No More Apologies

If you are someone who apologizes incessantly, for the tiniest fraction of an instance that doesn't even require an apology; well, you are not alone.

I'm sorry you screwed up my order.
I'm sorry you're not happy.
I'm sorry.
I'm sorry I wasn't available immediately .
I'm sorry you said something hurtful to me.
I'm sorry.

My birthday is in a couple of weeks and there's finally something I am figuring out the older that I get: "I'm sorry" is a phrase that I need to rid from my vocabulary. It wasn't too long ago though that I was apologizing for SO MUCH. If I didn't respond to a text message immediately, I later apologized to the person who sent it. If I wrote something that convicted someone or shed some uncomfortable light to their eyes, I apologized for writing it. If I felt insecure, I apologized. How about at a restaurant when my order was wrong? I ordered a vegetarian dish and was given one filled with chicken instead. "I'm sorry," I sheepishly said to the waiter.

I think that often it is women who feel more of a need to apologize. I'm not trying to be gender-selective, I have just noticed this more in the communities and groups that I am a part of. I don't know if this can be chalked up to maternal instincts? We tend to want to be polite and soft-spoken; we don't want to risk offending anyone with our words or thoughts, even if they desperately need to be heard.  "I'm sorry, but are all done making noise yet?!" I called to my neighbors who were revving motorcycle engines at two in the morning. I wasn't SORRY, I was ticked off! So why did I start with an apology?

I also think that we live in a society where we are constantly trying to please the people surrounding us. "I'm sorry I have to call out of work and that my kids are sick..." What?! I'm not sorry! I'm sorry that my kids ARE sick, but I'm not sorry that I have to be Mom. "I'm sorry I'm feeling sad, I don't know why I'm so down..." Since when do we have to be sorry for feeling a certain emotion? It wasn't until my kids got a little older and I started recognizing the most repeated phrase in their current toddler dictionary: I'm sorry.

When Reese was learning how to walk and babbling up a storm, I sorry, was the first from her mouth when she fell down. If they bumped into me turning a corner, "I'm sorry!" Or when they had a poopy diaper, "I'm sorry, Mom!" I am NOT the mom who yells at her kids for petty things--definitely not for learning how to walk or dirtying their diapers. But I was the mom who said, "I'm sorry," way too much. 

Hurting someone's feelings--sure, apologize if you're in the wrong. Losing your temper with your spouse or children, definitely. But there are so many things I am working on NOT feeling guilty for:

I won't be sorry for being too busy or spending intentional time with my children or husband. I won't be sorry when I am too tired to complete my ridiculously long to-do list. I won't be sorry for not responding to a text message immediately or waiting a few hours to shoot back an e-mail. I won't be sorry when I have kindly and respectfully stood up for what I believe. I won't apologize for using my voice for good.

Are you doing your best? Are you working hard to be successful in your career, home life, relationships? Are you loving yourself well? Then stop apologizing. You do not need to be sorry for existing, you shouldn't feel guilt for being the kick-ass person you are, regardless of how and where. Love others, love you, and then own it!

In the Trenches With a Threenager

What in the blue blazin' does everyone mean when they say "The terrible two's are the hardest!"?!  Two, with both of my kids, was magical. I remember Pierson was beginning to verbalize his needs and wants so expressively, he began vocalizing his deep love for Mimi and Pa Pa and Uncle Nate in Michigan. He was friendly, sweet, obedient and our biggest challenge was trying to convince him that pooping on the potty didn't need to be terrifying. And here is Reese, a full time 'mommy' with her baby dolls, enthusiastic, hilarious and also SO obedient. Pierson wasn't yet trying to boss his little sis around when he was two, he wasn't overly whiney, his temper tantrums were just so so--life just wasn't all that hard.

Yet.

Enter three and a half.

When toys became boring. Nothing kept his attention. We told him no, and life as he knew it was over. Reese wasn't allowed to stare at him the 'wrong' way. He wanted to be alone, yet he didn't know how to be. He would go from mid- happy conversation to flat-out sobbing, hysterically. Giant tears flowed from his big brown doe eyes multiple times a day. Food became yucky. How dare us serve him Mac n' Cheese, his once favorite dish! Ice water instead of sprite? Oh no we DIDN'T!

Life. It just got hard. The trenches were deep and I wasn't sure that I would be able to climb my way out. Who was this kid? Where did my sweet baby boy GO? Was this going to be our life from now on? Were we going to permanently have a whiney, argumentative, moody child? There were too many days I got home from teaching (mind you, where I re-direct, repeat myself, and teach other children how to love and be respectful ALL day long), that I just felt like crying myself.

One in particular stands out to me:  I asked him and Reese to please sit on the couch on opposite ends and wait for me to look for the paint supplies he had been crying for. They had been trying to kill each other the moment I walked in the door, fighting for my undivided attention, wanting snack and after snack, and my heart was so tired after a strenuous day in the classroom. Neither child would obey me and finally, the last straw broke. I had sprinted to the basement to frantically find the paint things we hadn't used in months--

Reese! Don't DO that!!!!

Pitter patter, pitter patter...

Blood curdling SCREAM

"What?!?" I sprinted back UP the stairs. "Manny SCRATCHED me!" he wailed.
"Well if you hadn't gotten OFF the couch and angrily sprinted past Manny, he wouldn't have swatted at you!!" I angrily replied.

I could feel my blood beginning to boil. I was livid that Pierson disobediently got off the couch to tattle on his sister. I was mad at our moody cat for swatting at my son. I was so defeated that every day was becoming a battle for me to simply just survive. My toddler was winning and I, I was failing.

"GO to time-out." I said. But it wasn't to them; I was the one needing it. I sat myself in the yellow time-out chair and as tears started to roll down my face I counted to ten, like I instruct them to do. Slowly, I got up from the chair and walked into the living room, where both children were sitting on opposite ends of the couch. I sat between them and asked for forgiveness as I had lost my temper. I said a quick prayer out loud and asked for more strength, to give us joy this afternoon and to please help me learn how to deal with this new stage of life.

The ditch remained deep for quite some time. My husband suggested I take Pierson on a date, just the two of us, because I needed to learn how to love him again. It wasn't that I didn't adore my child, but wait... it kind of was. I didn't know who he was, what I was missing, how to help him be consistently happy again. I could feel my confidence slipping, I began to doubt my ability to Mother this three-year old.

And then one day, a couple of months later, the sun broke through. The cobwebs were cleaned from my eyes, the haze of dust I was squinting through completely cleared. My once happy and carefree boy was himself. His laughter was contagious, his smile more beautiful. The tears lessened and I started to hear a lot of: "Okay, Mom," and "Sure, Mom," and "I love you, Mom." Medicine to my soul, a warm cup of tea to my icy heart. His voice was rich with a newfound maturity, and I recognized the kid that I had birthed three years prior.

There was no magic pill, no innovative toy that he fell in love with, no specific discipline--he just snapped out of it. I prayed for patience, daily (okay, hourly). I had to work extra hard to come down to his level and speak rationally and loving, all the while firmly. I was the one he was looking to when his emotions were hay-wired, I couldn't be emotionally unstable too. One night recently, my husband and I talked about the drastic changes Pierson had gone through and he said, "We have to remember when Reese turns three, this was just a phase."

Just a phase. Have you noticed how every sleep regression, every food avoidance, every thing we as moms tend to deem tragic--is all temporary?  For almost two months I didn't really think I could climb myself out of the hole of frustration I had fallen into. But my son helped remind me that though the three-isms are really stinken hard, this too is quite a magical age. At the end of the day, Pierson was still Pierson. Whatever season and phase he enters, I know the HEART of this young boy will stay consistently loving.

Being in the trenches with a threenager is sometimes beyond trying, but hang on tight because I promise that ALL of you will climb to the top bigger, stronger and more loving then ever.

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!*