Four Cold Water Bottles

It's Friday morning. Lyla is at a friend's house. I'm supposed to be cleaning my house with these precious, quiet hours but instead I'm sitting here at my kitchen table watching the giant, dead bush separating our yard from our neighbors' get cut down. It was on their property and they wanted to take it out. I don't love change. And I didn't love that bush. But it gave us a certain amount of privacy that felt good. It separated us from them. So I am freaking out a little on the inside, but I can't help but notice how much brighter our backyard is now... 

I've got this song on repeat this morning. I can't believe I didn't know about it before. It's hitting me right in the soul as I watch this bush come down. My heart hurts for people in our city. There are drugs. There's domestic violence. There is poverty. There is pain. There is brokenness. And these are the people I see at the grocery store. These are the people Eric works with at the clinic. These are the families of the babies he's delivered. These are our neighbors and we feel deeply for them. But we also struggle with burnout. It can be frustrating and hard to serve. It gets draining. It often seems pointless and we don't always see positive change. 

We sometimes think we need to do a lot... That we need to help this person beat their addiction or get this baby into a safer home situation. We want the man on the street corner to be able to find work or the woman in a bad relationship to get out. We feel this huge burden for our neighbors and a deep desire to help but it can get overwhelming and paralyzing. 

Maybe it's actually easier to love people than we think... Maybe it starts with four cold water bottles for the guys cutting down the dead bush out back. Or letting someone go first in line at the grocery store. Maybe it's waving at the man around the corner who sits outside his house in his wheelchair watching his dogs. Or teaching the next generation how to love our neighbors and each and every person they see, regardless of our differences...

There is a lot of hurt in our world. There's a lot of hurt in this country. There is a lot of hurt in Muncie, Indiana. There's even a lot of hurt in our little neighborhood. But there's actually a lot we can do about it. We just need to open our eyes to the wounds and let a little light in. 

I'm still sitting here at my kitchen table, but now there are tears streaming down my face as I see the four guys sitting in the shade taking a breather with said water bottles. I'm praying that God keeps showing us simple ways we can love. We can't always fix the deep wounds... We often don't even know what they are... But we can offer rest. A moment of peace. A cool drink of water. 

The dead bush is gone. There's no longer a mess of branches and leaves and twigs to separate us from our neighbors. A barrier has literally been broken down. What. A. Gift. What a beautiful opportunity to get to know them... To share and to love. There's already more light out back and I have a feeling it's just going to get brighter. 

The Day After Yesterday...

Yesterday was crazy busy. Eric was getting off of a night shift, Lyla and I got ready for and went to church together, we had plans with friends for lunch and then hosted small group at our house in the afternoon. It was a lot of stuff in a short period of time, which I don't mind so much once in a while, but it was a lot for my poor two-year-old. I fell asleep last night feeling bad about some poor parenting and woke up feeling even worse. I've been thinking a lot about why it was so hard and, while I'm trying not to give in to mom-guilt, I'm hoping to learn a few things and make things better next time we have a busy day. 

It was a day full of new people and new things. Overwhelming. No nap. Exhausted. Meals all wonky. Hungry. Meltdowns that I tried to brush off as no big deal... Little girl clinging to me when I was trying to set out snacks for small group... A goat-bit finger and excessive dog licking that probably frightened her a good deal... All things that I responded poorly to. And why? Because I was embarrassed. Because I was fearful of being judged. 

This is probably a direct result of judging other parents too harshly. We all do it, and with social media, we've got even more targets and ammo at our fingertips. This parent is being too clingy or that parent is too hands-off.... There's no winning for anyone. That sweet-spot in parenting is impossible to hit all the time... That place where you won't be judged for being too hands-on and or too hands-off. Managing to strike the perfect balance so your kids won't need years of therapy to undo all that you did. We are so hard on each other as parents and it only serves to bring us down and take away from our kids. I get so caught up in trying to be the best parent so that no one can say anything bad about the way I do things... Making sure I don't give in to the fussing and whining... Not responding to owies too dramatically and not babying too much... Nurturing as much as possible while allowing for independence... I'm so scared of the opinions of others that I end up not thinking about things from her perspective. Sure, those parenting goals are important and useful, but by worrying about the opinions of others, I can miss perfect opportunities to comfort and calm and nurture and build her up. 

Yesterday was rough. And I worried that my poor parenting had done irreversible damage (dramatic, much?!?) But today was a fresh start... Another chance to do things right. So, that's what we did. We had a pj morning and did whatever Lyla wanted to do. We had a 'yes' day, inspired by another friend who recently shared that she did the same. Rather than saying a million 'no's and correcting every single little thing, I said 'yes' as much as I could, and I tried hard to let the little things go. My heart is full, and my girl has sweet new memories with her mama. Win win. 

So, what did our 'yes' morning look like??

This. 

Yes to writing/mailing letters and coloring outside. Yes to the annoying straw ice cream cup.

Yes to jumping in puddles. In PJs. Over. And over. And over. And yes to piggy-back rides running around the yard.. Dirt? Mud? Wet? Looking like a fool? Letting it go. 

Yes to "visit daddy at work". Still in PJs and mama not close to looking presentable? Letting it go.

Yes to blowing bubbles. "All by myself." 

Bubbles dumped on mama? Letting it go.

Yes to a lunch of "crackers and cheese", with Minnie, in a big-girl chair, while wearing fancy shoes. 

Yes to cuddling in mamas bed while watching Veggies after nap. Shorter-than-usual nap? Letting it go. 

Things are looking up, my friends. I might even be able to sleep better tonight than last... With fewer worries that one rough  parenting day had ruined my little one... This whole parenting gig is hard. And it's near impossible when we are consumed with self-doubt and fear of judgement. We are all just doing the best we can and, when those inevitable poor-parenting days do happen, we can rest assured that tomorrow is a new day... That there is grace to cover every oops or "I wish I had"... That everyone else is in the same boat. Here's a virtual high-five. Keep up the good work, people! 

Sarah

Ray of Sunshine

Well, that's another road trip in the books.. And it's official. We've got a mom-car. It may not be a minivan, but it's got the same tell-tale used bandaids and stickers strewn about, more than the allotted daily serving of fruit snack wrappers and the all-too-familiar stench of McD's chicken nuggets. It. Is. Gross. 

And that's all just from one kid. 

We walk in the house and the living room, neat and tidy from days sans toddler becomes this within minutes...

She finds her dress up box and as I attempt to unload said nasty car, and I'm tripping over a tutu-wearing, VeggieTales-singing two year old, complete with microphone. 

And it is the best thing ever. 

Tomorrow morning we are having our weekly mom-date here at Casa Westergren and my sweet mama friends are going to have the privilege (ha) of getting to see our real-life, everyday selves... The ones that aren't unpacked and organized and neat and tidy. There very well may be used bandaids places and lingering chicken nugget smell. There will definitely be miss-matched dressing up and constant tripping over singing toddlers. But there will also be oh-so-much joy. Because the mess is proof of life well lived.. Of a safe trip home from Mimi and Bop's house. And of an imaginative little girl who feels safe to explore and create in her very own corner of the world. What gifts. 

We met Daddy at the hospital tonight and on the way in each and every person we passed smiled and stopped to say "hello" to Lyla. One older man, walking out of the hospital using oxygen looked down at her and said, "Well you are just a ray of sunshine on this gloomy day"... And it warmed this mama's heart.

There will be messes. Things may be a disaster and rather gross most of the time, but it is so so worth it. Because these sticky, smelly little ones bring so much joy into our crazy, messed up world. Tonight I am choosing to be grateful for the messy house... For the toy purse full of animal crackers that the dog sniffed out of the toy box tonight... And, especially, for the curious little girl behind it all... Because even in the mess, there are gifts. Precious reminders of blessings not to be taken for granted. 

"Mama! Butt All Messy!"

I recently read this blog post, written by a fellow Chick-Fil-A loving mom. My own mama had recommended it, saying it had made her laugh out loud. Now, my mom typically reserves her laughs for true hilarity, so I knew it must be good. I read. And I laughed. Hard. And I thought to myself, "Wow! We haven't had any really good poop stories since we became parents". Sure, we had a few newborn blowouts... One particular disgusting one that happened our first Sunday at church after she was born... In the sling... In the middle of the sermon... Without us knowing... But we had never had a really good deserving-of-its-own-blog-post poop story. UNTIL NOW.

The night had started like any other night... We went out for hamburgers with Lyla's very best friend. We burned off some energy at the playground. We came home and did her bath (the first one of the night...). We went back out to walk a friend's dog. And then came home and put our girl to bed. 

We were picking up the house and getting ready for bed, all the while listening to her sing in her crib (tonight "Oh Where is My Hairbrush" was her song of choice...) Daddy happened to walk down the hall and, passing her room, took a big whiff of the most horrendous smell. He opened the door and took one look and yelled for me...

Upon entering I, too, experience the stench and see a clean (CLEAN!!!) diaper lying on the floor next to a small pile of poo. Lyla standing in her poo-covered pj shirt in her poo-covered crib next to her poo-covered Bagoo water bottle (sorry Uncle Bagoo...) Surprisingly very little was on the sheet... Hmm... Moments later, I've got the girl standing in the bathtub and I'm spraying her down, when I hear Daddy holler again. This time louder. He had pulled the crib out from the wall and found an even bigger, more disgusting poo surprise behind her bed. 

***Enter all the choice words here***

She knew she wasn't supposed to poop in her diaper (we are loosely potty-training right now...) so she must have taken it off and squatted so that the majority of the mess would fall right out of her bed. Brilliant. If nothing else, we are raising a very SMART GIRL. Who would want poop in their actual bed!?!?

So, we got her cleaned up... Mama cleaned the girl. Daddy cleaned the EVERYTHING ELSE. The natural, homemade cleaning supplies traded for the big guns because POOP. The bedding changed and laundry started. The diffuser run with lemon and lavender oil to help with the smell and sleep. And then we sat down together and had a long, very repetitive, chat about how we DO NOT take diapers off and we DO NOT poop in bed. We laid her back down and listened to her sing ("Jesus Loves Me", this time) until she fell asleep... 

And I thought to myself, "Self, there's your very own blog-post-worthy poopy parenting story". Because surely someone else out there needs a good laugh. So, there you have it... No deep thoughts. No metaphors or lessons. No profound insights. Just a good poop story to make you laugh. Right now there is so much crap (ha. pun intended.) being spread around, especially social media. Gossip. Fear-mongering. Lies. Deceit. STRESS. And it really stinks (haha. pun very-much intended). So, hopefully this was the opposite of all that... A real-life story of real-life people doing their best to raise a real-life little girl... Poop messes and all. 

Scared

This morning we were rushing to get ready for church. Last night I was up way too late, struggling a bit with the midnight noises and a wandering, anxious mind. So I slept in way late... So late, in fact, that Eric had managed to drive and get gas, mow the yard, and finish the mulching. All before I got up. #rockstarhusband

So, we were getting ready for church and Lyla was hanging out in the bathroom with us so that we could supervise and avoid such things as coloring on the walls and peeing on the floor. I pulled out my blow dryer and explained to her that I was going to do my hair and that it would be loud. Her eyes got as huge as her Saturday morning pink sprinkle donuts and she said " scared". And my heart sank a little bit. As far as I can remember, we haven't really talked much with her about fear or being scared of things, but somehow she already knew to be anxious. 

I worry about this on a somewhat regular basis... Passing this anxiety, that I am so prone to experiencing, on to my little girl. Ironic, I know... Truth is, I never knew anxiety quite like I did after she was born... When the worries and fears seemed endless and the dark nights long, accompanied by a pounding heart and terrifying dreams. But here we are, coming up on her second birthday, and I can honestly say, I'M NO LONGER A SLAVE TO FEAR.

This does not mean I never get anxious. It doesn't mean I don't sometimes have long nights where I feel helpless to protect the ones I love. It doesn't mean that there aren't legitimate things in thing in this world that are scary. But by God's grace (and with a little help from some meds) it means that I can cope with the things that used to keep me up at night... That I can think clearly enough to pray for peace and protection... That I notice those things that trigger my fear and I choose to avoid them... That I can teach Lyla how to fight against the anxiety that very well might threaten to take her captive, too. 

Right now there are a lot of people in our world who want us to fear. Politicians. The media. Terrorists. It seems almost everyone has something to gain from our fear and it often feels like there's nothing to do but to give in to it. But there is such a beautiful freedom in the peace of Christ... The knowledge that nothing in this life can keep us away from Him... That there is no pain or sorrow in this world that heaven cannot redeem... Knowing that we do not have to live in fear of man, disease, heartbreak or hair dryers. 

We have a great Protector who takes good care of His children. And He will heal our hearts when this world does manage to break them. Fear does not own us. We can rest easy in the beautiful peace found in Jesus. So, friends, sleep well tonight. Know that you are deeply loved and fiercely cared for. It's a new week filled with it's own new challenges and anxieties. Let's be covered by grace and walk ahead confident that whatever happens, it's going to be alright. 

Sarah

PS: This morning in church, after Lyla's moment of "scared" in the bathroom, we sang this song. How fitting. And this second one... Well, it just fills me with hope for the times when our hearts do break and the pain of this world seems all too powerful. Be encouraged. 

Weeding

Monday was hot and muggy. It rained the night before. Hard. So everything was soaked and soggy. Kristen was here and rocking at the whole aunt-thing. Seriously, she and Lyla are besties. When they were playing together Monday morning, I saw a rare opportunity and I took it... A chance to tackle the weeds, uninterrupted. They were getting out of control, so I put on some gloves and started pulling. They were worse than I had originally thought. They were everywhere... Distracting from the good plants and stealing precious nutrients like little, spikey bandits. So I dug. And pulled. And dug. And sweat. A lot. And I found that with the rain the night before, and the right amount of digging, I could get them up and out quicker and easier than ever before. Funny how even nasty, pokey weeds can get me thinking... 

I've been a bit of a butt lately... As a wife, mama and friend. I've had to apologize to some of the people I love the most. I have had some nasty weeds growing in my heart... Comparison. Resentment. Pride. They take away from the good that is in me and they grow deeper and deeper if left unattended. They can hurt those around me and threaten to steal my joy. And they won't just go away on their own. They've got to be recognized and wrestled with... And even then, these dang weeds just keep coming back. I dig and pull and sweat and dig and they just pop right back up... Slow at first, so I don't even notice them until they are, once again, out of control. If I want them gone forever, I have to be on them constantly, and even then, others will grow in their place... 

So, I'm weeding... In more ways than one. I'm weeding my flower gardens around the house, and I'm doing a little weeding on my heart. I'm digging deep and pulling out the comparison, the thistles and the pride... I'm working on replacing them with beauty... With contentment and gratitude.

If there's only one thing people learn from this blog it is this... That grace is abundant. That it meets us when we are buried in the weeds and helps us dig out, one thistle at a time. It restores brokenness and heals our hurts. It patches up relationships when we act like butts. It makes things right again. So, this week I'm basking in some serious grace. I'm working on the weeds and hoping to grow more and more beauty in their place. 

Sweet, Beautiful Chaos

Today was our first family day in almost two weeks. And it was fun. And it was chaos. It was one of those days where, at the end of it, Eric and I just look at each other and ask, "When did this become our life???" He's brushing the dog's teeth while Lyla runs laps around the house wearing absolutely nothing. We finally get responsible and put a diaper on her and then join in on her little pre-bedtime workout. All four of us, dog included, running laps around the whole downstairs... Through the kitchen, dining room, living room, entry way, hall, family room and repeat. Over and over and over, laughing and hollering and barking and making sweet, loud, chaotic memories (miraculously no one got hurt and Lyla didn't run into any walls: WIN). 

This is the stuff of parenting that I love... The stuff that doesn't always make sense. Like giving a two-year-old a bowl of ice cream and brownies.. A serious mess, and often the reason she doesn't fall asleep for three hours, but totally necessary at the same time. Or wrestling on the floor, knowing that there will be a few accidental head-butts and gut-jumps, but also a very necessary part of childhood. Picking out flowers at the store and letting the two-year-old carry them around, knowing they will be a squished mess by the time they get into a vase. Setting up the pool and all the outdoor toys and then tearing it all down at night and picking up the entire mess of a yard over and over again. Sharing popsicles that melt all over hands and feet and white swimsuits and faces in the hot, hot sun. I'm starting to get it now... How special those things were that my parents did for me. And I'm learning to appreciate it even more now that I know how much extra work, mess and, sometimes, pain goes into making precious memories with kids. It would be so much easier to stay home, only feed her healthy and clean foods, only allow tidy play, and to only ever encourage her to be calm... To rarely go out and do activities, like bike rides, because anything with small children takes more work and more time and usually a little more stress...

It's a hassle. And it doesn't always make sense. But it is good. And it is so, so important. Because we only have these little ones for so long. I've been reminded several times lately that we only really have today with our people. Tomorrow is not a guarantee. We assume that we will get these 18 years with our kids, but none of us really know how much time we will have with them. So, we make messes. And we make memories. And we hold them a little extra tightly when they get owies or sit still for a rare moment. We give countless kisses and hugs and cuddles. And we push down inevitable feelings of guilt for not enjoying every single moment because this is REAL LIFE. Constant toddler meltdowns and poop in all the wrong places and endless fussing and bedtime fighting... Sometimes (ok, usually) hard to enjoy. But we balance the hard out with the good. We give thanks for the craziness that our life has become. Because, in all reality, it's all a gift. Every messy, chaotic activity we get to do together... Things to be grateful for. 

So, I sit here in the darkness and quiet of my still-not-unpacked bedroom, listening to Eric rocking our little girl and singing the VeggieTales theme song for the 3572nd time. She's been fighting bedtime a lot lately and tonight when we checked on her, Eric picked her up and said to me, "You go write. I don't get much time to snuggle with her." He gets it. Mama needs a break and Lyla needs some daddy-time, making sweet memories that will last. And tonight we go to bed exhausted and worn out and sore and sick of singing Veggies. But we also go to bed with full hearts, thankful for family time and chaos. Messes and memories. And we will do it all over again tomorrow, hopefully after a good, solid night's sleep with few interruptions (ha). 

Welcome!

The other day I woke up with the husband's alarm at 5:15. Usually I go back to sleep. But this morning was different. I laid in bed, checked the news, had a thought and wrote... Before doing anything else with my day. I wrote. The rest of the day was profoundly better than most. Nothing particularly unique or fantastic about it. I just had a clearer head... An unusual motivation to do the sink-ful of dishes... To pull out the massive roll of craft paper, paints, crayons, markers and stickers and let the mess happen. For the first time in weeks I didn't go back to bed to take my own afternoon nap but instead sat in the sun and read. I still skipped a shower and wore my yoga pants that have yet to do any actual yoga, but my heart and head were right... From the early morning on. This is what I need to do every. single. day. (Or at least most...)

For years people have told me to write. Mainly just three people... My mom. My husband. And my best friend. They know me all too well. This is how I process best. Over the last four years I did very little writing. And they were four pretty hard years. So, here I am. Hoping to make the next four a little better. And hoping to share my heart with the world. A little bit at a time. I truly think most of my thoughts and words have been shared already, which is why I didn’t do this for so long… ANOTHER BLOG?? Do we really need ANOTHER MOM BLOG?? But maybe, just maybe, there’s one person out there that needs to hear what I have to say. I’ve been that one person. I’ve been over-the-top grateful that others have risked opening their mouths and saying the words I needed to hear. So, now it’s my turn. This is mostly for me, but it's also for you... Anyone who needs to hear a few encouraging words from this real-life mama.

Can I be honest with you for a moment? This. Is. Terrifying. For multiple reasons. One, I’m pretty scared of the internet. It’s a mostly healthy fear and usually it keeps me from doing stuff like this. But my passion and hope to make the world (including the internet) a better place is outweighing my fear. Two, anytime you share thoughts and opinions chances are that someone will disagree and WILL LET YOU KNOW IT. This freaks me out. I cannot stress enough how much I do not like confrontation. But, again, my vision is somehow outweighing my anxiety. Still, please be kind, internet-world!

So, welcome to my little corner. Stay a while, if you like. Or just grab a quick ‘bite’ between midnight feedings and diaper changes. You will not find perfection in this blog. We do "real life" here, just like in our home. Things are not always spotless and perfect. Pictures get blurry, toddlers cranky and mama often reaches the end of her rope. Maybe you can relate. Much grace is needed on a daily basis. And you'll find plenty of it here.

Sarah