My Baby is Riding Waves

Goodbye first trimester. I won't miss you at all. You weighed me down and thoroughly kicked my butt. I will greatly welcome trimester number two and hope that I never see you again. So many times when I was feeling like barfing or just wanting more than anything else to crawl into bed and sleep for three days, I would catch eyes with one of my kids and go, Oh. That's why this is all worth it. This is all so worth it. Don't forget that Shan. Underneath all this nausea and fatigue is a new little life. He/She is peacefully riding those waves of sickness like a boss, growing like crazy and patiently waiting for the day to be born. 

It has been a huge relief to finally be able to explain to my kids why I haven’t had as much energy as usual. So far my kids have adjusted beautifully to the news of their new sibling. I have had to give quite a few excuses to my daughter for why we can't do all the fun adventurous things she would like to do and I was a bit worried that she would start to get frustrated with me. One day she offered up the idea that I push them in the double stroller all the way to the creek so they could throw sticks in the water. Normally, that idea would have been met with enthusiasm and encouragement and we would have packed ourselves up and been on our way. But in my current state, the thought of pushing them anywhere in anything made me want to sob, run away, and hide in my bed. So, I had to think fast. I quickly said 'Orrrrr what if we bring the ball pit outside and put water in it??' I was thinking that way she would get something fun and different and I wouldn’t have to walk further than ten away from where I was standing at that moment. Perfect. Thankfully she bought it and squealed with delight. I’m trying so hard to keep them engaged and occupied but also know that sometimes popcorn and a movie at 10:30 in the morning will not ruin them. They will be fine. 

Now that I can explain to Grace WHY I can’t do certain things anymore, I’m pleasantly surprised that she hasn't seemed resentful at all about it. Kids really are resilient. Yesterday morning I woke up and, once again, felt like I might be on the losing end of a nausea battle. I got the kids some breakfast, forced myself to eat something, and then just had to lay in the fetal position on the couch. I had promised the kids we would do bath time after breakfast (they really super love taking baths) so my daughter was confused why I was heading in the opposite direction of the bathroom. I told her I needed to lay down for a few minutes because my tummy was hurting. I assured her that after I rested then we would be off to bath time. Instead of whining and complaining, she gently curled herself next to me and put her head on my shoulder. She got it. I was so proud of her. After about ten minutes of resting, it felt like a switch was turned off in my stomach and I suddenly felt better. Of course I still felt the fatigue and exhaustion of pregnancy, but the roaring waves of nausea suddenly settled. I even felt this little bit of 'oomph' to get myself up and get my kids to the bath they were looking forward to. Once I got them both sudsing up in the tub, I stood and glanced out the bathroom window. My eyes soaked in the scene of our lush backyard and I let the relief of a calm stomach encircle me. I no longer felt like I was going to throw up. As most of you know, when you feel nauseous, the moments following when you feel normal again are so comforting. It's so lovely to not have your tummy be in turmoil. My eyes continued to sweep across our yard and the creek beyond and I started to thank God for this reprieve from my morning sickness. Then, the thought struck me. I wondered if someone had prayed for me and that's why I had felt better so instantaneously. With prayer, sometimes you never do find out if someone has prayed for you or not. But I felt content with having hope that maybe someone out there had lifted me up and that was why I felt so much better. I happily shrugged and thought that maybe I would never know, and that was ok. The sound of loud shrieks and laughter from my kids snapped me out of my thoughts and I turned to see them laughing uncontrollably. I couldn’t suppress the smile that engulfed my face as I watched them playfully splash each other and enjoy the warmth of the water. 

Later that day when my husband came home he asked right away how I was feeling. He had asked me the same question when I woke up that morning and I had tried to put on a tough facade and said 'I'm just ok… but I'll be alright.' I had a feeling that he could see through the brave face I was trying to put on. When he asked me again at the end of the day, I told him that I had actually started out the day feeling really icky and then all of a sudden the nausea totally went away. He smiled and said, 'That's great Babe because I was praying for you all morning.' 

The power of prayer.

I had someone tell me once that he thought we shouldn’t bother God with our small requests when there are so much bigger things that God has to take care of. But I think God cares about it all. I care about the big AND small things with my kids. I want to delight in them as they do big and exciting things like go to school for the first time. And I also care deeply about the small things, like watching them giggle as they enjoy each other’s company. God cared about my small thing too, enough to heal my morning sickness and allow me to enjoy watching my kids splash around in the tub instead of missing it because my head was hanging over a bucket. 

God cares about it all.

Blessings,

Shantastic 

My Baby is a Kumquat

"Hey Mom, remember how you told me to pray and ask God if we could have another baby in our family?'' An enormous smile erupted on my face as I thought, Ok, she is the cutest thing ever. Then, I nodded. Yes, I did remember encouraging her to do that. ''Well guess what?!?” she replied, “God said YES! He told me yes in my heart that we can have another baby!! And...it's gonna be my sister!!' At this point, I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Still shocked at her decisiveness I said, ''Well sweetie, if God does give us another baby it might be a girl, or it might be a boy. Would you be ok if it was a boy?'' She didn't hesitate with her answer and said ''Noooo no. If it's a boy we'll just say Hi God. You actually gave us the wrong baby. Here you go! Can we have our baby girl now?’'

Well, she was right about the first part. When this conversation happened I was 5 weeks 4 days pregnant. I had only just taken the pregnancy test about a week before. My husband, Seth, and I decided to wait until I was 10 weeks to tell the kids, but my discerning little girl figured it out right away. Over the next few weeks we had many (many) hilarious conversations in which she kept telling me that she was so excited about the baby in my tummy. One afternoon I was just a little over six weeks and feeling terribly sick. I was resting on the couch while I watched the kids play in the living room and mostly just focusing all my energy on not throwing up (again). As Grace danced around the room in her typical Gracie way, she fluttered over to me and plopped herself at the foot of the couch. She had the biggest smile on her face so I grinned back, tilted my head, and raised my eyebrows as if to ask what she was smiling about. She caught on to my question and exclaimed, “I’m just SO excited about my baby sister!!” In one smooth motion she lifted my shirt just barely past my belly button and kissed my tummy. Then as quickly as she had arrived, she bounced back off towards her toys, completely unaware that I was frozen, wide-eyed, and had nothing but shock on my face.  

So here I am. 10 weeks. My Baby is the size of a kumquat (whatever that is). Sealed inside that tiny fetus are the hopes and dreams of completing our family. There’s a line in my favorite movie, About Time, where the main character is trying to decide whether he and his wife should try for a third child. He contemplates for a moment and then says, “You know, my dad always said he wished there had been more of us.” When I heard that line my body tensed and I subconsciously leaned in towards the screen holding my breath. Is that how I would feel if we decided to stop at two children? Would I have always wished there had been one more? To test these prompting questions as to how I would feel about stopping at two kids, I pictured myself dropping off my youngest, Emmett, at his first day of Kindergarten. As I walked back to the car would I feel an overwhelming sense of freedom and accomplishment? Would I even be a little relieved that my season of life of being a full time stay-at-home mom was now over? In my mind, I saw myself climbing into my car and instead of feeling ready to throw myself into the next season of life, I felt lonely. Unfinished. I glanced to the backseat, saw it was empty and my heart sank. As I tried to figure out what these emotions meant, I pictured once again dropping off Emmett at school for the first day and this time I left the building holding hands with another child of mine. A lively toddler who was skipping along and singing some made-up version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. I bundled this last little one into the car, wiped a booger, kissed a forehead, and took off from the parking lot with a feeling like, yes, this is what it was supposed to be. That third kid was supposed to be there with me.

Very soon after I had these revelations I retold them to Seth. I already knew that he was open to the idea of having one more child, but we hadn’t yet confirmed that this was the path we felt God leading us toward. When I finished telling him my story he kept his head down and I saw the slightest smirk begin to curl on his lips. He then slowly looked up at me and said, “You know, to be honest I really have always pictured us with three.” 

That was the moment we decided to start praying for God to bless us with another baby. We were a bit surprised that initially God’s response was, “wait”. It wasn’t a yes or no, it was wait. To greatly fast forward this next section of our lives, we had been told to wait because God led us to sell our home and purchase a different house. The entire process took nearly a year and after we took a few months to settle into our new house, God then answered our heartfelt question with a yes. We actually found out we were pregnant when we were on our anniversary vacation back in June. (see that post here ----> My Babies' Mom was on Vacation) What a fun gift that was to find out on our trip! We got to sit and relax on the paddleboat in the afternoon and suggest potential baby names. Our mornings were spent sipping coffee on the deck and talking about how our kids would adjust to this new addition. We didn't get interrupted every five seconds, we didn’t have to fight to have time alone to talk and dream. It was very special. 

So...my little girl was right. We asked God for another baby, He said yes, and we are so thankful. Obviously, it’s too early to know if she was right about the baby being a girl, but we are thinking we will probably have to find out the gender so that we can prepare her. I think the cupcake reveal where there’s pink or blue on the inside might be the best way to go. That way if it’s a boy, maybe we can salvage her broken heart with chocolate and frosting. 

Now that our secret is public, may I ask something of you? As you know, life is a gift and it is fragile. Will you please pray for us and for this new little one? Being pregnant is definitely a huge blessing and a very beautiful thing. But it can also have its moments where fear and uncertainty threaten to cloud our focus. 

Please pray for us as we begin this new journey of being a family of five. We are thrilled beyond words and feel blessed beyond measure. 

Blessings,

Shantastic

My Baby Thought I Could Quit

I’ve always wanted this. In high school I worked for an after-school childcare program and sometimes the kids would accidentally call me mom. They would get so embarrassed and turn red but I would be beaming with a huge smile. I didn’t have any kids of my own yet but I was already anxiously anticipating the day when I would be mom to someone. Everything I wanted for my future was to be married and have children (I like to think big). I knew that anything else that poured out of my life would be icing on the proverbial cake. I just wanted a family. Because being a stay-at-home mom is what I always wanted, a lot of the annoying things that occur when taking care of children all day just feel like another day at the office to me. Another poopy diaper? Yep it is 10:00a.m. so that sounds about right. You dumped out all the blocks and played with them for two seconds? Ahh typical. But there is one area of my job that plagues me because I cannot (and probably will never) win. No matter how hard I try, no matter how much effort I put into it, the kitchen will never (ever) be totally clean. Actually, I think the fact that I keep trying is the definition of complete insanity. 

Yesterday I was finishing up getting lunch ready while I tried to simultaneously put the clean dishes away. I threw some fruit on plates for my kids to serve as an appetizer until lunch was ready and hoped it would keep them occupied long enough to finally get caught up on the dishes. I had also given my son, Emmett, a bowl with a little bit of leftover smoothie from the night before. The kids were doing surprisingly well and every parent’s goal of having a clean kitchen was finally in my sights. We had spent the entire Fourth of July weekend doing every except cleaning, so with it being July 5th and the long weekend over, I was itching to get everything put back in its place. 

The stove which had endured more than five meals without being wiped off was sparkling. The crumbs in the microwave had been evicted and even the entire kitchen floor had been freshly swept. Ahh it was beautiful. I was about to achieve the miraculous feat that parents constantly strive for and rarely achieve; a clean kitchen. 

And then as my back was turned to my kids, I heard Emmett say, “Uh-ohhhhh. Sah-wee Mommy….” I slowly turned around to see that he had dropped his bowl and my freshly swept floor was now full of sticky pink smoothie. It was dripping down the counter and somehow had splattered in a 12-inch wide radius across the floor. I envisioned him playing around with his bowl and being goofy right before he dropped it and said, “Ugh. Emmett I am not happy about that.” He immediately dropped his chin onto his chest with an expression of total shame on his face. I realized almost instantaneously that I had been too harsh. With my super sensitive boy, a serious tone is enough to break his heart. I was just assuming that he had been playing around, I had no proof. Maybe he had been trying to hold the bowl while he climbed down from the stool with intentions of putting it in the sink for me. I honestly didn’t know, but I reacted with frustration because my spotless kitchen had once again, just been taken from me. 

I then told Emmett it was ok and I would like him to help me clean it up. I turned toward the sink to grab my cloth and as my back was turned I barely heard Emmett mumble, “Are you not gonna be my mommy anymore?” I froze and my heart sank. With no idea where he had heard that phrase, I did know that I must be sure he knew the answer to that question. I dropped the cloth and marched over to where he was still pouting on his stool. I sank down on my knees so that my face was level with his and gently pulled his chin up so that his eyes met mine. He was struggling to hold back tears and I smiled to show him I wasn’t upset. Then I took a deep breath and said, “Baby, I will always be your mommy. Always.” The second the last word left my lips he launched himself into my arms so hard I almost feel backwards. I hugged him tight against my chest and as he started to pull away I kissed his soft cheeks until he giggled and playfully squirmed in my arms. 

He must have heard that phrase from a movie or tv show and decided to use that moment to test it. I’m not even sure if he totally understood what it meant. But, even so I knew that I needed to affirm for him that being his mom is something I will forever be. It’s everything I ever wanted. Now that I do have the title of mom, it’s something that can never change. I will never not be their mom, and that makes me very happy. 

Maybe someday I’ll joke with Emmett about how when he was two he asked me the most ridiculous question anyone could ask me. Will I ever stop being his mommy? 

Absolutely, and positively, no.  

Blessings,

Shantastic

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 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. 

My Baby's Pants are on Fire

I’m not a morning person. I’m a coffee person. But somehow, half of my DNA has created a little being who is an all day person. She’s a morning, afternoon, evening, and night person. How she is able to literally bounce through her entire day, I’ll never understand. One morning a few months ago I was (very groggily) loading the washing machine with a load of my son’s clothes. We were at that desperate point where if he spilled anything on his current shirt he would be borrowing something of his sister’s (and probably walking around in a pink unicorn dress for the rest of the day.) So, I was tired and distracted by my current task. As my head was shoved part-way in the washing machine, I heard my daughter come jumping around the corner and ask in an excruciatingly loud voice if she could have a cookie from the container on the counter. 

“No, you may not have a cookie right now. We don’t eat cookies for breakfast.” I robotically answered back. We don’t eat cookies for breakfast. Based on my mothering for the last four-and-a-half years, what would possess you to think that I would let you have a cookie for breakfast?? Kids. Ever-so hopeful. After I calmly recited my answer to her, I assumed she had skipped off into the living room to twirl, jump, and dive off the couch like usual. 

I finally finished loading up the washer and as I turned back around towards the kitchen, I instinctively glanced at the counter where I had left the cookie container. For a few seconds I just stared at the EMPTY spot on the counter and tried not to start fuming from my ears. The container was now most definitely not on the counter where it should have been. OH Mommy was awake now. Apparently cookie thievery works better than coffee to wake a person up. However, I didn’t want a crazed mommy monster to attack her with parental rage, so I first paused for a second and tried to steady my breathing. Then I took off marching through the kitchen until I rounded the corner of the living room. There before my eyes was my two-year-old standing over an open container of cookies and gathering them up in his hands. My eyes darted over to the stairs and I saw my daughter sprinting up to her room with a small mountain of cookies cradled in her shirt. 

I miraculously stayed calm as I asked her what she was doing. Her response turned into a ten minute interrogation of her full out LYING to me about having a secret cookie snack. (She even tried to blame it on her brother which could be a whole other post) As I stared in disbelief at her insistence on sticking to her lie, of course, disappointment flashed through my mind. But I also felt a tinge of guilt. Had she somehow learned this behavior from me? What had I done in my parenting techniques to make her think this was ok?

My mind immediately went to the thought that she must have learned this behavior from me because the concept of modeling was fresh in my mind. I had just recently learned a life-changing lesson when I had the flu. First of all, I learned that the flu sucks (totally). But, as Grace was so tenderly taking care of me, I sent one of my friends a picture of it all. It was so endearing. She laid out a blanket and a pillow on the couch and even brought her favorite stuffed animals downstairs to keep me company. She topped off the cuteness by making sure I had a glass of water next to me. My friend texted back and said “She is modeling how well YOU take care of her!” ..YES! My heart soared even though my body just wanted to sink into the couch and never move again. 

Yes, some of her traits are things that she has learned from my modeling and some of them have been learned from other people. But why is it that whenever she displays a characteristic that is…undesirable, I immediately take the blame and assume I have somehow failed her? In the same way that I can’t take the credit for everything awesome about her, I also shouldn’t take the blame when she is working through something hard. I hear the “mommy guilt” thing joked about all the time, and I know that it is something that a lot of moms (and dads) do. Myself included. I also know that mommy guilt is not productive or life-giving. So, with that knowledge, why do I see her lying about eating cookies and immediately feel like it’s my fault? I’ve never modeled how to eat cookies for breakfast and lie about it, but ok, I guess she’s gonna try it anyways! She is her own unique person. And I’m doing the best I can. It’s my job to help her work through these tough situations and not waste time blaming myself for it. Here’s to hoping I can walk alongside her in this journey towards truth-telling, and here’s to having hope that she will no longer be a liar liar with her pants on fire. 

Also…Note to self: Store the cookies in the pantry. Out of sight, out of reaching distance for her to steal them, lie about it, and blame her little brother. 

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Has your kid gone through a lying phase? How did you handle it? Did your kid get caught with her hand in the cookie jar too? :) 

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Blessings,

Shantastic