Becoming My Mother

"Mom, tickle my back," my three-year-old, Pierson, says to me as we snuggle under his covers. We just finished our typical routine; bath, a drink of water, lights off, another drink of water, prayers and now the tape player is on and we are here in the dark. He always used to be our excellent sleeper and then something happened in June when he turned three. He transformed into a brand new kid.  He has been trying to figure out what it means to be a step up in toddler-hood, what it is to really be big brother to his sister fifteen months younger than him, and how to seek independence, yet still rely on us, so greatly.

He has gone back and forth for months, between sleeping great but then needing either my husband or I (or both) several times a night. It wasn't too long ago that he screamed bloody murder as soon as we left his room. That was fairly close to us returning back to work after having had the entire summer off as a family, but that was a long season. As soon as we thought we were making progress with defining consequences and helping our three-year-old sleep again, it would plummet. There was never any predictability. It didn't seem to matter if he napped or didn't nap during the day, the times would differ that he woke in the middle of the night, and we were all just tired.

My mom listened to me vent about my exhaustion over the phone every single day. I call her daily on my way home from work. It's only about a ten minute drive, sometimes less, that I have time to catch her up and tell her what's been going on. "Ash, you always fell asleep listening to lullabies," she said. "I really feel like it would help him to listen to music. Then maybe you could just sit in his rocking chair a minute before leaving his room. That's what I always did with you kids.”

Soon after one of those talks with her, I had a small package waiting on my front porch. I brought it inside and gently opened it, smiling when I pulled out an old-school tape player with a dozen or so tapes from my childhood. That night, I showed Pierson the tape player and told him that I used to listen to these when I was his age to help me fall asleep. We prayed and then I explained that we would listen to a few songs. Then I would move to his rocking chair to just sit silently for a few minutes. 

I popped one of the lullaby soundtracks into the machine and closed my eyes. 

Within seconds it all came flooding back: my tiny childhood bedroom, the stark white furniture set, the little picture frame that held a photo of Jesus next to my bed. And then there she was.  She laid beside me curled into a ball each and every night. Her hand would run up and down my back, across my shoulders, through my hair and over my face, giving me 'sleepy-time glasses,' as I drifted into a peaceful sleep. Some nights it took me longer to fall asleep and I remember her wrist would slightly drop in the crook of my back, going still and limp... I knew she was falling asleep. I would lightly twitch or pretend like I needed to re-situate, praying, "Please don't be done yet. Just a minute longer." 

My eyes opened and I was back in Pierson's room. The only light visible was from the faint twinkle of his glow-in-the-dark stars above us. The woman singing this lullaby was one I had heard time and time again. I like your eyes. I like your nose. I like your mouth. I like your ears, your hands, your toes. Tears started to trickle down my cheek as I remembered, "This was the song that she sang to me every night." My hand paused slightly in the crook of his back and I felt his little body twitch. I almost laughed aloud as I wondered, Is this desire to have a back scratch genetic? I tickled his a second longer and then ran my fingers through his hair. While I switched to sleepy-time-glasses around his eyes, I breathed him in, smelling his freshly shampooed hair. My first-borne baby was not so much of a baby anymore, but on the cusp of full-on boyhood. Sigh. I turned the tape player off and silently moved from the bed to his rocking chair.

"Mom, sing just one song?" he asked.

"Okay, baby, I'll sing a song." Mine to him from the moment he was born was You Are My Sunshine and the words effortlessly escaped my lips. I closed my eyes and prayed for a few minutes in the dark. His fan humming, the glowing stars lessening their light. I slipped from the room and whispered, "I love you," closing the door. That was the night we were reminded of peaceful sleep. It hasn't been perfect and with winter illnesses especially it has been up and down, but for the most part, the magic of that tape player and the lyrics that sing from it, have proven to be a success. His night time routine is slightly longer these days but that added length brings so much added sweetness.

He is growing so quickly, changing each and every day. Many days I feel an overwhelming sense of sadness knowing that I won't have 'babies' for too much longer--but then I thank God for this phase that we are currently in. This phase of a few lullabies every single night, when I am given the chance to remember my own nights with my mother and I realize: I am becoming her. At some point in early adolescence this was a realization that kind of frightened me. But I think once we women are given our own children, and we are able to really and truly grasp how much we were loved--well, I hold tightly to what a blessing this inheritance has become.

Just Smile

My mom drove me down the long dirt road and together we waited for the school bus--the school bus that would take me to a brand new place, my first public school. I was leaving many friends behind at the Christian Academy I had attended and it was the first time that I wouldn't be in a place that my big brothers were. We spotted the big yellow vehicle in the distance, coming up over the hill. "Just smile, Ash," she said sweetly. "You might get nervous or scared but you're great at making new friends and showing people Jesus; so just smile at them when you feel unsure."

Fifth grade was a tough year. I loved my teacher, Ms. Guy; she rode a sweet blue Harley Davidson motorcycle and she made us laugh while we learned. I made a ton of great friends, some who remain among my favorites to this day, but one of the girls in my class was just mean. She was hateful and vindictive and strongly disliked me because the fifth grade heart throb developed a crush on ME, "the new girl." When she sneered things under her breath at me, I remembered my mom's words: Just smile. When she at one point, years later, turned our entire crowd of girlfriends against me, that phrase still remained. I held my head up high, I tried to still love the heck out of them and I smiled.

Looking back, there is quite a bit I would change about the way I did friendships back then. That fifth grade girl strongly impacted the next several years of my life. Through my smiling I also endured a lot of heartache, grief and even fear some days of just going to school. I didn't realize then that the 'friendship' I strove to have with her would never last. It was never of any substance or meaningful value, and in my 'I should be friends with everyone' mentality, I wish I had been more okay with the fact that I wouldn't. I wish I had recognized that not all friendships are worth fighting for; sometimes when the girls run and play in the opposite direction, you can still smile, but you should also believe that parting ways is for the best.

Friendships are a thing that as a twenty-something-year-old, I still think are just weird. There are seasons of life and with those seasons, friends come and go. You move to college and make brand new girlfriends. You join small groups and Bible Studies and you click with just a few other people. Some women like you and well, others don't, at all. As a woman, I've realized that jealousy is never something that will phase out with age--Freshman year of college, I vividly remember a conversation I had with one of my friends, and it could have potentially ruined our friendship, all because of jealousy. Once, I asked a girl to grab a cup of coffee with me. We had lots of mutual friends, she was even roommates with one of my good friends, and I frequently slept at their apartment. I wanted to be friendly, I wanted to get to know her better. But she was one who ignored me when I entered a room, looked the other way entirely; a crowd of people could be surrounding us, they all leave except for me, and still she couldn't make eye contact. "I really don't see the point in getting a cup of coffee with you," she responded. "Having a friendship with you is not something I think will be beneficial." Ouch. I appreciate honesty but dag, not that much! I won't tell you that I didn't care, because I did. My heart hurt and I didn't understand what in the world I ever did to this girl (nor will I ever). She may not have desired to be best friends with me, but she could have at least been kind. She could have smiled and carried on a conversation and we both could have been completely okay that we would walk away without any real intention of ever pursuing one another again.

Since moving to Kentucky, I've been blessed to stay friends with girls who I have known and loved since I was five-years-old. It's not that we haven't endured hardships or awkward adjustments to not living in the same state, but no matter what, I know they'll always be there. There are the select few who I know I can call in a state of emergency or simply because I miss them and need to laugh. Some of those I met later down the road, in middle/high school and of course, college. It's like as we've all entered adulthood, many of us motherhood, we know the bond between us won't ever be broken. Those are the friendships that I hope and pray my children will hold on to as they develop them. There's been the women I've been blessed to text in the middle of the night as we were both up nursing our infants. Some of us have walked through our pregnancies together, had our babies days apart- and we may live on opposite sides of town, life may be simply too busy at this time; grabbing a cup of coffee or scheduling a night out may take some real planning, but that doesn't mean we are done with one another. They know they can call or text me and vice versa, and we will always have that bond.

Recently my family walked to the playground across the street. A few days prior, just Reese and I walked and we met another family riding bikes and playing. The girls in that bunch immediately included Reese, picking her up and helping her up and down some steps to the pavilion. We came home and she proudly exclaimed, "I made FRIENDS!" So when we walked back a few days later, she of course went with the intention, "I play with friends." We got there and there were only two elementary aged girls. They were running up and down the steps to the big blue bridge and in deep conversation with each other. Reese drifted away from us and began pointing to the dogs. "That's Elsa and Humphrey," I heard her excitedly attempt to tell them. "And that's my mommy and daddy and Pierson!" One of the girls just stared at her. Reese continued, "Look! Watch. Watch me! I can climb!" The other very quietly said, "I'm watching." Her friend though, convinced her to run off to the second playground and Reese's eyes filled with giant tears. She pointed and whimpered, "My friends! My friends! I play with friends!" Oh I wanted to scoop my daughter up! I wanted to reassure her that this was a prime example of smiling and letting go. Her two-year-old self couldn't grasp the fact that the girls five or more years older than her, just didn't see a benefit of becoming 'friends,' but that this was OKAY!

It dawned on me that evening, Reese has a giant piece of me in her sweet growing heart. The piece that longs to amend friendships that never even existed by buying cups of coffee. The part that doesn't understand when mean things are said, when friends turn and look the other way. There is that characteristic that I see developing in her and I know now, my daughter is going to have her heart so badly broken. She is probably going to be the one in Kindergarten who can't quite understand why all twenty-five of her future classmates can't all just get along. She will be the one who longs for deep and meaningful relationships, the one who works hard to love others well. This part of Reese somewhat already breaks my heart; I hope and pray that she can choose her friendships wisely. I hope that I can teach her that not all friendships are necessarily worth holding on to or fighting for. That there are seasons of life and these seasons are absolutely okay--friends will all come and go, and there's many that will stay consistent. But all of them, each and every one, are placed there for a reason. It's okay to be friendly, to smile and be kind. It's not hard to spread joy and kindness to everyone; but over the years I have learned that simply because you spread love, does not mean everyone is going to be your friend.

Through these seasons, through my children growing and developing, making rational as well as unwise decisions, I will strive each and every day to be the voice (the help) in their heads that say, "Just smile and be Jesus to as many as you can. And it is completely and one-hundred percent okay to cling tightly to the friendships that mean the most while letting many of the others go."

*I would love to hear YOUR thoughts! What are things that mean the most to you in your current friendships? What have YOU learned over the years, as you've ventured into your twenties, thirties, forties, beyond? Leave a comment below and thanks so much for reading!*

Baby Unwise

Babywise, Healthy Sleep Habits, Healthy Child, The Happiest Baby on the Block, the Ferber Method, co-sleeping vs. not co-sleeping, cloth diapers vs. disposable, medicated childbirth vs. all natural, vaccinated or not, formula vs. the boob-- what do you think I am getting at?

 If you are currently a Mom living in the 21st Century, I bet 90% of you have heard one of those terms or phrases. What do they mean? What in the heck is the Ferber method? Oh, just letting your baby cry for pre-determined amounts of time before giving him or her comfort? But wait, you let your baby cry?! Babywise-- baby WHAT? Scheduled naps and feedings, what in the Sam Hill  would you do that for? And disposable diapers? YOU ARE THE REASON THE EARTH IS ROTTING. You don't vaccinate your children because you know better than thousands of pediatricians? Your child is ten and still shares a bed with you?! No, that can't be right, or normal. You had an epidural during labor?! Do you even know how dangerous those are?? Breastfeeding- you let a tiny human suck on your nipple and chaff it?! OUCH!

Ladies, I'm kidding. Well, I'm kind of kidding. I have followed a lot of inspirational Mamas via Instagram for several years and honestly, I'm blown away by the things people say. Human beings, that is what we are, correct? Yet sometimes, we talk to one another or about someone, like they are anything but human. I've seen words like, "hate," "stupid," "ignorant," "abusive," and "idiotic" when reading responses to posts on how a mom chose to sleep train, feed, and raise their baby. We pick on each other for organic versus processed (yellow 5, are you kidding me?! You FEED your kids that?!) Have people always been so critical?

I follow the sweet and talented Hannah Carpenter on Instagram (if you don't, you need to!) and recently she had a post that made me laugh out loud: a cute picture of one of her daughters and youngest son with the caption, "they both still come to bed with me every night. I don't hate it," and the hashtag #babyunwise. I commented on it that I appreciated her humor, whether she was trying to be humorous or not; and that while my husband and I chose to actually do and use Babywise, I loved how different we all are and that we can still be a community! Hannah responded, "Agreed. Everybody's gotta do what works for them." Preach, sister.

I'm the mom who swore she never wanted kids of her own. And I was so disturbed by breastfeeding that even when I got pregnant, I claimed that I didn't really want to do it. Enter the birth of my first child, our son, and once he was here, breastfeeding became one of my greatest joys (chaffed and bloody nipples and all and yes, that did happen). Don't even get me started on how my milk supply dried up; I was in hysteria over the fact that I wasn't making the choice to stop breastfeeding when he was a mere six months old, I was being forced. I even used one of my best friend's breast milk that she donated until it ran out, I began supplementing with formula and he continued to grow and thrive into a perfectly healthy baby boy! I was also the Mom who thrived on a schedule and the thought of not having one for him greatly stressed me out. When friends mentioned Babywise, we read it, talked about it, prayed about it and did it. The day Pierson was born, it's like he said, "I've got you, Mom and Dad." He nursed every three hours on the clock, slept pretty great off the bat, and again, continued growing into a healthy and happy babe. I know we tweaked things along the way....Did he ever need to eat "off the clock," sure! I didn't starve him, I didn't neglect him, and I made sure that his needs always and foremost came above mine. We had our second child, our baby girl Reese, and knew that because Babywise was so successful with him, we would of course try with her. She threw us for some loops, especially when she turned eight weeks old; colic or belly aches or who knows really because I can't remember--but we didn't stick solely with that method. Things changed and she forced us to be a little more flexible and while being so, I realized that I was still a good mom.

My kids are now two and three and haven't slept in our bed since they were a week or two old. I tried with Pierson; we got him all cozy in the middle of our bed with his sweet blankets. He looked so peaceful and cuddly, but every dad blame noise he made, I was leaning over his face making sure he was alright. We decided having him sleep in his crib would allow all of us a better and more solid nights rest and having a video monitor gave me peace of mind. The same went for Reese; I learned that with Pierson, since he slept in his bed from his first week on, he was not flexible to sleeping in other places. I love that he loves his bed but at the same time, I am incredibly envious when I see pictures of sleeping kids in their parents bed. I was hopeful I could make Reese a little more flexible with her sleeping, but to no avail, she's the same way. I would give anything to cuddle in our king sized bed with both babies and sleep soundly all together but it's just not going to happen any time soon. I'm too high strung (and a terrible sleeper in general) and my kids are too used to their routine. Parent fail? Probably to some, but why does how we chose to sleep train our children have to be up for debate with anyone else? Oh, you didn't do co-sleeping? Cool, that's great. Whatever works for you! Or, your kids sleep with you? Awesome, I'm so glad that method works. Whichever you're for or against, I promise it's okay.

Not too long ago, I needed to take the kids to the grocery by myself. We have those annoying car shopping carts and when they spotted them near the entrance, Reese screamed, "Blue car!" Pierson yelled, "Red car!" I grabbed the closest one: the red one. Enter my two year's old tantrum: Reese starts hysterically sobbing, screaming, actually going red in the face. She's our hitter and she smacked my chest in a quick angry outburst. Customers passed by me, I stood quiet, in between the roses and avocados. I gently took her hands and put my mouth to her ear, "Reese Elisabeth, you will not hit me, you will not throw a fit and yell and get your way. You will now ride in the shopping cart, not the car, until you are calm." More crying.

Photo by Jana Glass

A manager came over and said, "Would it help if I gave her a sucker?" What world do you live in?!  A sucker to reward her hitting me and screaming because she didn't get her way?!I I thought. "No thank you, she will be just fine." We continued moving. "I. want. to. ride. in. the. blue. car," she cried. Down the milk aisle, her still crying, me still quietly reminding her of the expectations. "Enjoy these moments," a man said as he smiled at me. This? Right here? Enjoy this? He continued, "...it only gets harder from here." I stopped the noisy and giant cart. "That's the piece of advice you want to give me right now?" He laughed, "Oh I'm kidding," he continued shopping in another aisle, away from my hellions yelling.. A lady with giant puppy dog eyes looked at Reese. "Poor baby," she sighed. Poor baby, yes, the two-year-old throwing the fit over the color of the gigantic car shopping cart I have to navigate through diapers and wipes. 

Reese suddenly had her epiphany and let out a heavy sigh. Her body stilled, her shoulders loosened and her big hazel eyes looked into mine. "I'm sorry," she said. I hugged her and thanked her for using her words. Reese, you can ride in the car if you can do it without yelling and if you keep your hands to yourself." There was Pierson, riding quiet as a mouse this trip. I gently sat her beside him in the god-awful blue car and tiredly approached the check-out counter. No sooner did I get half way through paying did the two of them start bickering. A lady behind me touched my shoulder as she started loading her groceries on to the scanner. "I just wanted to say, we have been in the same aisles a lot today and I've been watching you." Uhoh, I thought. "From one parent to another, you are a fudging rock star of a Mom."  Except she didn't say fudge, she said THE word, the big one, the queen-mother of dirty words, the "F-dash-dash-dash" word! "Oh gosh, thank you," I smiled and to myself thought, this has been okay.

That, that comment right there-One mom to another, she didn't roll her eyes at my noisy children, she didn't scold me for not parenting differently; she just gave me a pat on the back. She doesn't know if we did co-sleeping or not, if I birthed them naturally or not or whether I bought cloth or disposable diapers. And she didn't need to- she saw a mom; a tired mom, an embarrassed mom, a mom who could use some serious encouragement, and she gave it! That's all it took to turn my afternoon around and her one line has stuck with me ever since.

From one mom to another, from me to you, however you parent, whichever way you want to raise your children: YOU are a fudging rock star and I applaud YOU! I hope and pray that instead of being a community of competitors, judges, one-uppers, and negative Nancy's, we can instead put arms around each other, look one another in the eye and say "Your babies are lucky to have YOU!" 

I would love to hear from you! What are your favorite parenting tips? What is your go-to book for Motherhood? Share a piece of advice you would give a fellow Mama and let's encourage one another today!

I Am Here

I hear the 'drip...drip...drip' and the beep of the coffee maker. The candles are glowing and giving off a faint vanilla and lavender scent. Standing up from my little white desk in my tiny dining room nook, I wrap my cardigan tighter around me. Slowly, I pour a warm cup of decaffeinated coffee and add my favorite hazelnut cream. The house is dark and I can hear the faint hum of the heater, soon to kick back on. Our fat black house cat hops in my lap, his favorite place, while I sit and write. I close my eyes before I begin putting my pen to the paper, and I breathe deeply. I can feel it encompassing my shoulders, I can smell it down to the bones of our one hundred year old home. I can sense it in the squeaks and creaks of these aging wooden floors- it is love. It is here. It is home.

I have always struggled with love. In high school I dated a handsome and Godly young man who I truly believed that I would marry. We met when we were fifteen and stayed together until I was eighteen and preparing to leave Michigan for Kentucky. That summer, I began to panic. I feared change and in my heart, I was convinced that I would end up being the one who got hurt in the relationship. So kissing another guy made total sense in my still very young mind, when in reality it ruined our relationship, making me emotionally miserable for many months of my freshman year of college.

Fast forward to my fifth year of marriage, when I was twenty-five and figuring out how to be Mom to two babies, fifteen months apart from each other. My hormones were a mess, I had Postpartum Thyroditis for almost two years straight and my emotions were all out of whack. It made total sense to start toying with an emotional attachment to someone else then, right? My once God-centered marriage, the one I naively believed was immune to wrong-doing, was shaken to its' core. I was so scared because everything seemed so good and so safe- Our jobs, two happy and healthy children, a beautiful home in the heart of the city; I began to consider sabotaging it, just like eighteen-year-old me.

What resulted was the worst storm our family has ever seen, a summer spent of guilt, repentance, forgiveness and reconciliation. The words 'I choose you' tattooed on our arms, are a daily reminder that my husband chose me, in spite of my failures; and that I so humbly, choose him in return.

The wick on the candle pops loudly. The coffee maker beeps again, this time letting me know that it has been almost two hours since it brewed. My cat stretches and yawns, looking up at me almost as if saying, “Aren't you ready for bed yet?” No, not yet. I want to write a little more. I want my heart to be reminded of how far it has stretched and grown, how it has been rebuilt from the tiny shatters along the way. I want to appreciate this life, this love. And then I want to close my tired eyes as I climb into bed, slipping my hand into his as I drift off.

Our children are so happy. Sweet Pierson and spunky Reese. Three and two, they are not anything I could have planned for, nor could my heart have ever realized the bittersweet pain it would endure by loving them. They have been spared, by the grace of God, from when I was digging my heels into figuring out how to accept grace and forgiveness. They never witnessed my husband's hurt and anger and they never heard me say that I thought about leaving. Thank God for this, for growth and for mercy—that we want our children to grow to know their Creator and that because of that, we strive to be better.

Life is leveling out, our routine now just flows, they love their nightly bath and bedtime. They are learning how to love each other as well as how to manage their feelings when they don't. He asks a million questions a day and he radiates love everywhere he goes. She speaks up a storm, and spends her day being Mommy to her baby dolls. She is absolutely the best cuddler in the entire universe. Together, they complete me.

Here I am, mother of two, wife of seven years and I have grown so much. I remember sobbing my eyes out (as well as shamefully spewing out some not-so-nice words) when I read 'pregnant' on that stick. He was seven months old; I had been nursing and taking a birth control pill safe for breastfeeding mothers. My cycle never started, I woke up on Martin Luther King Jr. Day three years ago feeling funny, and I just knew. Every single ounce of me doubted my capability of raising two tiny humans. “How am I going to go to the grocery store?” I thought. “How will I get out of the car and up the gazillion (ten...) steps to our home?” “How can I carry two children on my hips?” All of these trivial questions entered my brain and sadly stuck there for months on end, until learning she was a girl and when I started to embrace my journey with her. They play tag, running in circles around the open spaces of our first floor. Play-doh creations and Hotwheel races, dressing up like Batman and Princesses, experimenting with nail polish and Spiderman tattoos. And I just want to freeze time. Every single night before I climb into bed, I can't not quietly go into their rooms. It never fails that he is cuddling Lion and she is holding her Bitty Baby's hand, their fuzzy blankets warmly comforting their still baby cheeks.

My legs are beginning to fall asleep. I need to stretch them out and he jumps down. “Sorry, Sam,” I whisper. I close the cover to my journal which reads, “Let it Be.” I rest my head on the back of my hands and my eyes happily close. The words that have been said here, the memories that are embedded in this place; let them stay. I am so far from having it all together. I have screwed up, I have had to ask for complete forgiveness in more ways than one and I have cried into my husband's chest as he reminds me why I am loved. It doesn't come easily for me, sometimes it has even made me want to run. But the place that I am in, the “You are Here” dot that grounds me; it is their love. It is in the safety of his arms, the soothing tones of his voice. It is the contagious laughter that bursts from my children and in the warmth of their perfect embrace. The road to get here hasn't been easy but I am here now and that's all that matters.