And my children: Facebook, Pinterest and Google Chrome

And allow me to introduce my children:  Facebook, Pinterest and Google Chrome.  We play together endless hours of the day and are making some awesome memories to talk about later in life.  Aren't they gorgeous?!  My husband I are so blessed!

 



I was buyontly flattened out in the tub last night and had this all the sudden HORRIBLE premonition of a conversation that could take place with Elijah in, say, 15 years.

Elijah, "Hey, mom, do you remember that time that I made that SWEET airplane out of those bristle block toys that we had growing up and I came and showed it to you when you were doing "work" on the computer?"

Me, biting my lip and disheartened that I can't remember "ummmm, no.  Sorry, hun."

This hasn't been an all-the-sudden realization but the idea of that conversation was all the sudden.  I've known for some time now, but it's all-the-sudden sunk in that I spend way.too.much.time on the internet.  The blessing and the curse of the "information super highway", of the "World Wide Web". 

Fantastic  - because now I have relationships that are a HUGE encouragement for me that I wouldn't have the opportunity to have otherwise (Facebook). 
Fanastic  -  I have the option to go online to order something instead of loading my 3 boys up to drive 40 minutes to a store to get ONE thing (google chrome, or any web browser) or to check the weather or any number of other resources that don't exist OUTSIDE the internet. 
Fantastic - Now I can get on and get creative ideas from countless other people of how to complete a project or fun ways to encourage my kids creativity. 

 Is this ALL that I do?!  NOPE!  I'm going to buy a timer to sit by the computer, soon, and when I sit down I will push it.  When I get up I will stop it.  At the end of the day I'm quite certain I will be horrified and appaled at how much time I WASTED online!
We are doing a study by Priscilla Shirer in my Thursday morning women's Bible study called, "Jonah - a life interrupted".  I've heard numerous messages, been reading numerous books and have had numerous conversations and convictions lately that seem to be all pointing in this one direction.  NOT that I need to shut down my access to the internet, but that I have viewed my children (not really knowing that I was doing so) as the main interruption in my life.  They interrupt me when I'm talking to OTHER people (on facebook or in person).  They interrupted my husband's and my childless relationship and the dynamic of our marriage was forced to change (as ANY child will do to ANY relationship - and I'm not saying it's a bad thing, it's just change).  They interrupted, I feel, my easy going personality.  I feel more uptight and high strung that I ever felt pre-child (but thats my fault).  They interrupt my sleep.  They interrupt my eating.  They interrupt my crafting.  They interrupt EV.ER.Y.THING! 
NOW, before you get all bent out of shape and think that I'm child bashing, let me reassure you that you are very very wrong.  I'm bashing ME!  I'm bashing this ridiculous mindset that I've fallen into (again, without knowing I was) that my children are the problem.  This isn't saying that I've never enjoyed being their mama.  I have.  Immensely, most of the time.  I DO see the blessing that they are.  But until last night, after I was done doing one of my "Jonah" lessons and was flattened, soaking in the tub, I didn't see that THEY have been my life's interruption, in my heart.  I SO desperately desire time to myself and I feel like it just doesn't happen quiet enough.  It can't.  I have 3 little boys who are constantly, and rightfully so, clammering after my attention with every ounce of their beings!  Jonah fleed God's command to go to Ninevah.  I think MOST people would have.  Those people were freaks!  Scary business!  Who wants to go to a freaky deaky city like that and tell them they are going to burn to the ground?!  He ran and then he was et. By a big.fat.fish.  He didn't give the chance to see, pre-whale injestion, that Nineva was God's call for his life.  Until this point, I've failed to see that mama-ing is God's call for my life.  Regardless of how much I buck it.  Regardless of how much time I spend running (spending too many hours in front of the computer "escaping" my difficulties of motherhood) - regardless of how long it was going to ultimately take me to figure.it.out, being a mother is my Nineva.  It's TERRIFYING to me!  It was at the beginning and still is most days.  There are so many other things that I saw myself doing - living in a cabin in the woods surrounded by majestic mountains and a thriving horse ranch - being a photo-journalist for National Geographic - traveling the world, intied, with my best friend, my husband.  Experiencing all sorts of things that God has NOT given me to experience because he's given me THIS!!!!! 





 THREE PERFECT AND BEAUTIFUL BOYS to raise up into men of faith!  What tops that?!






Ouch! 

"Interruptions only become positive when we consider the person or the circumstance interrupting to be more significant than that which currently occupies our attention."  Priscilla Shirer

Yes, I consider my boys more important than Facebook, Pinterest and Google Chrome, but a lot of days go by that I certainly don't act that way.  Posting status updates isn't my problem.  Clicking on pinterest to quickly grab a recipe or for a second check just.how. to make that thing I've been working on, thats not the problem.  The problem comes when little Mr. 14th month old Joel is shaking the baby gate and calling my name and I'm too busy checking out every one else's lives to go love on him.  The problem comes when Elijah brings me something incredible that he's made with his bristle blocks (and I tell you what, that boy can BUILD with those things!) and I'm too busy "pinning" to turn and really look at and appreciate what he's made.  The problem comes when Judah comes up to me and climbs to my lap, but I send him away because I get irritated when he gets in the way of my typing.  THOSE are the problems.  THAT is when I am giving the "information super highway" my Mama attention.  When it becomes more important.

A side note:  NO, I do not believe it's ever fallen into the category of "neglect".  NO, I do not believe there needs to be any outside intervention.  NO, I do not believe I am an extreme when it comes to this issue.  It's just too extreme for me to ignore, anymore. 

I don't want to push post.  This is raw and I don't want anyone to know it.  I don't want to admit it.  But I have to.  I have to because I know it's the first step to stopping the pattern.  I have to because I KNOW I'm not alone in this.  I truly believe it has become mainstream in our technology era and has become acceptable.  It's not.  Thats all there is to it. 

THIS  >>>>> 

is.not.acceptable.

Judah

There never fails to be negative feedback from my "transparent" posts about my children.  I've toned back my raw frustration, but it's just life.  It's the way things are.  Children are exhausting, and frustrating, incredible, strange and wonderful.  I was beside myself from the time that Elijah was 18 months or so and still am most days with the constant task of guiding in GENTLENESS.  Gentleness isn't something that comes naturally for me.  For some strange reason that dates back generations (this I will probably not ever go into) it's easier for me to be patient with Judah.  That being said:

Judah has thrown an entirely different rack of darts at me.  He's much more outright with his aggression, compared to his somewhat passive aggressive older brother.  He hits and screams and daily questions my authority as his mother.  The words escaping his precious little mouth are often words telling me off about something I've asked him to do or not to do.  If caught in the wrong mood for correction or guidance he's often running toward me to hit whatever body part of mine he can reach first in protest of correction or guidance.  He was as laid back a baby as I'd ever known (until Joel, of course) and I was doused in hope that he'd remain that way.  The fussyness and whining started around 15 months and I tried desperately to convince myself that he was just teething.  He may have been, but it didn't stop once those pearly whites escaped the confines of their prisons.
Lately, he breaks my heart.  He's been downright nasty to me.  He's still fed emotionally by cuddling and we do a mightly lot of it, but in the inbetween times it seems he's taken on the task of being as strongwilled, naughty and disrespectful as humanly possible for his tiny age.  I'm certain this is normal for this stage in human brain development, but it hurts my mommy heart so.  To use the common cliches, my heart swells, it melts, it beats because of him (not only him, of course).
I will not let up my guidance of him.  I've been called to raise men of faith and by the power that God has entrusted in me, I will fight to do so.  It will seem trivial, I'm sure, someday.  For right now, my heart longs for a joyful, compliant boy.  It will come.  I will pray.

Seriously KILLER thought life

It's late, and I have a thing tomorrow.  My alarm is set to go off at 6:00 and will remain that way regardless of how long this takes me to write and regardless of what time I finally shut my lids to sleep.  The sense of urgency that has grown in my heart about this post over the past couple of hours is enough to keep me from falling asleep anyway, so I'm just going to pound it out.  It was one of those crazy rapid fire neuron thingies that stemmed from one initial thought that was seemingly completely unconnected from any other previous or surrounding thought.  That thought led down a long trail of memories and thoughts that within a matter of second left me standing in the shower walking through what I'd say in this post.  It all happened in the shower.  It all happened in a matter of seconds.  I had decided I was going to wait until tomorrow to write it, but it just wouldn't.stop.nagging.  So here I am, wet hair, sitting on the bed, teeth unbrushed, tired as all get out.  But it can't be ignored.

To address the title of this post, I had a seriously KILLER thought life when I was a middle schooler.  I was  middle schooler, not a junior higher.  6th-8th grades.  Not 7th and 8th.  Just to clarify.  When I say "killer" thoughts I'm talking suicidal.  I'm sure this will elicit some dropped jaws, furrowed eye brows and questioning words from readers that know me.  I've talked to VERY few people about this part of my life and those I've talked to about it have never really gotten an ear full from me about it.  I tend to prefer to graze over it in passing on the way to a more relevant word on whatever discussion it seemed to have worked it's way into.  On to the beginning of my history.
 Those who remember me as a small child and even a middle schooler may remember that there wasn't much about me that fit into the "girl" category.  I had a horrific haircut for most of my early life, a huge gap inbetween my two front teeth (which our family dentist randomly filled in one early morning of my freshman year of highschool as he was, yet again, fixing a chip in my front tooth), barely a spot of skin on my face that wasn't covered by an orange freckle, a stick body with no signs of womanhood until I was WELL into my freshman year of highschool and non girly clothes.  I prefered to not be "girly", but never quite understood how it played a roll in my public school experience.  I'm not sure what bullying entails today, but I was bullied back in my day. (Note: those of you who were my dear friends growing up, hold NO fear in your heart that ANY of this is referring to you! You know who you are!  Be encouraged that you hold very bright spots in my memory of childhood!"  I was called names and told that I smelled like tuna (whatever THATS supposed to mean!).  "Freckle face", "gap tooth", "just another one of the boys".  There's others, but they don't matter.  I was told to go to the boys bathroom because "THIS bathroom is for GIRLS!"  She knew full well I was a girl.  She was just an insensitive jerk.  I sat down, peed, and then stayed on the toilet and cried for a healthy five minutes before mustering up the courage to walk past the door guard butterfly girl again.  My Dad held me on my bed in our cabin at Family Camp that night as I wept.  As for the door guard that said this to me, being on the heavy side of things, noticeably socially akward and having a "pet butterfly" that was at all times riding upon her right shoulder (yes, a REAL butterfly) probably put her in a prime position to feel the need to put someone else down, since she was constantly getting it herself.  If only I'd had a 30 year old brain at the time to know to reach out to her and pray for her instead of being so injured that I couldn't recognize her pain as being similar to mine.
My suicidal thoughts didn't come into play until middle school.  Middle school was worse.  I have vivid memories of weeks going by that held the end of every school day with a little girl weeping in the car on the way home about it being the "worst" day of her life!  And it was.  Every day.  For long periods of time.  I had a completely out of control sense of insecurity about the way I looked.  The way my body looked.  The way the "pretty girls" looked.  The way the boys treated me.  The way the boys treated THEM!  The looks that were darted my way in the locker room and on the basket ball or volley ball court as I stumbled over my enormously unproportional oversized feet.  NOW, know this.  Middle schoolers/Junior Highers, bless their hearts, have a brain that just.doesn't.get it!  Brains are SO wacked out at this age in life.  SO SO SO wacked out!  The feelings that I was feeling were so painfully real for me regardless of how real the situations were that were eliciting those feelings.  My view of things, I'm certain, was quite worse that reality itself.   This is where the suicidal thoughts came into play and I think DO come into play for more kids than anyone would expect (as I said before, I'm sure it's a shocker for the readers that know me to find all this out).  For THEM, it's real!  It's painfully and unmistakeably real!  REGARDLESS of how stupid and petty and babyish is all seems, is SO SO SO real in their brains!  Their strange, undeveloped, wacked out brains!  My dad rocked me at night if I wanted him to and spent more time investing in my life than most dad's can say for themselves and prayed for me daily (and still does.  Thank you, Dad!).  My mom told me often that I was beautiful and encouraged me that I didn't "need" make-up as she showed me how to apply mascara when I asked her to.  She prayed for me daily, as well, and still does. (Thank you, Mom!)  They were always a motivation for me to stick around.  I'm telling you, I was feeling desperate.  Again, as childish and petty as these things may have appeared to an adult, my insecure middle school brain just couldn't process it in a "normal" human way.  That age of people aren't "normal".  It's the most UNnormal age of life.  Yes.  Observe and understand how ABnormal it is!

There were knives that sat on the counter all tucked neatly in their slots of the wooden knife block.  I'd go to the kitchen to get a drink of water just so I could stand there and stare at them and decide, once again, that I wasn't going to take one out.  My heart would pound and my palms would get all sweaty.  I'd finally snap out of my trance and put the cup down and pad off to bed.  This wasn't at our house in Powell.  It was at a cabin that we'd rent for a week in the summer up in the mountains.  I loved that cabin.  The mountains made me feel renewed, alive, revived.  Thats when Satan would attack the hardest.  Getting away with my dear family to an environment that has always spoken to my heart the strongest, he'd fight to keep my attention on the trouble awaiting me at home.  The trouble of striving to fit in, to be liked, to be called by my real name.  To keep a friend that would WANT to hang out with me in school.  I know it's disturbing.  I know it's no fun to read.  It's no fun to remember.  It's honestly no fun to write, but I feel like it needs to be written.  There's just no way to know how their little brains are processing things.  Maybe someone will read this that remembers saying something not very nice and think that it just wasn't that big of a deal.  And it probably wasn't.  But to my brain it WAS.  To their brains it IS!  Me, a little girl from a strong Christian family with loving parents and loving siblings stood in the kitchen of a mountain cabin staring at the knives in the knife block, deciding which one would be the most pain free.  (Take heart, knife blocks no longer torture my thoughts.  God has used my experiences from grade school and middle school to make me who I am today.)  My heart cries when I see the akward one.  The picked on one.  The unliked one.  I know them.  I know their hearts.  I fear for them.  I pray for them.  I probably should do something with them, ministry wise, but until tonight I've never felt that strong of an urgency.  I guess I have felt it, but I've wrongly ignored it.  This is my first step in ignoring it no longer.  ( And I'm sure this isn't the norm for every middle school aged childs brain, but I fear it's more par for the course than we'd like to think.)
My challenge to you, parent or not of a child in this akward stage, PRAY.  Don't be paranoid, but PRAY! TALK! LOVE! ENCOURAGE! UNDERSTAND! LISTEN! WATCH! PROTECT!

I was serious enough about those knives in that block.  Had I not had the family that I had.  Had I not been covered in the prayer that I was shrouded in.  Had I not been held and rocked and listened to.  Knives or no knives, I was serious enough about getting out.  Had I not been embraced...
EMBRACE AND PRAY!




p.s.  No.  I wasn't ALL horrible!  Satan capitolized on the pain I was experiencing and had a royal time with my thought life for a while, but other than that wrinkle (that was HUGE for a while) I had rockin good childhood!

Fragile Mind

I stayed up late last night to finish a movie I knew I shouldn't have started.  Netflix is a curse.  I'm not sure it's ever been a blessing.  Maybe it is for some.  But lately I've been questioning whether I can consider a link to endless hours of mindless entertainment to be a blessing.  I've watched a few good shows on there.  Ones that are glorifying, and fit into the category of "whatever is true, whatever is right" etc.  But most don't.  And most I watch don't.  This movie fit into the "don't".  I don't think there was anything inherently wrong with the movie, other than the fact that the F bomb was used more times than any other movie I've watched.  (And good GRACIOUS how I HATE.THAT.WORD!  What a worthless word!  It takes NO intelligence, NO creativity, NO language skills at all to use that ridiculous waste of breath in a sentence!) - back to the movie.  The word fit the culture the movie was representing, so I understand why they used it.  There wasn't anything scary. There wasn't anything too terribly disturbing.  It received serious cuddos at the Sundance Film Festival.  It was a documentary.  There were a number of other things that needed to be done, but I chose to sit and watch the movie instead.  
I had taken an excedrin PM at 8:30, but the half a box of hot tamales I ate during the movie fought hard against the PM part of the little blue pills.  I struggled to fall asleep for 2 1/2 hours.  My mind simply would NOT shut off!  The scenes of the movie played through my memory like a damaged CD skipping back and playing just one section of a song over and over again.  Short snippets of torment keeping me from sweet, rejuvenating, healing sleep.  I hated the movie for it!  I hated that I'd watched it!  I hated that I couldn't seem to pray enough to keep the snippets from playing.  As a reminder, there really wasn't anything about the movie that should have been so emotional for me.  It was just a documentary about a man plagued with the addiction of eating.  After a heart attack at an early age, he ditched his lifestyle, family and culture and secluded himself in the mountains to live in a dumpy trailer, away from the temptations that bombarded him each minute of the day.  He lost over 100 pounds in less than a year and returned home.  That's good, right?!  He found a way to fight his addiction and overcome!  He was triumphant!  
With morning's light I realized it wasn't the movie at all.  
I have a fragile mind.  Being a mother has brought this to the forefront of my attention and I've learned through trial and error that I have to put forth a very constant, conscious effort to protect the mind that God has given me.  I'm emotional.  I'm easily rattled by results of the depravity of man.  My heart pains easily as a result of the gift of empathy that I've been given.  If not handled correctly, it controls me.  Isn't this the downfall of mankind?!  This VERY thing!  The gifts that our sweet Creator gave us are the VERY downfall of mankind!  In our sunken, depraved minds we let these gifts breed pride.  We let them breed despair.  We let them control and distract us from who we are called to be.  (a blessing as I write this is watching through the office window as my two olders play beautifully together in our backyard).  I've been given empathy.  I've been given a fragile mind.  I believe that empathetic minds ARE fragile minds!  But if not protected... yikes.  I chose to sit and "be" instead of "doing" last night.  I was tired of "doing" after a long week of "doing".  Instead of choosing to "be" in the presence of the ONLY one that could rejuvenate me, I chose to "be" in the presence of yet another glaring picture of the pain of the depravity of man.  Another withdrawal from a heart under protected.  It's like a bank with an overdraft charge.  That movie was an overdraft charge.  I wasn't emotionally prepared, I wasn't emotionally protected to watch it.  If not protected, my gift of empathy controls me.  I've done little to protect my heart.  I've done little, of late, to protect the fragile mind that I've been given.  Watching a seeming harmless movie was overdraft from an already depleted account. 
 An artist that has been a drink of fresh cool water to my soul sings a song who's lyrics nestle right in with this. Here's a link to it.  I apologize at my lack of savvyness to create a hyperlink.  Listen to it please.  Please.   http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Py6KM5GDkQw&feature=related
Hopefully pasting a link in here actually works. If not, type into youtube, "Audrey Assad restless".  If you listen to this song it pretty much sums of the rest of what I could write.  There isn't any better way to describe it.  Here are the lyrics:
You dwell in the songs that we are singing
Rising to the Heavens
Rising to Your heart
Our praises filling up the spaces
In between our frailty and everything You are
You are the keeper of my heart

And I'm restless
I’m restless
'Til I rest in You
(Oh God I wanna rest in You)

Oh speak now for my soul is listening
Say that You have saved me
Whisper in the dark
'Cause I know You’re more than my salvation
Without You I am hopeless
Tell me who You are
You are the keeper of my heart

Still my heart
Hold me close
Let me hear a still small voice
Let it grow
Let it rise
Into a shout
Into a cry

  I didn't "be" in the only rejuvinating presence in my life, but instead chose to "be" in one more thing of the world, one more thing that depletes my fragile mind.  The only way that ANY human, that ALL mankind can expect to survive this broken world is to protect their gifts.  To protect their minds.  Protect their hearts.  Protect from overdraft.  The mind is fearfully and wonderfully made.  But don't be a fool and think that it controls itself.  Don't think that YOU can control your mind without help!  Left unprotected it will drive you mad.  We, and I do mean ALL of humanity, are restless until we rest in Him.  It's the hard truth of the matter.  It's inescapable!  If you think you are outside of this it will only be matter of time until you learn that you are very wrong.  I continue to learn the hard way.  I continue to choose to test.  I continue to proceed unprotected.  I continue to "be", to "rest" in things that will only make me restless.  And last night, as sick and exhausted and desperate as I was for sleep, I was too restless to sleep.  Despite being doped up on benadryl, despite being worn from an emotional activity filled week, despite being sleep deprived, I laid in best restless with an unprotected mind.  I will remain restless until I rest in Him.  YOU, yes, even YOU will remain restless until you rest in Him!      

Stronger Faith

I don't remember who it was that wrote it or where it was that I read it, but in a book a while back I read the author's words about the faith of those who support the theory of evolution needing to be stronger than the faith of those who take stock in Creationism, and ultimately stronger than those who put their faith in Christ.  I thought about it briefly before continuing to read and not giving it much more thought.  This morning I sat and fed my 11 month old son his oatmeal and marveled at his beauty as he giggled at his brothers who were eating their cereal at the dining room table.  Those words came to my mind as I watched and admired just a tiny fraction of the "fearfully and wonderfully made" parts of his little life.  The automatic response of his mouth opening every time the spoon moves toward him.  Most the time he's not even looking at me.  He's busy watchin his brothers, but his 11 month old brain is able to recognize and respond when it's time for another bite.  
The goop at the corner of his eyes from the virus he's been fighting.  The diffused sunlight streaming through the dining room window behind him revealing all the tiny blood vessels that nourish the thin tissue in his ear.  The way he tries to and succeeds most of the time at mimicking the sounds his brother's make.  The way that even though his brother's show very LITTLE sign of belonging in my genetic line, I think he shows promise of looking at least a LITTLE like my family.  The way he's already formed a habit, reaching back and pulling at the precious curly hair that grows on the back of his head.  The way that, even though he knows how to and at times does crawl normally, he usually drags himself along on his belly because he's learned that it's a faster mode of transportation for him.  The way that his system does exactly as it should to pass through indigestible matter, such as the soft pine needles he often finds on the floor and eats, so that I find them in his diaper.  
There isn't really a stopping point for this.  The human body in all it's wonder is, in my opinion, the strongest case for our Creator, but everything else in existence is too.  So I agree.  I agree that it takes much stronger faith to believe in happenstance.  Much stronger faith to believe in a universe with no one in charge.  But what a discouraging faith to have.  A faith that leads to no where except a meaningless, ending existence.  A faith that puts stock in everything being an accident.  Nothing on purpose - no reason for the endless pain.  No point in loving or cherishing with a bitter end of ceasing to exist on the near horizon.  No hope.  Our faith may seem weak to some.  It may seem weak to believe in someone in charge of everything and everyone.  There's too many undeniable marvels of His creation.  I choose faith in my Creator.  I choose hope.  I choose salvation from the gut wrenching pain of this broken world.  I choose to be loved by the One that created my every part.  My children's every part.  Everyone's and everything's every part.  I choose Him.  For those of you who haven't, I do not envy the dispair you feel when you lose a loved one and have no hope of seeing them again, ever, in all eternity.  I do not envy the hopelessness you feel when you think of the end of your own life.  I do no envy the lack of hope you feel when you think that you are in full control of your own life.  I do no envy the end you will ultimately meet.  There's hope and salvation for every soul who accepts it.  It's never too late.  You are never too far gone.  You are never sinful enough to not be accepted.  You don't have to be without hope.  You don't have to be headed for a devistating end.  You don't have to be steeped in dispair.  We are broken, we've chosen to be broken and until the end, that has already been written, comes to pass we will continue to experience the brokenness of this earthly existence.  But OH the hope and OH the peace and OH the joy.  OH the promise that nothing else can offer!

Three'll do it!

Almost 4 years ago now I had a conversation with a childhood friend while we sat in her living room watching her 3 kiddos and my one son play.  I asked if they were planning on having any more and she responded with an exhausted chuckle, "3 is enough!"  I remember thinking she was crazy to think that.  I, at the time was just beginning to experience what it was like to have a child walking around the house getting in to everything.  I had NO idea what I was in for in the coming years.  Though I STILL cannot see us having only 3 children, I think three is quite enough, for now.  So much so, in fact, that I've been looking into a more permanent form of birth control.  The ones that don't rely on my consistency from day to day, but just sit and do their job for 3 years.  I don't know that it will be 3 years, but it might.  We'd love to adopt next, but it's hard for me to even begin praying about that possibility during THIS season of my mothering.

I took Elijah on a date last night, just him and me, and he was SO very excited about it!  We were headed out to the car and skipping, he said in a sing-songy voice, "Going on a date.  Just me and MOMMY!"  My dear friend has her 31st birthday on Saturday and set up a 5k (3.1 miles....get it?  She's so clever!) in honor of turing 31.  I'm not usually competitive, but she's giving bags from the "Thirty-One" company (I know, she's SO clever!) for 1st, 2nd and 3rd place.  I WANT a bag!  So I've been running whenever I can this week.  Last night was my last night to run before the race, but I felt convicted that I should do a date with Elijah instead.  So I did it.  And we really had fun!  I've been frustrated with his seeming lack of progress these last few months.  Sometimes it feels for us like we've got a reign on his behavior and other times it feels like we have an almost 5 year old that still acts like his 2 1/2 year old brother.  It will never cease to amaze me how getting OUT with just ONE of my children gives me an entirely new and fresh perspective on who they are!  I still had to ask him to stop doing things that he does every other time we are in public, but I was calm about it, instead of irritated.  I didn't have a 2 1/2 year old and a 10 month old to wrangle as well.  I was able to pour all my attention into JUST him and he didn't seem so unmanageable to me.  At all!  It was so refreshing. We sat and ate our frozen yogurt while he poured out one question after another about whatever his little brain was noticing.  Normally his questions exhaust me, but they didn't last night.  I just answered them the best I could, and some of the times even answered them with HUMOR!  I know!  It's nuts!  I was able to have FUN while answering his questions!  It's incredible how much harder it is to have a sense of humor or wonder about anything while lugging 3 little boys around all at the same time.  It seemed to easy to have just him!  God KNEW I needed that last night.  I may have burnt off some angst if I had run last night, but I would NOT have woken up with the perspective on Elijah that I did this morning, had I not forfeited my run for a date with him.  We moved Elijah to the guest room (for the millionth time) last night after Judah proved to me incapable of NOT talking to him.  Judah was still awake and blabbing at 9pm!  And hour after he's normally alseep.  This has been a frustrating reality for weeks now and regardless of the punishment we use, it's just.not.stopping!  I layed in bed and tried to fall asleep from 9:15 until 10:30 - thats the last time I checked the clock.  Joel woke up at 5:40 when Josh was in and out of the dresser getting clothes.  He started fussing from the closet he sleeps in (I know...) which shares a wall with the boy's closet.  It wakes Judah up every.morning!  Judah was up at 5:50, after not falling asleep until 9:30.  I tell you what...9 hours of sleep is NOOOOOOOT enough for a 2 1/2 year old boy!  He's been telling me by 9am every day that he's "tired" and "ready for nap".  He didn't go back to sleep.  At all.  He just sat in his room and screamed at me from the tippy top of his lungs.  Phew.  That boy has got some serious lungs.  And again, regardless of the punishment used to try and stop this screaming, it just doesn't.stop.  On top of all this I had woken up in the night with a fever and sweats and felt like a smashed toad on the road when I woke up this morning.  Sleep is the ONE thing that can get rid of this virus and I'm not really getting enough of it!

I've been on the receiving end of comments like, "I just don't think you are cut out to have a big family."  Or, "Why would you ever think about having more children or adopting!?"  Ouch.  I want a big brood.  Ever since I met my husband and saw his family's dynamic (he's the 2nd of 7 children), I've wanted a lot of kids.  I see the reward my beautiful and gracious mother-in-law has in her multiple children who have indeed risen up to call her blessed.  My dear friend that shares in my exhuastion (having 3 littles herself) and has seen me at my worst with my boys gave me a mother's day card this year that said several encouraging things and ended with "I KNOW you will have children that will rise up and call you blessed!".  (Thank you Joia!  That card came in the NICK of time!)  I have had family that has encouraged me gently in the areas that I am lacking while praising the areas that I am doing well.  I have friends that I've wept to about my struggles with patience and keeping my temper tell me that I am NOT alone!
Life is an interesting road.  I have dear friends and family who LONG with all they are to be blessed with a child to raise.  Here I sit LONGING for time away from my children!  They are able to be in the midst of their situation and graciously and patiently wait on the Lord's timing, and keep the complaining to a minimum, or to not complain at ALL!  I'm exhuasted from wiping poopy butts, scraping dried caked food off the floor, table, walls and chairs.  I'm exhuasted from saying countless times a day, "please stop screaming", "do NOT speak to mommy that way", "you may NOT hit your brother!".  I'm exhausted from not ever having enough sleep.  I'm exhausted from not being able to do some of the other things I love, like working in the garage, or working on my "Booties For Food" project, which has suffered greatly in the past few months.  I'm exhausted from always having 3 littles who depend on me completely for food, drink, safety.  It's a seriously taxing job and anyone who thinks that stay at home moms have it easy, .....I have words for you!
  Speaking GENTLY to my children is a true challenge for me.  I love that I have very dear friends that have confirmed to me that this is VERY normal thing!  That in this, I am NOT alone!  It seems to make logical sense that if something is said louder and harsher it will get the point across better.  Of course this is not the case, but that is usually the realization that comes AFTER it's said, not before.
There's no fancy transitions in this post, not catchy hooks at the beginnings of the paragraphs that probably shouldn't even be new paragraphs.  It's not organized.  I just needed to write it.  This is why I feel like 3 is enough right now.
There are so many parts of motherhood that I will look back on and miss once my little boys are grown and not under our roof anymore. Many of these same things are the reason why, this morning, I sat on the kitchen floor and cried when I bent down to wipe up the millionth puddle of spilt orange juice that was streaked down the cabinet. Elijah asked me after I got back up and came to sit with them while they ate breakfast, "Will this help you stop crying Mommy, if I tell you I love you very much?"... This is why I do what I do. Because I love my boys more than I can describe. I feel that most of the time I'm too exhausted to be a great mother (and I KNOW that I'm not alone in this!), but I love my boys and will continue to humble myself at my Creator's feet begging for wisdom and strength to finish this season of my life with a resounding bang of victory! For this is the task that he has called ME to!

Grieving with non-aquaintences

I thought about it even through The Hunger Games.  I've thought and dreamt about it since Monday morning when I found the blog, and then Tuesday afternoon when my husband walked in the kitchen after being at the computer and said, "The baby with the bucket list died."  I've been off and on painting my room for the past month and tried to finish it here in this naptime, but I had to stop after only a couple strokes of the brush and come downstairs to type this.  My mind had been completely preoccupied by the pain that I can only imagine these people are feeling.  These people that lost their baby girl to SMA (many of you know who I'm writing about) this past Monday not even a month after they found out she had it, and that they'd be losing her for sure before she turned two.  They didn't even have a MONTH to prepare.
I slept today during naptime for 30 minutes or so and I dreamt about her, about them.  I dreamt about the nauseating pain that mama is feeling everytime she wakes up in the morning thinking that she hears her sweet baby's coos only to be reminded that Avery is gone for good.  Everytime she sees one of the dirty diapers in the trash pail that she changed not even 48 hours ago.  Everytime she looks at the bathmat she had just given her a bath on.  Everytime she smells her precious little clothes and sees those precious little pink shoes sitting my the front door.  Everytime she sees that picture of Avery smiling that her husband took not 20 minutes before Avery's heart failed.  Everytime she takes a breath, wishing beyond all reason that she could squeeze her baby.  That she could make her smile.  Not one last time, like everyone says.  Thats ridiculous!  But for ALL her days!  For all her days until SHE dies, not till the baby dies!  No mama should have to bury her baby.  There's just too.much.pain!
I don't know this pain.  I don't know the twisting in the gut.  I've lost relative babies, and that pain was horrid.  But I've never lost one of my own.  I laid on the ground in the living room and cried so hard I thought my eyes would shrivel up when I found out my sister-in-law was going to lose her sweet Jude.  I don't think I cry for the babies.   Maybe briefly.  But for their mamas.  Oh for their mamas!  The babies don't know the difference, and compared to what they are seeing with their perfect eyes, and what they are experiencing with their flawless bodies now, the times of joy life in this world can bring doesn't hold a candle to sitting on Jesus' knee.  Maybe that sounds calloused.  I don't think being calloused about this is something I struggle with.  I'm happy for the babies.  Even jealous.  But for their mamas!
In these kinds of cases, in particular, I wonder if Eve had been given the opportunity to see even ONE of the pain that these mothers would have to go through, would she have changed her mind about how persuasive the serpant seemed?  Would she have just laughed in his face and said, "screw you!  Go to hell!"  Or, in her weak human flesh would she still have been too drawn in.  What severe consequences we see for living in a broken world!
So, my hold up is, God has blessed me with a gift of empathy with others.  I KNOW that being able to empathize with other's pain is important.  I KNOW that it is Godly, but I find myself having hard time stepping out of that and being able to come back to reality in a timely manner.  Like when my parent's got divorced.  It made me physically sick for MONTHS, partly because I was so distraught over the loss of my immediate family's one-ness, but a lot because it was so hard to see that pain that came with breaking off a 29 year marriage.
I know it's good to weep with others, I just sometimes can't seem to stop.  With this, this recent wave of babies dying (probably mostly because it's being more publicized now), there seems to be just one slam of grief after another.  Even when I don't know them.  I've never met them.  Maybe because I have a baby of my own right now?  It makes me sick to my stomach to think of not waking up to his sweet, "ma ma" in the morning!  It makes me sick to my stomach to think of not being able to squeeze him and kiss his sweet chunky neck.
I know what part of the problem is!  It's that poor bastard Satan!  He uses my empathy as a tool to drive fear into the deepest parts of who I am!  What a sick bastard!  What a sorry son of gun he is!  Go to hell, you sicko!                               Phew.  Sorry about that cussing.
I weep for these parents because of their immediate loss.  The pain of their immediate loss, but I think that one of the reasons I'm hung up on them in-particular is because there is NO mention of seeing her again ANYWHERE on their blog.  I'm pretty sure there's no reassurance in their hearts that they will.  Which to me in the most unimagineable thing possible!  To lose a baby and be hopeless that she's just gone for good.  There's no joy.  No more Avery ever, not even after death.    If only they knew they could see her sweet precious smile again!  Dear GOD I hope someone in their life sees this need in them.  Maybe they are saved, but the way the blog is written, there's no indication of it.  You can see your baby again, people!  It may be a long time, and the road is going to SUCK!  But you can see her again!  And take heart that she is living in pure glory right now!  And hold tight to Jesus!  With tears soaking my computer table, I am SO sorry you can't hold your baby!                         Oh the pain!

And with all that being said, I think it's ok for me to read less.

And I cried

I laid in bed for the better part of the day yesterday while my inner ear threw it's fit.  Laying on my left side and looking straight forward seems to help.  Or sleeping.  I slept off and on quite a bit yesterday.  In between sleep cycles I would hear Joel fussing downstairs (he just doesn't fuss, really ever) and I dispaired over the fact that I quite literally could not physically get out of bed to see what was wrong.  I knew he was in good hands and being taken care of, but my mothering instincts were hit hard as I was forced to just listen and not respond.  So I just laid, staring straight forward and cried.  My beautiful friend, Terri Kennedy, was watching him and brought him up after trying everything she could think to get him to stop fussing.  I laid him down next to me and nursed him and it was incredibly therapeudic for both of us.  I cried more.  
I feel like I'm back at the beginning of this frustrating and discouraging journey.  The first vertigo attack that I had over two years ago was by far the worst (I wasn't fortunate enough at the time to have Zofran at my disposal), but this one came in as a close second.  I've gone without a true attack for over a year and half, so I figured they'd just decided to leave me be.  This one came out of no where.  In the past year and a half any time my left ear "stuffs up" (hearing diminishes) I always had something I could blame it on.  One of the kids was sick and I must be fighting something off.  I was recently sick.  My allergies have been bad lately.  I ate something with gluten in it.... etc.  I laid in bed ALL day sifting through my memory to see if I could find something, anything that I could blame this surprise attack on.  Thats the worst part for me about this one.  I can't blame it on anything.  I want to be in control, as humans always do, but I can't this time (not that I was right any other time, but it gave me comfort to blame something)  There's nothing.  It came like a freight train, stayed a while and left me feeling car sick, weak and afraid of when it might come back again.  I've read many a blog of sufferers of vertigo attacks that voice the fear they live in.  The always anticipated and unknown arrival of yet another attack.  When will the next one happen?  Can I travel?  Will I be driving with my 3 precious boys in the car?  Will it be when Josh is gone for 2 weeks in May?   Will it be when all my friends are at work or gone or busy and can't just drop everything and come to my rescue.  I'm not sure how yesterday would have looked had I not been able to call Joia and Terri to come take care of my boys.  I couldn't stand.  I could barely lift my head off the pillow.  It's like being in a "Gravitron" at the fairgrounds.   
My fight is NOT letting the fear sink into my soul.  If we all feared everything that COULD happen, we'd live a life steeped in dispair.  It's a true struggle for me to not let it color grey everything that happens in my life, from day to day, like it did before it stopped a year and a half  ago.  I got really excited about something today.  Then it crossed my mind, "oh yeah.  I had a vertigo attack yesterday.  They are back.  When is it going to happen again?  Will I be able to take a Zofran in time or will I heave my guts out?  Will someone be able to take care of my boys?  How long will it last?..." etc.   
These are my fears.  These are very real fears for people who suffer with vertigo attacks.  I know them to be fears straight from the pit of hell, but it doesn't make it any easier to ward them off.  I'm in a constant battle now to NOT fear the unknown.  When and where will it happen next?  Does this mean I have Meniere's?  Am I going to go deaf in my left ear?  Is someone else going to have to raise my children while I lay like an invulid in bed?  Am I going to have to forfeit being a "fun" wife for my husband?  Am I going to become a burden on my loved ones?  These are my battles.  I pray all day and wipe dry the tears the well in my eyes everytime it comes to mind, which right now is very frequent.

On matters of life, and throwing a towel. (a passionate rant)

I had grand plans of "crafting" this evening, as my husband is at work and the boys are down for bed.  The directions that the day took geared me to a much different evening.  I sat for a good long while and had a good hard weep on the tile step to our laudry room.  There's no dramatic effect intended in my detailing of where I cried and how long I cried, it's just to give clarity to just how broken my heart is over the matters that circulate through my mind.  I literally could not step any further without sitting down and weeping for a good long while.  For those of you who follow my musings on facebook it's no secret that I adore my husband.  And I adore my children.  I am blessed with a solid marriage, and blessed with 3 very perfectly healthy, beautiful boys.  I'm also not a secret keeper in how hard we are on our boys.  They don't get away with any malarkey.  We spank, we have a somewhat flexible set schedule for the way each day looks in regards to naptimes/ snack times.  We don't allow back talk.  We don't allow disrespect.  We don't allow intentional destructive behavior, intentional injury of others, deceptiveness, intentional badgering....and the list continues.  We raise our boys in a way that we believe God has called us to raise them.  Yes there are days that I feel lazy and I HATE being consistent on  each and every battle we have chosen to fight, but it.must.be.done!  Consistency MUST happen!  I more often than not go to bed frustrated with the multiple ways I failed as a mother on any given day.  I fail A LOT!
My husband and I both bend over backwards to serve eachother, even when we are exhausted and feeling lazy and selfish.  Going 100% of the way for eachother is the way our marriage keeps ticking.  We bless eachothers socks off at any chance we get and we adore eachother because of it.  We fill eachothers "love tanks" any any opportunity and we are nearing our 7th anniversary.  It's not perfect, but we WORK FOR IT!  Satan aint touchin this!  


Now on to why I wept.  I've always sucked a praying consistently for anything, even if it's something as close to me as my own personal pain or affliction.  It's not a habit as it should be, and I honestly don't think to do it first and foremost like I should, before just letting panic, worry or frustration set in.  That being said, keep in mind that I am NOT finding a "holier than thou" soap box to stand upon.  I'm not look to preach.  I'm not looking to lecture - though it will probably come across as all the above.  I'm mearly crying out for action!  I know this is going to piss some people off.  I know this is going to offend some people.  I know this is going to open some old wounds.  The past is past.  This isn't a judgement.  It's a call for PROACTIVE action!  It's time NOW, to start acting!


Isn't it just like Satan to do anything he can to distract us and shield us away from the direction we've been called.  Husbands, you are called to provide, be faithful, be loving, to protect, to be gentle, to serve and on and on and on.  BE FAITHFUL - in body AND in MIND!!!!  Wives, we are called to RESPECT!!!!!!!, to love, to serve and again on and on and on.  Parents, we are called to raise our children "in the way he should go"!!!  That means discipline!  That means consistency!  That means figuring out how your child learns and figuring out what motivates them to make the right choices in their little minds and guiding them, GENTLY, in that direction!  (PLEASE know that I am speaking as much to myself here as to anyone else - I do not have a quiet spirit nor am I very gentle or loving in my guiding of my two oldest boys)   Children absolutely THRIVE on structure, schedules, discipline....  They are NOT animals!  They are NOT adults!  Do what you have to do to understand as much as you can about their little sponge brains and pray your heart out for them!  PRAY FOR THEM!  I do NOT do this enough!  They are the up and coming adults of this world and the continued spreading of God's word is going to be left in their hands once we are gone.  BUT HOW can we expect them to be upstanding men and women of God when we do NOT model that for them!  HOW can we expect them to keep their priorities straight when they see us, day in and day out, put one thing after another as a priority above them and about our Creator!?  How can we expect them to be loving and faithful husbands and wives when we throw in the towel after just a few short years of marriage and call it quits?!  How can we expect our little girls to respect themselves when we continue, as mothers, to show them it's ok for women to dress in provocative ways or simply to just show TOO MUCH SKIN!?!??!  How can we expect our little girls to value their hearts more than their bodies when we indulge in every body altering method available?!?!  How can we expect our little boys to steer clear of sexual temptation when explicit materials are IN THEIR HOMES?!?!?!  How can we expect them to steer clear of sexual indulgence when we buy in to a culture that splatters half naked women EVERYWHERE!??  THEY DON'T STAND A CHANCE!  WE HAVE TO PRAY!  How can we expect them to love Jesus and put him first when we don't do this?!  When we spend more time on facebook (again, speaking to MYSELF!) and mindlessly web surfing instead of plastering our faces in the life guide that God wrote out for us?!  Our computers, iPods, iPads, iEverything will NEVER see the number of dust specs of neglect that our Bibles see!



 DON'T give up!  PRAY FOR OUR CHILDREN!  PRAY FOR US!  We are experiencing a multifaceted assault from the most wretched being in existence and we are LETTING him win!  CLOSE your eyes to the nakedness plastered everywhere.  You will NEVER be able to justify indulging!!  CLOSE your eyes to the convenience of getting out of a marriage that doesn't work! (As a daughter from a broken family I understand that sometimes there is no other way than out - I do not judge!)  CLOSE your eyes to the ridiculous HANDS OFF approach that society calls us to have as parents and discipline your children the way "THEY" need.  CLOSE your eyes to the blatant disrespect for anything to do with the worship or praise of our Creator and praise him openly!  CLOSE your eyes to the pressures of this overpowering "babylonian" culture that steer you to look down on your own body!  CLOSE your eyes to the over indulgent attitude that our generation is steeped in!  PRAY for our generation.  We are losing our grip!  Don't throw in the towel!

Blogging Fail!

It's become quite clear that I just don't blog well, at all. I will try to update soon. The pictures are way behind. There has been too many pages of thoughts run through my head in the last couple months to update all that, but I'll do my best to sum things up. Life is good, for those of you who see this but not my facebook page. Facebook is my main typed word outlet. So following our lives on there is much more imformative. :)