Minivans Are Hot

Sports World

January 23, 2012 By Kelli 5 Comments

BRAG ALERT! BRAG ALERT! BRAG ALERT! BRAG ALERT! BRAG ALERT! BRAG ALERT!

My husband is a freakishly good athlete. It’s actually annoying, really, how good he is a sports. He can play pretty much any sport well and when I say well, I mean better than the average population.

In college, one of my favorite past times was rollerblading. Oftentimes, I went out with a bunch of guy friends and I prided myself in being able to at least keep up with them as we buzzed around the Baylor campus, leaping down flights of stairs and doing various tricks without helmets…

So when Lee and I were dating and he told me he had never been on roller blades, I jumped at the chance to take him because I figured finally something I could do better.

Within fifteen minutes on his roller blades he was jumping, turning circles, skating backwards and doing tricks I would never even dare to try.

Punk.

It is with a ~~small~~ ridiculously large amount of glee that I tell you, however, that my husband can’t water ski to save his life. Image Gumby trying to get up on skis and that is about what Lee looks like. It is like a balm to my wounded pride to watch him water ski because I can do that better!

Anyway, the point is, my husband is an amazing athlete. He was a full ride scholarship collegiate basketball player. He was asked to play basketball professionally in Germany just before we got married. And we declined. It is our greatest regret to this day.

So it’s no surprise that I have three kids who are all good little athletes, with the youngest being so much like his Dad it’s a little eery. Landon is a natural with a ball. He always has been. Remember this video?

If you can get past my husband’s glaring hotness you’ll see a then 18 month old Landon dribbling the ball beautifully. Today, he can dribble with both hands while walking. Lee has him dribbling to the beat of music and many days, when he’s decided he’s had enough of the school thing, I can hear the basketball rhythmically bouncing outside…or inside.

And this Saturday, Landon’s four year old dreams came true when he got to start basketball. It was just a YMCA league so we could start slow, but Landon didn’t care. As we headed out Saturday morning, he confidently told us he was headed to the NBA finals.

Tell me, is there anything cuter than a four year old playing basketball?

Defense!

He scored four out of the five baskets his team made.

Landon isn’t the only Stuart child to get their father’s athleticism, though. Sloan is also a pretty amazing little athlete. While he enjoys basketball, the agression of that sport doesn’t match his personality, but baseball and golf are right up his alley.

In fact, we had a pro golf player pull us aside last week and tell us to start getting Sloan lessons and enrolling him in tournaments because he’s a natural with the golf club. “He could be great,” the instructor told us and I believe it. I’ve always known Sloan was gifted in golf, but it was so nice to hear it affirmed by someone else.

I don’t know much about golf, but apparently this is a great swing. I have pictures of him doing this when he was three. The first time we took Sloan to the driving range, he had just turned three. Lee set down a golf and we watched as he hit ball after ball anywhere from 25 to 50 yards.

College ticket?

And of course, Tia loves gymnastics and while she isn’t quite as coordinated with a ball, I could see her being a great soccer player. Mainly because I think she’ll bowl over anyone who tries to take the ball from her. She may have inherited the full brunt of her Daddy’s competitiveness.

Honestly, all three of my kids could grow up to be just average athletes. It doesn’t matter to me whether they’re great at sports or not. I want them to play what they love and love what they play. Sports are secondary. More than anything, though, I love the relationship that is growing between us and the kids as we bond over athletics. It’s fun. We love to go out in the yard as a family and just play.

And this picture is worth far more than any word I’ve typed today. It communicates wholly and fully the love and admiration that my kids have for their Dad and there’s a reason for that.

As good as Lee is as an athlete, he far more excels at being a father.

My children are blessed. (I might be, too).

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Lee, Sports Tagged With: Annoying Mom Blog Bragging, Kids and sports, Raising Athletes

I could have danced all night

January 4, 2012 By Kelli 15 Comments

As the smells of dinner waft through the house and the sounds of love eminate from my iPad, I have to smile. Because Michael Buble singing “Fever” makes me smile. And melt a little. And sigh a lot.

And day dream.

Seriously sexy voice…

…

I’m sorry – where were we?

I walk to the sink with the intention of cleaning the dishes when he grabs me and spins me around into his arms. “Dance with me,” he whispers and so I do. You don’t say no to six foot two of pure brawn. Am I right?

Sorry. I just had to take a moment to stop laughing at the pure brawn remark. Sometimes I really crack myself up. It’s terrible…

Seriously, though. I love it when he dances with me after dinner. And secretly, I think the three pairs of little eyes that watch us glide across the tile floor love it, too. I mean, I know they gag and roll their eyes and giggle uncontrollably, but mostly I know that they love to see him sweep me off my feet.

(I am refering to my husband when I say ‘he.’ You know that right? That was clear? Just wanted to make sure.)

“Dip her and kiss her,” the oldest and wisest usually yells and we are always willing to comply as they clap their hands over their eyes and squeal in mock horror.

“Dat’s soooooo gwoss!” the four year likes to yell just before he leaps off his chair and tries to steal me away from the man of my dreams by latching himself to my leg and grovelling for a dance. And what can I say…I agree. I’m a sucker for his freckles.

So I dance with Landon, and he gives me a twirl, then a dip and, if I’m lucky, a kiss. I catch the eye of my first partner and an unspoken message crosses between us. This is kind of awesome.

Lee then grabs his one and only daughter and sets her on his toes and together they twirl – Cinderella and her Prince. I, being always in high demand (ahem), have a dance request from yet another partner, the dashing eight year old with eyes as blue as the ocean. We spin and dance to the soft music of Harry Connick Jr. crooning through the media, dinner cooling on the plates but joy warming our hearts.

And in a flash, Sloan spins me back in his arms. The arms of the one who swept me off my feet twelve years ago. The one I’ve been dancing with for more than a decade. The one who shares these small people with me. Together we dance as they watch.

They who are our love song.

And I look in his eyes and know that we have a lot of dancing left to do. May it be that we are still dancing fifty years from now, together and with them. And maybe there will be more young eyes watching?

I can’t think of anyone else with whom I’d rather dance through life.

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Lee, Life, Marriage Tagged With: dancing, Kids, Love Story, Marriage

Yes I’m a Natural Blonde

October 27, 2011 By Kelli 18 Comments

“A blonde went to buy a Pizza and after ordering, the assistant asked the blonde if she would like her pizza cut into six pieces or twelve.

“Six please” she said, “I could never eat twelve!”

I have blonde hair and I always have…well, except for a couple of misguided attempts to not have blonde hair.

As I’ve gotten older and had babies, I’ve had to work a little harder and pay a little more to maintain my blonde hair, which has now faded into a rather unfortunate dishwater color.

But I didn’t come here to talk about hair.

Why do we make fun of blondes? What is it about the light hair that leads us to assume blondes have an inferior sense of common sense? I mean, we fair headed types are the salt of the Earth, right? We hide our intellect beneath a mask of gold.

Okay, let’s not judge every blonde on that sweet little girl. Bless her heart…

When I was 15, first learning to drive, my friend Aaron told me that all stop signs that were outlined in white were optional.

“As long as no one else is coming, you can drive right through,” he said with a smile.

Later that week, as my mom and I practiced driving, I buzzed through a stop sign after ensuring that no one else was coming. I was very safety conscious, you see.

“What are you doing?!” My mom screeched, to which I responded with a dramatic eye roll and the sigh that revealed my obvious superior knowledge.

“It’s optional, Mom,” I said. “It was outlined in white.”

*pause*

“Kelli, all stop signs are outlined in white.”

Okay, so look – I could see where one might want to blame that error in judgment on my hair color, but I prefer to blame it on youth. And on the fact that my friend Aaron was a terrible practical joker.

That same year I went on my first trip to the former Soviet Union, to Minsk, Belarus. One day, while speaking with a classroom of students about American traditions, I tried to explain Thanksgiving.

“Thanksgiving,” I began, “is when Americans gather together to…um…you know…celebrate the pilgrims…uh…like, landing on Earth.”

And I moved on, completely unaware of the fact that our trip leaders were in the back of the room clutching their sides, they were laughing so hard.

Okay, so fifteen was a bad year for me. But it wasn’t my hair…I swear it!

I was in college, riding in the back of a friend’s car as she stopped for gas. “Cars are the strangest things,” I told her when she got back in the car. “I think the gas tank in my car must expand and shrink with the weather because sometimes it costs $25.00 to fill up my tank and other times it only costs $19 or $20.”

*pause*

“Um,” she said politely, because she was very kind, “that’s probably because gas prices fluctuate, not the size of your tank.”

Okay, so I was older at the time, but my hair wasn’t a factor in that little faux pas.

We visited a church a couple of weeks ago. At the end of the service, the pastor brought up two people who would soon be leaving on short term mission trips. Pointing to the gentleman the pastor said, “And this young man will be leaving on Monday for the Amazon where he and a team of others will be traveling to a remote area to help hand-dig a brand, new well.”

I looked at Lee and whispered, “They’re going to dig a well with their hands? How is that possible?”

*pause*

“Well, I assume they’ll probably have shovels,” he said, his eyes dancing.

“Oooohhh,” I whispered. “That makes more sense. I was picturing them on their hands and knees, scooping the dirt like dogs.”

And then we lost it. Inappropriate laughter through the pastor’s closing prayer and a quick and hasty exit so we wouldn’t have to look anyone in the eye.

*sigh*

Let’s not use the moniker “dumb blonde,” m’kay? I like to gently refer to those times as blonde moments…

Filed Under: funny stuff that happens, Lee, Random Tagged With: Blonde jokes, Blonde Moments, I'm a dork, Miss Teen USA

The Field

October 17, 2011 By Kelli 18 Comments

He runs out the door, all red-faced and sweaty and dashes into my arms, crumbling into a heap of bitter sobs. He who is almost to my neck still needs to be held and I realize that his size belies the fact that he is still no more than a little boy.

Our new neighborhood is teeming with boys, a posse of sweaty necked masculinity races down the street all afternoon. My Tia, a rose among thorns, keeps up with little complaint, though I know she longs for a companion to sit on the rug in her purple room and play dolls with.

On any given afternoon, they gather in our backyard. It is a football field, you know. In fact, I believe my husband has promised Sloan a football birthday party, complete with striping the yard.

Oy…

At one point, there were ten boys altogether, joined to tackle one another with max force and ample glee. Sloan is sandwiched. Most of the boys are 10-12 years old. A couple are five and six. Sloan stands the odd man out, eight years old and as tall as the bigger boys in stature, but lacking their experience and maturity. It starts well, but then he misses the ball.

“Oh come on, dude!” they scream. “You gotta catch those!” He tosses the ball to them indignantly and presses on. Then he’s tackled, he fumbles and second by second he loses control of the game that’s happening in his very own yard. Finally the moment comes when he gets the ball and doesn’t drop it. He makes a mad dash toward the goal line only to be clobbered by an eleven year old screaming like a starved goblin.

It’s at this moment that Sloan begins to reveal his age.

The tears and the anger are hard to suppress. He swears off football forever, he declares his utter disdain for those boys and he sobs gut wrenching cries that break his Mama’s heart. I’m ready to go out and full on tackle the boys myself, my mom hackles fully bared.

But Lee just sits quietly and calmly as Sloan rants on and on. Finally, when he’s paused long enough to take a breath, Lee looks straight in his eyes.

“Are you ready to listen to me now?” he asks.

Sloan nods, his eyes shooting daggers and his cheeks flushed red.

“If you want to play with the big boys, son, you’re gonna have to toughen up. If you can’t do that, then you just don’t need to play ball with them.”

And that’s that. Such simple wisdom from father to son. It’s much better than what I planned to say. My monologue about everyone needing to respect one another and use kind words and not tackle too rough quickly escaped me and we all sat in silence for a few minutes. Sloan’s eyes filled with giant alligator tears and his chin quivered.

“But I don’t like it when they’re mean to me,” he whimpered.

“I know,” Lee answered. “But you can’t take it personally. You have to get up, brush it off and get back in the game. That’s the only way you’re going to get better.”

We left for dinner with Sloan still holding firm that he would never again play football but a seed had been planted inside the heart of my stubborn boy.

Watching my child grow and face disappointment is painful. But it’s entirely inevitable and it’s only going to get worse as he grows older. There is always going to be someone who is better, someone who is bigger, someone faster and stronger and smarter and…

Teaching our young ones to handle disappointment with grace is a beautiful challenge. Letting them spread their wings and fall to the ground is extra hard on Mama Birds. If I had my way, I’d be cradling him still, singing Disney songs and stroking his hair.

Lovely.

But with each day, he pulls away from me just a little bit more. He challenges me harder, cuddles less and fits on my lap like a Great Dane, all spindly knees and elbows spilling this way and that. My job now is to step back a bit and push him toward his dad more and more. I take the back burner as the training toward manhood takes place.

Of course, I’m always ready with a cookie and a fierce hug should life’s knocks come a little too hard and fast. But once the tears are dried and the hurt subsides, it’s time to push him back on the field and let him try to stand on his own two feet.

All I can do is watch and pray that the seeds of wisdom that have been planted begin to take root and sprout a man of character.

Whether he can play football is utterly beside the point.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Kids, Lee, Motherhood, Sloan, Sports Tagged With: football, Motherhood, Raising boys, wisdom

No Bimbo’s for me, thank you

September 1, 2011 By Kelli 14 Comments

We don’t watch a lot of television these days. There isn’t time for it and, honestly, there is very little reason to. When we get into our house we won’t even hook cable up and I don’t think anyone will miss it.

In the mornings, the kids enjoy Animal Planet. Steve the Crocodile Hunter makes us all laugh…and cringe a little. In the evenings, every once in awhile, we turn on re-runs of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition. It makes us all cry. Tonight, as the show ended, the network began airing a preview of the next show to air.

Sweet Home Alabama.

Not the adorable Resse Witherspoon movie. No, no. This was yet another ridiculous time suck of a reality show about a group of over bleached, over tanned, under dressed girls from (I can only assume) Alabama. I immediately changed the channel. Little House on the Prairie – the only insanely pure show still played on television, although sadly the commercials are so horrible that I had to keep changing the channel to the Catholic Reading Hour every time the show took a break.

Ha!

“Mom, why can’t we watch that?” Sloan asked as I muttered under my breath.

“Because there’s no reason to watch a show about a bunch of bimbo’s,” I replied. “I’m not raising a bimbo. I’m raising a strong, confident girl who doesn’t think that life revolves around boys and spray tans.”

And I mean it.

This is not meant to offend, but here’s the thing. I loathe reality TV. Loathe it. *hear me snarl* Outside of Extreme Makeover: Home Edition (which even the excess of that show gets on my nerves after awhile…because I am, apparently, a robot), I can’t stand a single reality show. They make me bonkers. Nicole said it a couple of weeks ago and I will reiterate the same point - everything that’s wrong with our society is showcased in reality TV. Everything. And we put it on display for the whole world to see.

Is it any wonder America has lost so much respect in the world?

Jersey Shore. Real Housewives of Such and Such (AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH – NOT REAL NOT REAL NOT REAL). Sweet Home Alabama. Russian Dolls (are you kidding me?). Big Brother. The Bachelor and it’s spawn The Bachelorette. I know, I may have just broken some hearts. Unfortunately, this list of absurdity could go on and on. And on. And ooooooooonnnnnnn.

Selfishness, greed, hatred, lust, gluttony, deceit, anger, malice, jealousy, guilt and plain old stupidity – all of these highlighted for entertainment’s sake. And when I see a clip of a bleach blonde girl Valley Girl chatting into the camera I want to throw a shoe through the TV then take my daughter out and teach her how to be a real REAL woman. I want to teach her to play sports and love people and respect herself and care for the hurting. I want to tell her that life is more than boys and clothes and fame and notoriety.

I want my boys to know that what makes a woman beautiful is not the length of her skirt but the love she has and shows for others. I want my boys to respect women more than the men on those shows respect them. I want my daughter to respect herself more than those women respect themselves.

I have to check myself when I begin to rant on these shows. Because the fact of the matter is this: I can disconnect cable and make sure my children are never subjected to the horror that is reality TV, but unless I’m modeling what it means to be a woman of grace, peace, love and maturity to my daughter, she will never know it.

If Lee doesn’t model to the boys what it means to look like, act like and behave like a real man then they won’t know. If he isn’t showing them how to respect women and how to love a wife, they won’t know. It doesn’t matter what’s on TV – our kids have to see it modeled from us first and foremost. That’s the real challenge.

That and making sure that none of that smut gets into our home.

*steps meekly off soap box and slides it back under the bed*

Ahem…

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Lee, Life, Motherhood, the boob tube Tagged With: kids and tv, reality tv, television

On Eve, Valentino and that Juicy Red Apple

August 29, 2011 By Kelli 4 Comments

The heat of the day made the walk pleasant, the sun lighting my face and quickening my step. An unexpected blessing of a weekend, added to my list of gifts, made my steps light – my heart full. Life, when looking through the glasses of thankfulness, is no more than a series of gifts strung together. Thank you, Ann Voskamp, for helping me to better see and understand that.

I walked Rodeo Drive with wide eyes, unaccustomed to strolling amidst such wealth. I came upon the Coach store and stepped inside, the girl in me clapping her hands with excitement. I don’t even carry a purse – never have. But I appreciate them and have convinced myself that I could learn to love it if the purse was made of spun gold, as I imagine the Coach purses to be.

I strolled and oohed and aahed. I touched, but only with one finger. There were no prices on the shimmery bags, a clear sign that I was out of my league. But the looking was all I needed. I lowered my ten doller sunglasses back down over my eyes and continued my walk. I stepped into the Yves Saint Laurent shop and a sales person walked up to me with a smile.

“Can I help you find anything in particular?” she asked, her white California teeth glistening in the golden California sun.

“No,” I replied. “I’m just here to dream.” I didn’t ask her to tell me exactly how to pronounce the name of the store. Didn’t want to seem that much of a country bumpkin. Yez Saint Laurent? Y’ Vez Saint Laurent? Vez Saint Laurent? Is there a silent Y? I JUST DON’TO KNOW!

And she smiled knowingly. I think a lot of people come into these stores to dream, and maybe touch with one finger.

I moved on. Gucci. I found an outfit for Tia and texted Lee. “For one month’s mortgage, I can get Tia a spectacular outfit at Gucci. Whatcha think? Huh? Huh?” I finished it with a good old fashioned smiley face emoticon so he wouldn’t know I was serious. Didn’t want to send the poor man into panic mode thinking the glitz and glam of tinseltown had gone to my head.

He, shockingly, responded with, “Nyet. No.” Oooohhh…No in two languages. He was serious. Maybe he didn’t understand my emoticon? I moved on. I came to Valentino and stopped, sucking in my breath. The gowns in the window were stunning. Really, really stunning. I stared for a long time, my heart racing, before finally pulling myself away. From there I walked to the GAP and bought a pair of shorts for 50% off.

That’s how I roll.

As Lee and I drove home from church yesterday, me in a zombie-like stupor from lack of sleep (the red eye flight home was not my friend), I mentioned my momentary affair with Valentino’s gowns.

“What is it about those gowns that makes them any different from a dress you could buy at Banana Republic or Dillards?” Lee asked. And then I cried in shame. Naw…I kid. But I do think my eyes spaced out for a minute. “As a girl, when I see those gowns I immediately begin to dream,” I answered all mooney.

“About what?” my manly man asked.

“What it must be like to even have an occasion for such a dress. What it must feel like to be a princess for a night. How it would feel to slip one of those gowns on and walk out the door. I just…dream.”

“And the Coach bags?” Lee asked. “What is it about them that makes them any better than a purse from K-Mart? Is the functionality any different?”

Hmph…Boys.

“No. The functionality is not that different, except that maybe a Coach bag will last forever and a K-Mart bag will last six months. But that’s not the point,” I answered.

“So what’s the point?” I could sense his consternation.

“The point is, Coach bags are so preeeetty.” And then I sighed. They are pretty.

We drove in silence for a few minutes before Lee spoke again. “This is why the serpant went after Eve in the garden, you know,” he said with a grin. “He held that shiney red apple up and Eve immediately felt her heart grow mushy.”

I wanted to deny it, but I couldn’t. He’s right. Shiney things make us girls act…like girls.

“And Adam is like every other guy who loves his girl in the world. She held it up and told him she wanted it and he just nodded his head. I would have said yes, by the way, if you called me up from LA and told me you wanted to buy a Coach bag. Because I want you to have that princess feeling and I want you to have nice things that make you happy.”

Go ahead. I know you want to say it. Aaaaawwwww…

It’s amazing what power we as women can have over our husbands, isn’t it? Knowing that they do want good things for us. The Prince wants to take his Princess to the ball, to show her off. My point here, of course, is not whether or not purchasing a Coach bag or a Valentino gown is right or wrong. I don’t have any problem with people doing either one of those things. For me, at this phase of life we’re in, such purchases would not be wise. It would place unnecessary financial burden on us. But maybe someday…

The point is this: My husband (and probably yours) would do whatever it takes to make me feel like a princess because he wants to give me the Garden. He wants me to have the best and if I’m not careful, I could manipulate him in such a way that I got all the pretty things I ever wanted. But…at what price?

“I don’t expect those things from you,” I told him quietly. “I wouldn’t be comfortable in a $1,500 dress anyway. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to dream every once in awhile.”

The truth is, I’m not sure the apple is always worth it. It sure wasn’t in the garden. The apple was beautiful, a vibrant red shining in the warm afternoon sun. A diamond. Eve touched – with just one finger? Unfortunately she didn’t stop there. She plunged her teeth into the center and I have no doubt that apple tasted as good as it looked.

But the price was far greater than she imagined.

It’s a loose analogy, but the point is this – we ladies have more power than we realize over our husbands. Your man wants to be your Prince – what is the price he must pay to do that?

Image Credit

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Lee, Life, Marriage, Travel Tagged With: Eve, Marriage, The Garden, Valentino

Whispers

August 2, 2011 By Kelli 5 Comments

Image Credit: www.moopandsaba.blogspot.com

“I have a secret,” he whispers. Or a “theekwet,” in his lispy language.

“What’s your secret?” I ask, leaning down so my nose is inches from his freckled face. (Oh how I love his dotted little nose.)

“I wub you,” he answers with a grin.

And then I melt. And promise him all the Cheezit’s he could ever want. And a pony. And his sibling’s inheritance.

How is it that children know the exact words to say when we need it most? I was tired this morning, and a little crabby. I wanted to sleep longer and wake up happier. My yummy little guy was actually still waking up himself and had snuggled his warm body close, his sippy cup tucked under his arm. (Because my third born does not function in any capacity in the morning without a sippy cup of juice or milk first. He’s a toddler coffee addict…without the coffee.)

How did he know that I just needed some kind of encouragement to get the day started? When I pulled back from our “theekwet” he grinned at me slyly. He’s a heartbreaker that one. Mama’s lock your doors, cause this kid is trouble. Adorable, squeezable trouble – the most dangerous kind.

There have been so many encouragement’s these past few days. Are you guys praying? Because I am feeling the power of God working in ways I didn’t imagine. Tangible delight being poured upon us. From “theekwets” to the making of new friends. From house hunting encouragement to just an overall feeling of contentment.

Today, I went with Lee to the bank to be added to our new account. The woman who helped Lee last week when he first went in wasn’t available, but another woman was there to help us. Her name was Ekaterina, or Katya – her accent was Russian. After we sat down, she left the room briefly and Lee looked at me with eyebrows raised.

“Hmmm…” he said, all smug-like.

“Don’t, please,” I groaned. “I don’t feel like it.” You see, friends, my husband feels the need to tell every single Russian we ever meet that his wife speaks Russian. Then he slaps me on the back and tells me to talk. It’s not my favorite.

But I’m also really grateful to him for it. Because, honestly, my personality is one that I would let all those opportunities just slide right by because it makes me a little uncomfortable and embarrassed. And this morning…well, the “theekwet” hadn’t totally burned off my crabby mood.

When she returned the firs thing Lee asked was where she was from. “Russia,” she replied in the accent that is so familiar to me. “Huh,” he said, looking at me. I sighed and turned and began speaking with her in Russian. And you know what?

It was awesome!

Why do I resist that sexy man of mine?!

So my new friend and I will be getting together sometime soon to go shopping at some local Russian stores. And it was yet another whisper – a “theekwet,” if you will – that everything is going to be okay. I love making Russian friends. Love it, love it, love it. And I would have completely passed that opportunity up today had it not been for my ~~annoying~~ supportive husband. And God once again whispered to my heart. “I’ve got you covered, young one. Just enjoy the ride…and stop complaining when your husband brags on you.”

I feel like I’m getting a lot of those whispers lately. And a few slaps upside the head.

Moving is hard. But right now, in this moment, I’m kind of enjoying the ride.

Thank you for riding this roller coaster with us and praying us from one side to the other.

*For more awesome pictures of my kids, and my nephews, visit my sister-in-law’s blog. Not only is Becke’ an amazing photographer, but she is a spectacular writer as well. She inspires me. You can see more of her photography here.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Florida, Kids, Lee, Life Tagged With: children, Encouragement, faith, God, Signs

Living Life: Practicality vs. Wisdom

June 14, 2011 By Kelli 11 Comments

There’s a certain thing that happens when you become a parent. It happens in different degrees and forms for everyone, but we all experience this phenomena:

We become practical.

It’s just natural for a certain amount of practicality to set in once that bundle of joy lands on your doorstep. Suddenly life takes on a whole new meaning. That money you used to spend on late night Sonic runs now gets applied to diapers or formula or a set of plastic keys for your little one to rattle. And you forget what it was like to dash out for a snack at 11:00 at night anyway because, you know, practically speaking it’s not wise to leave the baby home unattended.

Practicality.

Where life was once an adventure, now you have to think about jobs and income and houses and schools. You have to consider how your decisions will affect not only yourself or your spouse, but also your child or children.

Practicality.

Some people are very good at remaining spontaneous, even with children in tow. Have you heard about the family that is driving around the world, living nomadically, raising their children on the road? They’ve been on the road for 11 years, all four of their children born in a different country. I don’t desire that life, but I envy their courage. What they’re doing isn’t practical, but it’s pretty dang cool.

Or this family, whom Lee met recently on an airplane. After adopting a little girl from China, they felt a strong prompting from the Lord to return to their daughter’s birth country and open up an orphanage for special needs children. So they went. They packed up their three young children, sold all their possessions and went.

“What organization did you go with?” Lee asked.

“No one,” came the astonishing reply. “We just asked the Lord to provide and He has.” Through charitable donations, they have raised enough to build a five story building where they currently house 34 children with various special needs from cleft palates to cerebral palsey. And they’ve never asked for a cent.

That’s not practical. But it’s pretty dang spectacular.

I used to fancy myself a bit of an adventurer. I didn’t think twice about hopping on a plane as a 20 year old and exploring the former Soviet Union on my own. I didn’t flinch when I spent 36 hours on a train to Prague by myself, half the time trapped with a horny Iraqi German (I know…). I relished walking the streets of London by myself.

When Lee and I went to Europe last year, I once again found my adventurous roots. I loved not having a plan, living in the moment, exploring, living.

But I’ve felt trapped in practicality for awhile. This isn’t a bad thing, in some regards. Obviously parenthood requires a certain amount of practicality. We have to provide for our children. We have to give them stability and they do need a certain amount of material possessions to feel secure. Of course, our Western world children (as I’m sure yours as well) have far more than they need for security and stability, but as a parent I want to give them good things. Just as I know the Lord wants to give me good things.

But I’m a little tired of feeling held back by practicality. Because there’s a very fine line between practicality and fear. And I think that sometimes?

I blur that line.

I’m not going to act on passion because I tell myself it wouldn’t be practical for my family. But really, I’m just too scared to try it. I’m not going to follow a dream because it would be terribly impractical to do so. ‘Fraidy Cat! As a couple, Lee and I always talk about all the cool things that we’d like to do with the kids and expose them to, but most of them seem too lofty and impractical to really pursue.

We’re scared.

What will people think? What if it takes us out of our comfort zone? What if we fail? What if it requires us to leave all that we know? Where is the practicality in that?

Here’s the thing: I don’t think God calls us to be practical. I think He calls us to be wise. We are not to live in fear. “Do not fear, for I am with you; Do not anxiously look about you for I am your God.” Isaiah 41:10. We are called to wisdom, not practicality. Men are called to provide for their families, and that will look differently for everyone. For some, that means a stable job in a good home where they can minister to, and meet the needs of, those in their local community. For others still, that means selling all you have and leaving.

One of those scenarios is practical, one is not. But for the two men who are guiding and leading their families according to God’s calling placed in their hearts - both are wise.

Does that make sense?

So Lee and I together are working on, and learning, to let go of the shackles of practicality.

Walk in faith.

Live in wisdom.

Cry out to Jesus.

Do not be afraid.

That last one’s a doozy.

Filed Under: faith, Family, Lee, Motherhood Tagged With: faith, living by faith, Motherhood, practicality

When Daddy Explains

June 12, 2011 By Kelli 8 Comments

I was on the phone last week, pacing the driveway. It was a beautiful day and the kids were all napping or resting. I just needed some air. As I spoke with my friend, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. I turned in time to see Sloan marching by with a twelve foot ladder tucked snuggly under his arm. He didn’t even glance my way as he walked past, his face cool and nonchalant. As if carrying around a ladder was normal.

I swear, if that kid had a stuffed tiger I would be living with Calvin and Hobbes.

“Um…I think I should probably hang up,” I said to my friend as Sloan set the ladder down next to the corner of the house and popped it open. He looked up at the roof, his hand shading his eyes slightly. I managed to reach him just as he stepped on the third rung, the ladder wobbling precariously on the slanted driveway.

“Whatcha doin’?” I asked, grabbing hold of the base of the ladder.

“Oh, hey Mom,” Sloan said, still playing cool. “I’m checking out the bird’s nest up here.”

I looked up and sure enough, there was a nest just underneath the roof.

“Can I?” he asked, looking down at me with his penetrating blue eyes. Then he grinned. Stinker.

“Yes,” I replied. “Be careful.”

So up he climbed to the top rung and he peered over the side of the nest.

“There’s a baby bird in there!” he screeched. Seriously screeched. My ears are still ringing. “It’s so cute! Aw, Mom come see the baby bird!”

So we switched places and I climbed the ladder with him holding it steady. Inside the nest was a tiny, newly hatched baby, it’s beak pointed upward, waiting for nourishment.

“Can I see it again?” Sloan yelled, shaking the ladder for effect. Nice.

He climbed back up and looked in again. “This is so freakin’ cool!” he yelled again. To which I reminded him that I was only a few feet below and he didn’t need to scream. Then he reached for the bird.

“Don’t touch it,” I cautioned. “If the Mama bird comes back and smells you on her baby, she’ll leave him and he’ll die.”

With one last look and a wave, we pulled the ladder back down and headed on with our day.

Fast forward to this afternoon when we’re driving home from church. Sloan pipes up from the backseat. “Hey Mom. I don’t care if it dies, so when we get home can I get the ladder out and pick up the baby bird and keep it? I’ll get it worms and I’ll take care of it. Can I raise the baby bird?”

“No,” I said. “It’s Mama would be sad. And we really don’t know how to raise a baby bird. It’s better if we leave it alone.”

“But I can take good care of it,” came the anticipated protest.

“Hey Buddy,” Lee said, glancing into the mirror. “You don’t need to try and raise that baby bird.”

“Why?”

“Well,” Lee said, and he paused. “It would be like a bear coming to our house and seeing you and saying ‘I want to take that little boy home and raise him.’ Bears don’t know how to raise little boys. That bear wouldn’t know how to feed you – he’d probably just give you raw meat or raw fish, like he eats. And if he tried to hug you or give you a kiss, he’d probably claw you to death or bite off your nose with his sharp teeth. Bear’s aren’t meant to take care of little boys just like little boys aren’t meant to take care of baby birds.”

This is the part where I begin clutching my sides, I’m laughing so hard.

“And bee’s should take care of bee’s, wight?” Tia chimes in.

“Right,” Lee replies. “Bears take care of bears, bee’s take care of bee’s, bird’s take care of bird’s–”

“And people take care of people!” Sloan interrupts.

“That’s right!” Lee pumps his fist in the air. “Homosapiens take care of Homosapiens.”

And THAT, folks, is what happens when Daddy decides to explain.

The End.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Lee, Sloan Tagged With: Dad's say the darndest things, Kids, Lee