A Letter to My Ten Year Old Son

Ten years of you, my dear boy. Ten glorious, beautiful, BLESSED, years with you. I am so thankful the Lord trusted us to be YOURS. At 11:11am on 6/15/12, you were born into this big, scary, ever changing world. 

I was thinking, what have I learned in these ten years of being your mama? Well, the first is that time is fragile. You can’t stop it, or catch it, or hold it with your fingers. It slips through our fingers and truthfully, the cliche saying, “The days are long but the years are so fast,” couldn’t be more true for how I feel. 

Double digits. Wow, that is YOU, today. You are tall. Your long legs are so lean and strong. You love to play sports and have a new interest in soccer, which has been fun to watch. You are incredibly smart, and I can so see you being a savvy engineer one day. Maybe not. Maybe you’ll be a teacher. Or a doctor. Or a scientist. Maybe you’ll be a college athlete. Time will tell. And as I said, we already know that will feel like all too soon. 

The world needs you, Pierson Clive. You are a wonderful, brave, adventurous little boy that is going to change so many lives. You’ve changed mine, sweet boy. Oh how you have changed mine. 

In just ten more years, you will be twenty. Will you still be at home? Living with me and Dad? Going to a local college, maybe U of L? Again, time will tell. I can’t think about how there may be only “eight more summers” that you spend with me at home. My mind will explode and my heart will surely shatter. Instead I will be so thankful for what I do have with you—the time, the laughter, the memories, the hugs, the still nightly back tickles and you asking me to sing a bedtime song. 

The world is work, Pierson. There may be an easy route, a simpler path, but that doesn’t always make it right. I pray that you have work ethic, and grit. That you realize how sweet success is when you have put a little sweat into it. But beyond the physical work, my son, the world is full of emotional work as well. I pray that you will love dearly every version of you. I also pray that you will know and love and cling to Jesus. In every part of your life. That you will trust Him with the answers, and you will always seek Him first. In the good times and the bad, happy and sad…I promise He is walking with you.

Oh how you will change these next few months, these next years. Be quirky, goofy, curious, and believe in yourself even when others do not. And know this, whatever phase and stage you are in, your dad and I and SO MANY PEOPLE, believe in you. 

We love you. All ten years of you. The ups and downs, the funny and everything in between. I hope you look back on these ten years and smile. Knowing that we have loved every single second with YOU.

Happy 10th birthday, Pierson. Mama loves you so dang much.

This Mama's Walk Down Memory Lane: Are the Best and Most Magical Years Behind Us?

Well I just drastically found myself walking down the rabbit hole of memory lane… I’ve been here before. In a quiet house. Nothing but the sounds of wind blowing outside, the heater kicking on, the animals snoring, and in the midst of twinkly Christmas lights. The fire is crackling and my eyes are fuzzy from the long (but blessed) day I’ve had. I remember being here because the feelings of just wanting to write have graced me once more. Those days don’t come often…I just don’t make time for it like I used to. But before I crawl into bed beside my snoozing husband, I just want to write so that I don’t forget. Or so that when I do forget…I can come back and relive some of this life.

I launched this blog in 2015. Somehow five years have come and gone, and tonight as I sat in the silence I scrolled all the way down to my very first blog posts. In the middle I paused and read about our Humphrey and Elsa passing, and my heart hurts as I now write. One of the posts I also re-read was when our kids were two and three years old…in that post I described that season as magical and beautiful and how hard it was for me that the days were so fleeting. I was convinced that THOSE would be the best years I would experience….You may judge me just a little that right now, I kind of wonder if that I was right?

I’m not saying that I don’t love the stages that my kids are in NOW. They are seven and eight years old (HOW?!?) and oh my, you KNOW I love them each so dearly. But the last couple of years I will have these moments of aching for the days now behind us. New mamas reading this or expectant mamas…I used to want to punch people in the face when they told me to embrace the chaos that existed in those little years. How dare them tell me to EMBRACE the screaming and crying that often occurred when going out to eat or when pushing a shopping cart with each of them in it. Yet here I am…32-years old, wishing I had embraced those moments just a little bit tighter.

I did the best that I could have. You don’t know what you don’t know, especially when it comes to marriage and motherhood. You just DON’T! You excel, you succeed, you kick ass, and then often you also fail. Each day, you do the best you can with what you have, and you go to bed exhausted and you wake up wondering if you’re doing a good job. As I sit here, half way on my couch looking around our home…I miss the newborn days. I miss the toddler years. Heavens to Betsy, I actually MISS when they were each a threenager. Lately, their relationship with each other has been just plain tough. They fight. A lot. They bicker, they tattle, and I know I sound like I’m painting them into this awful corner of horrid children; that’s not my goal. And that’s not what I mean. But life lately is just different. They are so much bigger and maybe because they are only fifteen months apart, they simply struggle to merely get ALONG.

My relationship as their MOM, is different. I have noticed with Pierson especially, my sweet baby boy; he loves me now SO differently. His dad is his everything—his role model, his super hero, his biggest inspiration! And that is GREAT!! What a blessing that my kids have such a present and magnificent father! My big kid third grader sees me, his mama, a lot differently now compared to when he was tiny. Not to mention he’s more than half my height, and I can remember writing about being scared of the day when they’d each no longer fit in my arms. Well guess what? I can pick them up if I really need to, but y’all, they don’t FIT.

One of my sister in laws once told me she has loved every single stage of motherhood. I think I must have asked how she has handled them getting bigger and turning into the mini big kids that they are? And while I agree, I love every stage because I’m their MOM. I will always love them and celebrate them and I will forever cheer them on. But at the moment, I think I more so feel that this stage of motherhood kind of hurts? If I could turn back even a morsel of time, I wish we were in our old house, Jackson street near downtown Louisville—and that they would be tiny once again. Tiny enough to curl into my lap, that they needed to be rocked to sleep, that they needed ME because they didn’t yet have video games or Netflix or neighbor friends or other busy plans. Sounding selfish? Perhaps.

I want to make sure that I say this: my kids are amazing. They are beautiful and strong; they are intelligent and they love Jesus. And I KNOW they love each other…at the end of the day, they are generally asking if they can stay up late together and have sleepovers on each other’s floors. They are obedient and funny and their personalities are exploding as they figure out WHO they are. They still want ME to lie with them every single night, to tickle their backs and bellies and to sing a song or listen to one on Spotify…they hug me daily and tell me that they love me. They cheer ME on and support me on my many creative endeavors. They are GOOD kids.

Maybe it’s the twinkly lights and the silent house? Christmas is near and I often reminisce about those first few, where they were crawling or toddling around the tree. When life was crazy and chaotic, but at the same time…it felt a little simpler? It could also be the pandemic fatigue spurring on these feelings too, y’all know we can’t discount that we are TIRED people as a whole right now. I write all of this to say, no matter where your kids are in this season of life, no matter how big or small they are, no matter what YOU personally are feeling; let’s take a second (or some hours!!) and try to embrace their stages right NOW a little more. Are you up all night nursing and burping and wondering if you’ll ever sleep again? (You will.) Are you wondering how in the world your threenager is wearing you out SO damn much and anxiously awaiting for them to turn FOUR? (They will…and then they’ll turn five. And six. And seven. And eight…) See, this is a reminder for ME too…as I wonder if my seven and eight year old will ever need me again or if they’ll ever be the very best of friends. (Ashley…they will.)

Memory lane…it can be a beast to walk down can’t it? Here’s a quote I want to end on, my soul sister Jen Hatmaker said it in her book ‘Of Mess and Moxie:”

“Of course, in a hundred years, no one will remember any of us and our story will be lost in obscurity, but for us, for all these years when we were kids and then grown-ups, when you were young parents and then grandparents, this is the only story that ever mattered, and it was such a marvelous one. The best story I ever imagined.”

While I sit and remember, and as I remember the hardships and the blessings…I am incredibly thankful that this IS my story—and that I am their Mom.

A Mom Meltdown and Pandemic Blues

It has been 251 days.

We walked out of our classrooms on March 13, having zero clue what to expect, what was REALLY happening, and what the future would look like.

First, I want to admit to you that I feel guilty even trying to write this post. I have a tendency to be way too hard on myself (shocker!!) and sometimes I instill shame or guilt for absolutely zero reason. I also often tread lightly, tiptoeing around certain subjects because let’s face it; there are a LOT of you who may read my work and you may disagree heavily. At the end of the day, that’s not why I do what I do; to please everyone—so clearly I am giving myself this mini pep talk before I move on. But let’s move on.

Tonight I freaked out. Not like, ALL the way freaked out? But I definitely freaked out.

Our kids fight, A LOT. This may sound dramatic, but both Asa and I feel like they bicker and pick and tattle and bicker some more…ALL DAY LONG. It’s exhausting. It wears me down. It deflates both of us, a lot. MOST of the time, I’m able to shrug it off. To remind myself that they are kids, they are seven and eight years old, and that “this too shall pass.” But tonight? Tonight was different. It’s been a long week, Guys. Yeah, it’s been a long YEAR, but let me focus a little smaller for now. Asa and I both teach from home, and our kids have been learning virtually as well. For 251 days we have been together, around the clock, more than we ever have before. There hasn’t been a seven hour break in our day where Asa goes to work at his school, the kids go to actual classrooms, and I am at my school. Truthfully?? And you might hate me for this?? Quarantine has generally speaking, been a blessing for us. Asa and I’s marriage has been STRONGER, we’ve fought less, and throughout the summer especially, we were in a GROOVE that I can’t explain. Life almost felt ‘normal,’ as we were able to be outside a ton, hike, a lot, and we spent a ton of time with the local siblings and family. It felt GOOD.

Today I taught from home, went for a run, exercised one of my horses, took photos for a family, came home, and instead of being able to ‘aaahhh,’ sigh a big sigh of relief because home is always wonderful right??…..I lost it. Pierson can’t stand when Reese whistles. Sadly, he learned that from me I think because I despise whistling, and he’s a lot like me sometimes. I can only take SO much of it, but I do TRY to let it go. The girl should be allowed to be happy and LIVE. Asa had worked hard on dinner and we were sitting down to watch a new Netflix movie as a family; mind you, in the glow of the Christmas tree and twinkly lights and our sweet wonderful Golden Retrievers (aka completely magical setting right?!?) The kids finished their dinner, we told them we would make them popcorn and they could have some Halloween candy. (Can you see how blessed/spoiled they are??) As they’re going up the stairs to get their bags, I hear fighting, whining, and this, “REESE! STOP WHISTLING!!” he didn’t say it once though…he said it numerous times and it was the icing on the cake after the longest week ever…A ton of bricks felt as if they dumped right out onto my chest. I’m not exaggerating when I say I felt like I couldn’t breathe. My chest hurt. I was overcome with such anger; I stormed to the bottom of the stairs, screamed at my kids (mostly him), kicked the floor, sped-walked to our bedroom, slammed the door, and sat in our closet in the pitch black burying my head in my hands.

WHY!?

Well first, thank God for Asa. He came in gently, reminded me that that’s really NOT the precedent we want to set for our kids, and told me to just breathe. Our orange wonder cat Alfie came to the closet to find me, sat in my lap and I practiced some big, DEEP breaths. After a few minutes, I came back out to the living room, tears in my eyes, and Asa was there, graciously parenting the kids. I grabbed my Peace & Calming essential oil, rubbed some in my hands and took deep breaths AGAIN. I apologized to the kids for losing my temper (I promise this is not a NORMAL occurrence for me.) I can get mad and angry and annoyed but tonight I will wholeheartedly admit I went over the edge.

Here’s where my heart is currently. This week has been HARD. Every year we host Thanksgiving with the local family. Every year, Asa looks forward to making our home beautiful and warm and cozy and filled with nothing but the BEST homemade food. The kids play and there is laughter and screaming and complete beautiful chaos. (Let’s face it, I basically hate noise, so it’s taken me some time to get to the point where I ENJOY their happy screams?? But after 12 years of holidays together, I promise I do now enjoy it.) We were planning to host this coming Saturday, with the same people we always have; and with the same people we have spent all of quarantine basically with. Our bubble has been small, we always ALL wear masks when going out in any form of public, we wash our hands and don’t put them in our mouth…I mean you name it, we are doing ALL the ‘right’ things…..so I didn’t really think twice about spending the holiday together!

And then gosh…our governor did his daily 4pm broadcast and he informed Kentucky that he is highly recommending that gatherings be limited to eight people, and a maximum of two households. He said this:

“Since March 6 – the day Kentucky had its first confirmed case – we have been under attack and at war with the coronavirus. It has upended our routines, damaged our economy, threatened our children’s education and taken far too many lives,” Gov. Beshear said. “Now, it is time for Kentucky’s third counterattack on the coronavirus. Let me be clear about a few things. This is not, and will not be, a shutdown. Our economy is open, and there will be no closings based on essential or nonessential services. But today we are announcing significant, but surgical and targeted steps designed to slow the spread of the virus and protect our people.”

That night, everyone decided that cancelling this year’s Kentucky Thanksgiving was the right thing to do, as much as it hurts to say and process that. My heart sunk for Asa…it sunk for my sweet niece who turns 13 on November 24 and who cannot have a party to celebrate…it sunk for our city and our people, period. Our kids MISS school. We miss seeing our co-workers and having that normalcy and routine in our lives. Don’t get me wrong, I have LOVED working from home in my sweatpants and fuzzy socks most days…but 251 days is a lot. And I KNOW we could have it worse. I KNOW our situation could be horrendous. I am THANKFUL that we have had our careers during this time and that we haven’t worried about unemployment or how the shut downs necessarily affect or don’t affect us. But my heart is still TIRED.

Pandemic fatigue is a REAL THING. Heavy hearts is a real thing. It’s okay to be and feel blessed, and to also be WORN OUT. I shared in my Instagram stories yesterday some of this (minus the breakdown part because I hadn’t HAD it yet… bless….) and I had some really sweet feedback. It was obvious I’m not the only feeling this way. I’ve also muted a LOT of Instagram accounts and hid things from my Facebook wall. I’ve realized now probably more than ever, my heart needs boundaries and it needs to be protected. Some people will post graphics and memes and such HARSH opinions ALL throughout their platforms and Y’all, it brings me DOWN. Thank God for the mute button. I still love my friends and it’s okay to follow people with different opinions and views (how lame would it be if we all THOUGHT the same exact way on every single issue and topic?!?) but I can’t do all the hate and bashing and one sided opinions.

So there ya have it, friends! That’s where I’M at. How are YOU?? How have your plans this holiday season changed (or not changed?) If you need someone to share frustrations or camaraderie with, always know you can email me. We can sit in it together. And Mamas? If you’re one who has freaked out recently (or ever), just know you ALSO are not alone. Or the worst mom ever.

PS: Please just be a good neighbor. Whether that’s wearing a mask, social distancing, waving from across the street or through a window…just BE a good neighbor. We are all in this together. Less fighting, less shaming, less preaching, more loving. Please.

Go to Bed! Except Wait...I Miss You, So Maybe Don't??

Let’s talk about bedtime. No not your bed time or mine, but when OUR kids go to bed. Its like magic once you’ve said the last goodnight, filled the last cup of water and finally… you can breathe. Let’s be honest, my husband and I eat most nights at 9 o’clock at night because we find it more relaxing to enjoy our meal when the kids aren’t around. I know, that’s sad, and fairly unhealthy. But it’s kinda our reality in this busy season. Some days we feel like we are simply SURVIVING until bedtime so that we can finally live. Oh, and when did they start in on begging us to stay up late? Don’t those tiny demons know what they are really asking? Asking me to give up the 2 hours of my day that I get to be irresponsible. Asking me to sacrifice time on my couch, in my sweats, with MY show. No Peppa Pig or stinkin’ Blimpy allowed. Don’t get me started on Blimpy. That guy has to go. (Does he remind you of modern day PeeWee, anyone??)

Our week days start at 6 am, and we give, and work, and serve them and others all day. So 15 hours later, at 9pm, when its finally still and quiet…darnet, I want it still and quiet. Sometimes I wish my husband would recognize that those two hours of quiet isn’t an invitation for sex, nah. It’s simply mommy’s personal quiet and Netflix time. (Heartland anyone??? Just me???)

Ok, in all fairness, this is a wee bit extreme. Maybe I feel this way sometimes. Most days are so long I sincerely can’t WAIT til bedtime. But it never fails, 10-15 minutes of quiet and my mom heart starts to miss them. Starts hoping they are having sweet dreams. My mom heart wants to go snuggle them, kiss them one last time. Because heck yes they are exhausting, but I’d rather be exhausted for this love than anywhere else. The other night I went in and snuggled up next to Reese while she was asleep. I wondered, a.) how creepy would it be for her to wake up and see me staring at her?? and b.) does she know HOW deeply she is loved?? I also prayed, “God, please help her to always be good. To always seek YOU. Lord… PLEASE don’t let her do the stupid shit I used to do before I found Asa.”

And THEN I wondered, “Does anyone else cuss when they pray?!?” I don’t do it REGULARLY, but let’s be real, it happens.

Anyway, I digress. Our kids are 5 and 6 years old currently. People ask if life is ‘easier’ (what does that mean??) now that they’re “older.” No, no it does not mean this. Sometimes life seemed more simple when our daughter was a newborn and our son was a toddler. Now they have opinions and REAL voices and they know how to manipulate and beg and LIE (don’t get me started on that because trust me, that’s a future blog post in of itself….) Right now we are teaching them how to read their Bibles, how to pray, how to treat each other (I feel we’ve always tried to do that…??? But it’s nooooooot working sooooooo maybe someone else should give it a try???) Our days are long. We’re tired. We balance 5 million bajillion things. Sometimes, all we want is bedtime.

Except we don’t. Being a parent might be addicting. How can you be so damn tired, wore out, frustrated, annoyed, impatient, and on the last straw a hundred times…yet, also love being needed SO incredibly much. This is life. Right here, right now. My motherhood. And I suppose it’s safe to say that I love every crazy tiring minute.