu and was stuck in a horizontal position for quite a few days. One afternoon my four-year-old daughter came quietly tip-toeing over to me as I was on the couch to ask if quiet time was over. I thought maybe this would be a perfect opportunity to invite her into the tradition my mom and I have of sharing a couch. She had my Kindle in her hands with hopes that I would agree to letting her play a game. I grinned at her little face and pointed to the opposite end of the couch. I told her that is how I always shared the couch with my mommy but she glanced to the end of the couch and assertively shook her head no. She then said 'Umm no thanks. I'm gonna be here right next to you. Can you scoot over a little bit?' I couldn't stifle the chuckle that rose from my belly because I remembered that even though my usual spot with my mom was the opposite end of the couch, there were also a couple times when I crawled in next to her too. Because even though I was a 15-year-old teenager, I was still just someone’s baby.

So, my daughter and I rested there together for a sweet bit of time, her elbow digging into my side and the annoying sound of her little kid game filling my ears and assuring that I would most definitely not be sleeping anymore. And I was content. After a few minutes she started to squirm and get uncomfortable so she eventually stood up and took her spot on the other end of the couch. I showed her how to curl her feet so that they tucked up under my legs and we stayed there together for the rest of the afternoon. Even though my body felt rotten, the nearness of my daughter had made the burden of illness on my soul feel so much lighter.

Maybe lying on the couch with my mom all those years ago actually helped her more than I ever realized. 

I love you Momma. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

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My Babies Totally Don't Get It

Everyone has those moments in life. When you have reached adulthood and you suddenly freeze because you realize you just did something that was EXACTLY like one of your parents. For some people this causes them to shudder and essentially freak out, but thankfully not for me. I never set out to purposefully not turn into my parents. They’re pretty amazing people. Many of the things I learned from having them as my parents were very easy to engrain into my own life because they are simply fundamental. Unconditional love, making family a priority, the importance of quality time and all that good mushy stuff just naturally came out of living life as their kid. 

A lot of the things they tried to teach me totally made sense, such as kindness and respect. Other things I didn’t quite comprehend because they were adults and I was just a kid. I remember I never understood my dad’s tradition of making my brother and I give him a little peck on the cheek if we wanted something. I would come bounding into the room blurting out a request and before he would start to get up from his chair he would just barely lean his cheek toward me and slowly reach up one finger to tap the side of his face. He didn't even have to say anything because we knew what he meant. In our childhood impatience we would sigh, run over and give him a quick kiss and then start bouncing again while we asked if NOW he would complete our request. Nearly every time we directly asked him for something, to get the sprinkler out or to have a snack, without fail he would just tap his cheek and we knew. I remember completely not understanding how in the world a kiss on the cheek from me could be payment for spending two hours chasing us around the yard with the hose while we hooted and giggled. 

As the kid, I didn’t understand it. Now, I do. 

This time I’m the parent. Once my daughter reached an age in which she knew and understood what kisses were, I caught myself doing the exact same thing my dad had done so many years ago. My little girl came sprinting over to me to ask if we could play with bubbles, and without even thinking I smirked at her, raised my finger up to my cheek and pointed. The moment my finger hit my cheek I paused and thought, wow, like father like daughter. In the case of continuing super sweet and simple family traditions, I was choosing to have my apple not fall far from the tree. As Grace stared at me with a very confused look on her face, I prompted her again with another tap to my cheek and said, “a kiss please”. She saw this as the quickest way to get what she wanted so she obliged and went on her way. She totally didn’t get it. But suddenly, I knew why my dad had done that for all those years.

Getting kisses on the cheek from your kids is pretty much the sweetest thing in the world. You spend what feels like forever with this baby that you love SO MUCH and the baby literally can’t do anything except eat, poop, and sleep. And then, one day that kid can magically give you a kiss and somehow your heart is filled to the brim just by feeling their little wet lips on your cheek. It’s the best.

So, I have continued my dad’s tradition with Grace and then even passed it on to Emmett when he got old enough. He has caught on to the point where he even includes the kiss in his request. “Hey MomMom can you get my down from this slide? I give you kiiiisss!” And obviously, sometimes they are just not up for my silly requests to get kisses on the cheek. And that’s ok. I’ll never force them to do it, but if they’re in a happy mood I want them to know how much I cherish their affection. 

Dad, I get it now. And I know now that you didn't need the kisses in order to motivate you to do those fun things for us (like chase us around the yard with the hose). You did it because you wanted to. And you asked for those sweet little kisses from your kids because you wanted those too. I promise Dad, I'll never be too old to give you a kiss on the cheek. All you have to do is ask. 

Blessings,

Shantastic 

I took this photo a couple months ago when my husband had gone out of town and my mom came up to visit. I’m pretty sure she would agree that Emmett gives some of the best cheek kisses in the entire world. I mean, look at those puckered lips. You definitely can never say anything bad about his level of commitment when it comes to kisses on the cheek. 

My Baby Almost Broke my Toe

When people see Grace and me in public, they often chuckle as they ask me, “Is she always so energetic?” I can tell they are assuming that she must just be in an exceptionally good mood or particularly excited about the current events, but I always smile back and raise my eyebrows as I say, “Yes. Yes she is…always.” There are times when it really is so endearing. She'll be trying to tell me a story and she has to pace around in a circle (just like her dad) while her hands fly in the air giving life to her creative retelling of that day’s events (that part’s all me). Those are the times when I don't mind her source of boundless energy. I try to let those memories sink into my heart so that I'll have something to grab onto when her inability to stand still starts to wear on me.

As I mentioned last week, I just came home from a glorious, quiet, and STILL vacation. After having a week away from my kids, I knew I would have to spend some time rebuilding my tolerance level for certain things. The noise, the endless questions, and the never-ceasing movement. These things are largely just part of the deal. Kids are loud, they ask 100 million more questions than you want them to, and they’re always moving. However, with my daughter I sometimes feel like perhaps she was given an extra dose of noise, movement, and an overall zest for life. She’s the kind of person who runs around the living room doing laps and screaming, “MOM BOUGHT ME NEW TOOOOOOOTHPASTE!!” …So you see my struggle right? On the one hand I’m like, wow, what a gift it is to be so genuinely happy about the tiniest little thing. And the other half of me is frantically waving my arms in the air to try and get her attention and tell her to bring it down a notch. 

Shortly after we returned from our trip it was time step back into the normal routines of our lives. My husband headed off to work and I stared down at my little munchkins and realized there would likely be very little reading and crocheting that day. Since it was my first day “back at work”, how do you think my children were choosing to behave? Mmm. Yes. Lots of screaming, crying and me having to yell just so they could hear my voice above their own. I had decided the night before that we would go do something fun (brand new park complete with splash pad) so as they were attempting to upset the other in any way humanly possible, I was trying to shuffle them out the door. 

As we were finishing up getting ready, I finally convinced Grace that she needed to meet me in my bathroom so that I could put her hair into a ponytail. She (of course) shot away from me like a bullet, propelled herself into my room and then rounded the corner to throw herself into the bathroom. I followed quickly behind her and was planning on shutting us both in the bathroom. I knew that if I didn’t do this she would undoubtedly take off flying down the hallway the second I picked up the brush (remember, boundless energy). I turned into the doorway of the bathroom at the exact moment she decided that I must not have made it there fast enough and she would make her grand escape right then and there. As her shoe slammed into my toes I gasped for breath as I felt the crushing blow of a toenail completely breaking off. I instinctively threw my arms out onto my bed and stood there trying to breathe as the pain shot through my entire foot. I could hear her behind me shouting “SorrySorrySorry!!” which for some reason just made me even more annoyed. I could feel my patience completely shatter as I let out a guttural “UGHHHHHH!” up into the air. That obviously wasn’t a smart move because it released more emotions than I intended, and before I could stop myself I turned to her and said very sternly, “NO RUNNING IN THE HOUSE!” I felt regret smack me in the chest before I had even finished. I immediately starting walking towards her as her face succumbed to the tears and pain she felt for hurting me. I told her I was sorry for raising my voice but she didn’t hear me. She threw her head up towards the ceiling and cried out, “I don’t want you to be mad at meeee.” I dropped down to her level and gently laid my hands on her shoulders. I waited a moment for her to look into my eyes and said, “Sweetie, I’m sorry I yelled. I’m not mad at you.” We hugged it out and like many kids, she recovered quickly by drawing in huge gusts of air and asking to see my ‘really bad owie.” I let her watch as I carefully cleaned my wound and then we both walked out of the bathroom together. 

About ten minutes later she was standing next to me while I changed my son’s diaper. As I finished helping him to his feet, I kept hold of his hands and slowly pulled him towards me for a hug. He obliged and I soon felt Grace’s arms swoop around both of us. She laid her head on Emmett’s shoulder and the three of us stood there silently enjoying each other’s embrace. Eventually, I giggled and whispered, “My babies.” and she replied, “Best mommy in the whole world.” My heart immediately twinged with pain because I thought, I don’t deserve that. I was clearly being a B- mom that day with my lack of patience and emotional outburst. 

But she said what she felt. She was choosing to see the best in me, to let the good outweigh the bad. 

None of us are perfect. We’re all just trying to be the best moms (and dads) we can for our kids. Somehow, at such a young age, my beautiful little girl can see that even though I make mistakes, I really am trying to be what she needs me to be. 

I’m going to choose to celebrate how she can find so much joy in such a small thing like a new tube of toothpaste. 

Here’s to trying to teach her to be the kind of person who can run and bounce throughout her life WITHOUT accidentally hurting people, and to not totally losing my cool when she (inevitably) loses control. 

And hey, toenails grow back, right? 

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Babies' Mom was on Vacation

Dinners that were uninterrupted. Conversations that got to be finished. Paddleboat rides and reading almost exactly one half of a 700 page book. Yes my friends, I have been blessed. I just spent the last 6 days with my husband. Without our kids. At a cabin in a town where we didn't know a single soul. My introverted heart was doing fist pumps for nearly a week straight.

When we left for our trip, Seth asked if I would miss the kids and then laughed while he answered his own question with a 'Nahh you probably won't.' He wasn't being mean by saying this, because he was right. For the most part. I did miss them from time to time and pictured seeing their faces. When we FaceTimed I couldn't suppress the longing I felt to kiss their skin. But getting a break like this from parenthood is rare, and I cherished every single second of it. As I've hinted in a few previous posts, I've been itching for a break from my 24/7 job. My four-year-old is starting to outgrow her quiet time (my one moment of peace during the day) and my two-year-old is a two-year-old. There’s not much I have to do to explain the exhaustion that comes with that. I choose to stay home with them and I really do feel completely blessed to be able to do that. But I've found that one of the tricky parts is you never quite feel like you've left your job. Your work shift doesn't end at 5 or 6 o' clock. It just keeps on going until bedtime. And even then you've got the disasters from the day staring you in the face and trying to tempt you to keep working instead of rest. I also know that when you work outside the home there can be a similar struggle because you just trade one work environment for another. Sure you're probably very excited to see your kids when you get home from work. Perhaps you smile wide as they greet you at the door with their excited squeals. Then, maybe they show you the art project they made in school with pride beaming in their eyes and as they run off down the hallway giggling you smile to yourself and think, my gosh I have been blessed. But then, four minutes later you hear one of them screaming and the other is crying because someone grabbed someone else's dinosaur, and you are reminded that work is not over yet. Parenthood really is a full time gig. 

After five years of being everything as often as I could be, I was starting to feel a bit weary as I continued to love and parent my children. I was a battery that was slowly losing its ability to recharge. Even though I've tried to find little pockets to breathe, this trip was just such a relief. As soon as the plans were set, I finally allowed myself to feel just how much I had been longing for a chance to set down my responsibilities. It was like I had been holding my breath and only just now realized how much my lungs were crying for more air to be let in. I had been in denial about how much I wanted a break because yours kids are your kids, and there’s isn’t a break from that. 

Our miraculous ten year anniversary trip came to be because one of my closest friends agreed to do a trade with me. I provided my business services to her for a job she needed done, and she gave us the keys to her family’s gorgeous cabin that rests on an open body of water. When I wrote to my mother-in-law asking her if she and my father-in-law would be willing to watch the kids for six days, she answered back with the most beautiful word I had ever seen… “Sure.” Those four letters solidified that my dream for a break was becoming a reality. 

For six glorious days, my husband and I got to talk each other without being interrupted 57 thousand times. We ate our food in peace. I took a nap one day in the middle of the afternoon simply because my busy schedule of going on the paddleboat and then reading was just.too.exhausting. This past week my schedule and routine has been quite different from the norm. I've been on my first real vacation with my husband since our honeymoon ten years ago. I've gotten to sit and READ A BOOK in the middle of the afternoon. Instead of scraping dried yogurt off the counter I got to be transported to a different world in a different time. My inner monologue throughout the week sounded less like a parent and more like a girl who was immensely enjoying her gift of rest. Instead of analyzing the most recent temper tantrum and trying to figure out how I could be a better Mom the next time, I talked to myself about whether or not I should eat a snack before I went to go sit on the dock. 'Hmm yes, Shan. I think casually nibbling on these strawberries while the breeze tickles your arms is a great way to spend your time before you go dangle your feet in the water.' 

Our vacation is over now and I’m going to be completely honest with you. The first few hours back home were rough. It was probably just the shock of it all. I was excited to see my babies, but after having such a long break to just be myself, suddenly being thrust back into parenthood reminded me of all the little things I have had to give up along the way. It took 45 minutes to finish my oatmeal this morning and I hadn’t even started drinking my coffee. The kids were amped up because Mom and Dad were back and they just didn’t know how to process it. There was a lot of screaming and I had to swallow my impatience as I reminded them to use their inside voices. It had only been a few hours and I was already longing for the quietness of my vacation. As I poured my coffee, I hid my face to make sure my kids didn’t see the tears that were starting to form in my eyes. I missed being at the cabin with my husband. Where everything was quiet and we could just be. 

But then a few minutes later when I peeked my head in the laundry room trying to figure out why my daughter was being so quiet, I saw her curled up in the corner on top of the picnic blanket. We silently gazed at each other for a moment and then I slowly lowered myself down to her level. I kissed the top of her arm and gently nuzzled my face into the crease of her neck. Just breathing her in. She barely moved as she brought her free arm up and tucked it around my waist, pulling me a little closer. As I lay there in that perfect moment I thought, yes Lord, this is it. This is why we gladly give up the little luxuries of eating our oatmeal in peace. It’s because what we have in front of us is so heartbreakingly beautiful. To literally watch life grow and evolve in front of us is a precious gift. A great blessing. 

Vacations are fun. But my life...is here. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Babies' Dad is on a Balance Beam

10 years. 10 years of marriage…I apologize if I get a bit over-emotional (unfortunately that’s just a symptom of being Shantastic) but every prayer and hope I had for my life came true the day I met him.

On paper we are so different, but together we are a beautiful balancing act. We all strive to have our life be somewhat in balance right? A healthy balance of work and rest, a mixture of not just telling our kids to love each other and be respectful but actually showing them through our actions. From the day we met we have been walking on the balance beam of life together. Sometimes it’s been easy, wide enough for us both to walk together hand-in-hand. Other seasons we have had to help lead the other through difficult times, and continue to encourage each other when one of us would sink down in defeat. In the darkest of times, we have even had to take turns carrying each other on our backs. Never giving up. Always persisting. 

Just like life, our walk together is always changing. Sure, we have days and seasons where it feels like the movies. My heart leaps when I see his car pull into the driveway, my emotions swell when he tells me I look beautiful. But we have our challenges just like everyone else too. I annoy him endlessly with my day-old coffee that I leave sitting on the counter. He drives me crazy when he drinks all the orange juice in one sitting. But through every trial, every hard situation, when one of us is totally losin' it and about to have a mental breakdown, we balance. 

We’ve been operating like this since we first started dating, but it has obviously been tested more since having our children. Of course, we are always trying to be the best versions of ourselves for our kids, to try and teach them how to be caring people who treat others with respect. But recently, I dropped the ball in regards to our son. At first it may not seem like that big of a deal, but to me, it was. It happened a few months ago…and it all started with my son’s eyes. Those eyes. No, please don’t start filling up with tears I thought. Those bright baby blues fill up so stinkin' fast. Just as I was about to extend my arms and wrap my sad little boy in the biggest, bestest, mommy embrace, my husband ran between us and scooped Emmett out of my reach. As my gaze followed Emmett who was now full-on back arching trying to reach me, I made eye contact with my husband. Catching his very intent stare finally snapped me back to reality and I realized, I had almost done it again. I was about to let Emmett completely get away with misbehaving, just because he had started crying and trying to hug me. I had been going too easy on him lately (because, those eyes). I had been letting him get out of being in trouble because I would rather just hug him instead. It was creating a not-so-good pattern for him and I had been in denial about it.

This time his offense was a pretty big thing and my husband was not about to let it go ignored. Emmett hit me on the arm (really it was more like an assertive slap…but still, something had to be done, right?). I instinctively shot Emmett a look of disapproval and when I raised my voice just one level above normal, his eyes became a thunderstorm and his words of apology came pouring out. I had told him that he needed to go sit for a time-out. He hates time-outs almost as much as I hate disciplining him. It’s hard to follow through and discipline someone who just immediately starts sobbing a barely audible “Sahhhheeeee” while he’s trying to go in for a hug. So, when Emmett slapped my arm and I went to save him from his consequence, my husband was ready to stand in the gap. I tried defending myself because, of course, I didn’t want to admit that I was wrong. I blurted, “But I think he feels really bad about it!” He responded quietly and calmly by saying, “Babe, you can’t be the rescuer.” 

He was right. I had been creating a habit of being the rescuer, and my son’s behavior was steadily showing the proof of that. Emmett had just booked himself a ticket to “Time-Out Land” and he had to go. If I would have just hugged him right away, would he have really gotten the concept? Would the reality of his bad choice really sunk in? Or was he just reacting to being in trouble and saying sorry to get out of a time-out?  My husband knew that in this moment, Emmett needed to experience a real consequence. My sweet little boy had been testing the boundaries more lately, and he needed to know that this was not something we would allow. Discipline had to happen, and I couldn’t rescue him from it.

After a short stay in “Time-Out Land”, I walked over to my baby and gently laid his hand on my cheek. Without any prompting he whimpered, “Sahhee MomMom”. I scooped him up into my lap and told him I forgave him. Even though following through with his time-out made me want to cry right along with him, it was what had to happen. That night was the first -and only- time he has ever hit me. He learned.

When I was getting lazy on my balance beam of life and choosing the option that required less work, my husband gently reminded me that what is right is not always easy. This wasn’t the biggest failure I’ve ever had, the Lord knows I’ve made much bigger mistakes in my life! But still, my husband was there to counter for me. Just like he has been every single day for the last 10 years. 

So today, I’m celebrating that. 10 years of friendship, partnership, and never giving up.

Blessings,

Shantastic

P.S. Babe, I ordered you that comforter from Sleep Number that you really wanted. Don’t worry, it was on sale :) Happy Anniversary my love!

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Lastly, this photo makes my over-emotional sappy little self squeal because my husband is reading to my kids from the Beginner’s Bible that my Great-Grandma gave me. I read that book every night as a kid. I almost dropped the coffee pot trying to scramble over there and catch a photo with my phone before anyone wiggled away. Grace sat there with him for over 20 minutes. And my heart could barely even stand it.