"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. 

Two

My baby just turned two, which feels like a pretty big deal. There were donuts and presents and cupcakes and friends and family and food all weekend long. We celebrated her little life pretty darn well, with plenty of sugar and lots of her people. Success. I know I should probably be crying all the bittersweet tears and begging time to stop because my-baby-is-growing-up-too-fast-and-I-can't-even-deal, but I'm actually pretty pumped. (In case anyone thinks I'm dead inside, I shed a couple when we set up her big girl bed... Come on, I'm not a robot.) 

Don't get me wrong, I have loved these past two years with her, but the newborn/infancy stage was really, really tough on me. This time two years ago, we were settling in to our first night at home with her, and I was an anxious, terrified, exhausted, hormonal, weepy mess. And I was like that for months and months... And months... So, when I say that I'm not super sad to be two years out from those early days and weeks (and months) with my girl, I mean it. I count myself blessed to have been able to carry her in my belly for nine months, bring her into this world and breastfeed her for the first year of her life. I do not take these precious things for granted. They are true gifts, and I am thankful for them. But in the spirit of being real and honest, I will tell you that those beautiful experiences were the most difficult of my life, and I'm thankful to be past them.

I'm loving having a toddler. I love that we can communicate with each other. I love that we can play and that I can see her learning new things everyday. I love that she is quickly learning to value her people over stuff. I'm thankful to be where we are at. And I'm truly not mourning her transition from baby to child. I can look back on the brokenness of my early days as a mom with gratitude and fondness, knowing that as with all things, God is the best at creating beauty from pain. This is why the theme of grace is such a big deal for me... Why I talk about it all the time and why it's the title of my blog... There are pictures of it everywhere and, lately, I can't help but see and share them. My baby just turned two. And it is a big deal. Because of grace. We celebrate this milestone because of loads of grace. 

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). 

Mom of the Year

This is our new Tuesday morning ritual... Mom dates. Every Tuesday we get together and we share donuts and coffee, kiddos and babies, sand and sunshine. We chat about our lives... Being moms, resident wives and women. We ask questions and give helpful advice. We swap kids when we've had it up to "here" (*reaches as high as possible while on tiptoes*). We vent and say plenty of "me too"s. We joke about competing for Mom of the Year... This time I'm pretty sure it was a tie between Coty and me... She forgot to bring her kiddo's clothes and I fed mine a sandy donut off the ground. WINNING. We have to laugh. And I realize this group is one of those things that will help to sustain us through the next several years. Knowing we are not alone. Knowing these other mamas are there when we are losing it and daddies won't be home for hours. Hearing sweet words of encouragement when we are at our lowest. 

This has been the hardest week since we moved here. My patience has been paper-thin. My girl has been extra whiny and extra into-all-of-the-things. And daddy has been busy with work, which means mama-breaks are few and far between. It's easy to start feeling the guilt pile on when I realize I've raised my voice more than not and I am constantly trying to peel off the two year old barnacle that's attached itself to my legs. While I am incredibly grateful for my healthy, active little girl, I don't enjoy EVERY SINGLE MINUTE of parenting. *Cue more guilt* The house has never been messier, and I don't even know where to begin to make it livable again. We are currently a hot mess. There is no magic fix here. I've got no answers or creative solutions to share. But there is grace and tonight it looked like daddy sending me upstairs with my dinner and wine to have some time ALL TO MYSELF. Bless him.

When the clouds clear and I've wiped my tears after taking a sippy cup to the face during bedtime (no joke, that was the cherry on top of our day), I can still count the gifts... Reminders that our messy life is still beautiful and that even the hardest of days are filled with moments of goodness...
Lyla peeking through the fence to watch our neighbor, Mr. Dean, mow his lawn. 

Little braids watching daddy mow the lawn. 

A brief moment of quiet time when nap was all-too-short. 

Sprinkle donuts that could have passed for breakfast cupcakes. 

So, here's to a new day. Tomorrow HAS GOT to be better. (*Pause to run and put a toddler hollering "potty" on the toilet. Success! Win! Another gift.*) We've got this mamas and friends and strangers-who-read-my-blog. Here's a reassuring pat on the back. We all could use one. There's no shame in bad days but there's new hope for good ones. Be kind, Wednesday... We're coming for you. 

Sarah

PS: My brother just sent me this... Apparently little miss had some fun with Uncle Bagoo's iPad last week when he was here. A good, much-needed laugh before bed: check. Gift.

Love and Kindness

A year ago we moved. Again. This was number five for us in our five years of marriage. It didn't make practical or financial sense. But we did it. We left downtown Des Moines for the suburbs, knowing full well that we would most likely be moving again the following summer. We traded a third-floor apartment on a busy street for a townhouse that opened right up to the yard and parking lot. It wasn't perfect, but there was fresh air, slower cars and fewer drugs (as far as we knew...) It was refreshing and it turned out to be a really good choice for our family.

We quickly met our neighbors and worked on building relationships. We soon learned that there were A LOT of kids in the neighborhood and they were on their own after school... Free to roam and play and, sometimes, get into trouble. Our next door neighbor kids became an added part of our little family for a few months before they themselves moved away. They would come over after school and tell us about their days. They'd stop by if they were bored or come in for a snack. They'd play with Lyla and they loved taking Scout out on walks. We spent many, many hours with them. We talked A LOT... Er, THEY talked a lot. We mostly listened. It wasn't always easy (see last post Re: love is vulnerable...) but I have fond memories of those sweet kids. And I miss them. A lot.

There is a point to this story, I promise. And, yes, it does have to do with the recent terrible news that just keeps on coming. It is sometimes hard to know what we can do to make the world a better place for all people. And especially better, and safer, for individuals in the Black community. What can I, as a middle-class-white-stay-at-home-mom, really do to fight injustice and promote peace and reconciliation? I spend most of my days at home, with a little girl who has no idea the craziness happening in her country and in the world.

But then I remember those kids who used to come over all the time... And I realize that, right there... That is a little part of the answer. It is raising our own children to love others... ALL others. It's showing our little ones, and their friends, that, despite our different skin colors and backgrounds, we are all loved by God and equally deserving of kindness (not to mention equally deserving of life itself...)

Please hear me when I say this: I DO NOT HAVE IT ALL FIGURED OUT. I am not AT ALL trying to brag or fish for praise. I certainly don't get it right all of the time, and am in need of enormous amounts of grace. I still struggle to figure out how I fit in this greater mission to create a safer society for our minority friends. In this case, we were blessed with a unique opportunity to love on some great kids and we took it. There are countless other opportunities that we miss. We cannot do it all.

But we can live in a way that demonstrates what it looks like to love each other.

It looks like pizza parties and movie nights... Water play and making messes... It's building forts and cleaning them up... It looks like an open door and a safe space to talk about middle school strife and at-home stress... It's loving someone else's kids as if they're your own and modeling for the future generations kindness and respect.

That is what this middle-class-white-stay-at-home-mom can do.

Sarah