The Playlist

August 18, 2013 by Kelli

Tomorrow I will put my three children on a school bus and ship them off to a building that (if I’m being totally honest) looks a bit like a prison. They will be gone five days a week for a solid seven hours. In case you’re new here, you should know that I only have three children right now. So that means that for the first time in a decade, my house will be devoid of sound for a routine amount of time five days a week.

That is scary. If I’m going to be totally honest one more time and as blunt as I can possibly be, I’ll tell you that it’s scary as H-E-DOUBLE HOCKEY STICKS.

If I think too long about sending all my babies off to a prison-like building inside the belly of a giant yellow bus, I feel a slight panic attack start to rumble somewhere in my gut. It kind of moves around before settling like a giant weight. If I’m super lucky, that weight will push itself up into my throat where it will expand until I can’t really breathe, at which point my eyes will involuntarily fill with tears and my heart will race and I’ll wonder if 10:00 am is too early to start drinking.

So instead of thinking about ALL THE QUIET, I’m thinking about fun stuff.

Like that fact that Lee and I are going to go to Busch Gardens on Friday just the two of us so we can ride all the roller coasters as often as we want without small people whining at our feet.

I’m also thinking of an IKEA trip where I can slowly meander through the aisles without worrying about having to buy a broken vase because someone couldn’t keep his hands to himself.

I’m considering a Tuesday morning Bible study for the first time in ten years because I will finally have the time to attend and the quiet moments of my days to think.

I’m looking at that pair of jeans that fits a littler more snugly than I prefer and I’m envisioning the time I’ll have to work out.

I’m thinking about the fact that I may actually be able to earn a little more money doing this writing thing I love so much because I’ll have actual stretches of time to piece together coherent thoughts.

I’m pondering how many actual home cooked meals I may be able to feed my family now that I can wrap my mind around dinner before the 4:00 hour.

There’s a lot to be excited about this week. Well, there’s at least enough to hopefully keep me from chasing the bus down the street sobbing and wailing and tearing my clothes in utter and complete grief. I’d prefer not to gnash my teeth this week.

There’s a price to be paid when you choose to stay at home with your children. It’s an easy enough sacrifice when they’re very young and there’s work to be done in the house. It’s hard work and exhausting, but at least you knew you were needed during those long daytime hours. But now? Now that they’re going to be gone and my job is less seen, less cumbersome, the sacrifice feels more…sacrificial. What will I do?

I’ll tell you what I’ll do.

I’ll start by cranking the music and having a dance party. My “Kids have gone to school playlist” includes the following songs:

I’m a Survivor

You Gotta Fight for Your Right to Party

I’m going to hold my head up high and embrace this time because I honestly don’t know how long it will last. There may be another little one in our future. In fact, I rather hope that there is.

I may end up homeschooling again. In fact, I rather hope that I do.

I’m embracing this year as a blessing and with only a small amount of trepidation. I’m nervous about being alone. And I’m excited. I feel both emotions, and if ever there was a reason to jam, the conflicting emotions of freedom and loneliness was it.

So…what songs should I add to the playlist?

And who wants to jam with me?!

Filed Under: Family, Homeschool, Kids, Life, Motherhood, School Tagged With: back to school, Life, loneliness, Motherhood, stay at home mom, work at home mom

Dear Minivan Makers Everywhere

August 12, 2013 by Kelli

I have titled this photo: Road Trip from the Back Seat

There are five people in our family. I realize that in the grand scheme of familyhood this is not a significant number. Three children is less than four or five or six or twenty children. I wouldn’t classify us as a large family. We’re a regular-sized family of five…who love to travel.

Since gas prices have soared (Boo! Hiss!), airline prices have gone through the roof. This means that an average family of five cannot afford to fly anywhere without having to sacrifice a small puppy to the gods in hopes that money will start falling from the sky. And since I’m not generally in the habit of murdering puppies, this leaves me with no alternative but to teach my children the finer art of the road trip.

(Sidenote: Can we talk for a minute about the absurdity of the fact that it costs less for our family of five to fly from Florida to California than it does for us to fly to Little Rock? What the huh?!)

In the last two weeks, we spent about 43 hours driving as we visited family and friends in Missouri and Arkansas. So the equivalent of two days were spent inside our minivan, which, incidentally, currently SMELLS like a family of five spent two days cooped up inside. Excellent.

In general, my kids have become quite adept at traveling by car. We have a system. They play for a bit, look out the window, whine for good effect, then ask to watch a movie. But before they can watch a movie, they have to do two math sheets or a reading comprehension exercise. This is my barometer for how badly they want to utilize technology.

If they get hungry, I throw a bag of Cheez-its their way. Thirsty? A tiny little water bottle gets hurled at their heads. If and when all requirements are met, they are then allowed to shut their brains down and watch quality, educational movies such as Rookie of the Year and Teen Beach Movie.

Once upon a time I was staunchly opposed to the children ever watching TV in the car. When I was a kid, I read on road trips. I cozied up with The Babysitters Club and Sweet Valley Twins (Ah, Jessica and Elizabeth…I wonder what they’re up to these days?). I didn’t have the option of watching a movie back then.

I also laid out flat on the back seat with the seat belt juuuuust barely fastened around my waist and wasn’t stuck sitting straight up and down in an uncomfortable seat with the seat belt snugly tucked across my chest.

And I walked to school up hill both ways barefoot in the snow.

Whatever.

The point is, I quickly came to the conclusion that there is no reason to be a martyr for motherhood. If the kids wants to watch a movie, they can watch a movie and I will be thankful for the serenity of modern technology.

But 43 hours is a long time, which means there was a lot of time spent NOT glued to the tiny TV screens. Most of the time the kids do a pretty good job of playing quietly, drawing, listening to music or reading. But there are those long stretches of time when they ask every five minutes if we’re almost there, when they cry because a foot has fallen asleep or, my personal favorite, when they start car wrestling, an activity that always, without exception, ends with someone crying.

This is where I need the developers of minivans to step up their game. I’m here to offer a proposed to solution for parents everywhere who are relegated to cross country car trips inside the bowels of their minivans.

How about a partition between parents and kids? Just a thought…a mere suggestion! Think of it like a limousine, because we all know that a minivan is a limo for very small people. Limo drivers can raise a partition between themselves and their passengers allowing for some privacy. WHY HAS THIS NEVER BEEN DONE FOR MINIVANS?!

When the kids are getting particularly squirrely, parents could quietly and non-chalantly raise the thick, sound proof partition thereby cutting themselves off from the insanity. Of course, we would still need to be able to keep an eye on the monkeys in the back – safety first and all. A monitor on the dashboard would be connected to the camera inside the partition allowing the parents to keep an eye on the children.

You could even install a button that parents could push to hear what was going on in the back if they wanted. Or they could keep it muted and assume that everyone back there is just fine.

I see a number of benefits to this idea. First: SANITY! Kids could blast the soundtrack to Teen Beach Movie as loud as their little ears could stand it while Mom and Dad listen to music that doesn’t make their ears bleed. Kids could wrestle and cry and duke it out without giving Mom all that unnecessary grey hair.

Honestly, I’m not sure that I really need to list all the obvious benefits of this (brilliant) idea. It speaks for itself.

A rare moment alone in the minivan. Look how clean it is? This was taken BRT – Before Road Trip.

Now I realize that putting this out there means it could be stolen and someone else could make a lot of money off my idea. No worries. This one is for free internet! Someone, please, take this idea and run with it. When it comes time for us to buy a new van in a few years, if I find that they all come custom fit with a separating partition between front and back, I will consider that thanks enough.

You’re welcome, minivan drivers across the world.

You’re welcome.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Minivans, Motherhood, Travel Tagged With: Minivans, Road Trips with kids, Sanity, This is a good idea

The one with the pictures

July 18, 2013 by Kelli

I really admire creativity. I am always in awe of the way that people see the world. Some see it as a concrete place of numbers and statistics. I don’t understand their view of the world but I can appreciate their brand of creativity.

I see the world as a series of images. They move and flow together in mostly word pictures and that’s how I’m prone to create. I weave and piece together the words until the world around me lights up.

My five-year-old sees the world as one giant surprise. He’s delighted with every step because he never really knows what’s coming next. I wish I could bottle that wonder up and sip on it awhile. Kids are master creators because they aren’t bound by predictability. I hope he never loses his sense of awe. I pray that a little piece of that always sticks with him.

And then there are the photographers. Those who see the world through a lens have a unique ability to create. Last month, my friends Tammy and Jenni reminded me once again that photographers are some of the most creative and inspiring people that God has placed on this earth. They see life in vivid color and dramatic black and white. They see life as a tapestry and with a tiny click, they capture an image that gives testimony to a single moment in time.

I’m a fan of photographers.

Before we left for California, Tammy told us of a project she’d like to work on. She wanted to capture a single image of each one of us that told a story. In the weeks leading up to the trip, we sent countless emails back and forth, each trying to determine what our image should look like.

Bethany’s image was a bit like a feast of words. Bethany may be the smartest person I know. Her grasp of literature and writing is impeccable, and her understanding of story and poetry is awe-inspiring. Add to that the fact that she is stunning, and you have a recipe for some pretty spectacular pictures.

Of course, Tammy took more than one image of each of us. Knowing that we’re all busy moms, Tammy understood that we rarely get to stand in front of the camera. We’re usually behind it in yoga pants and t-shirts capturing the life that plays out before us. So she gave us the opportunity to get prettied up and she gave us the gift of being in front of the lens for a little while.

When it came time for my photo shoot, I had in mind something vintage and simple. Tammy went above and beyond. She captured images that signify the emotional journey I’ve been on and merged them into a single image to tell our story of hope and healing. I thought that it would be easy for her to capture that image of me, but it wasn’t. I struggled to display the emotion necessary to really tell the story.

I’m a writer, not an actress.

But in the end, Tammy (and Bethany, who acted as her assistant) pulled it out of me. Because they’re that good.

After we took the serious image, Tammy let me have a little fun. We risked our lives inside a rodent infested house to capture this image. (And by rodent infested, I mean you could hear hundreds and hundreds of mice scurrying in the attic above us while mounds of mice feces piled from corner to corner. Horrifying…)

Tammy then had me change into a more vintage inspired outfit and just have a little fun. I felt like a supermodel and for over and hour we just laughed and enjoyed the art of creating.

It’s a little embarrassing for me to share fancy pictures of myself. It feels slightly narcissistic and strange, but this isn’t about me so much as it’s about my friend’s amazing talent. What Tammy does with a camera is nothing short of magical. She takes an ordinary girl – a minivan mom of three who’s life is not glamorous by stretch of the imagination – and she transforms her into someone else entirely.

This is the beauty of art. It’s taking the ordinary – the plain – and focusing in on it in such a way that it becomes extraordinary. I’m grateful for friends who use their gifts in such powerful and beautiful ways!

Click this link to see the rest of the photos Tammy took during our morning in California. You’ll want to “Like” her on Facebook as well so you can keep up with her work as she continues to grow and expand as an artist.

Filed Under: Life, Links, Minivans, Motherhood, Photography Tagged With: Artistic Photography, Northern California Photography, Tammy Labuda Photography

A Repost, Because Summer is Crazy

July 12, 2013 by Kelli

This is, hands down, the craziest summer I’ve experienced thus far as a mother. We are moving from one thing to the next at break neck speed, and it’s all this Mama can do to keep from hyperventilating at ALL THE INSANITY!

See there? See the caps lock? INSANITY!

Today I’m packing Sloan up for his week long adventure to Washington DC and New York. My parents have told each of the kids that they will take them whereever they want to go for a week long trip when they turn ten (in the Continental United States – yes, that had to be defined because a certain child had big ideas about traipsing about Europe for her trip).

When Sloan returns we’ll have a few days at home before we leave for Kanakuk, St. Louis and Conway, Arkansas for two weeks. When we come home we’ll have a week and a half before school starts. Seriously, I feel like I can’t breathe when I try to think about all of it at once.

So while I go bury my face in a paper bag, I’m going to leave you with a repost, because I needed to laugh today, and maybe you did too. Happy Friday, friends! May your weekend be fun, restful and free of panic attacks.

*wink*

WHEN DADDY EXPLAINS

Originally published June 11, 2011

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 your face off or bite off your head with his sharp teeth. Bears 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.”

“Yeah!” Sloan yelled, pumping his fist in the air victoriously. “Wait…what’s a Home-sapien?”

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

The End.

Filed Under: blast from the past, Blogging, Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Lee, Life, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: Fatherhood is funny, Kids, Kids do the darndest things, Laughter, Life with kids, When Daddy explains

A Decade

July 10, 2013 by Kelli

My boy.

Born July 10, 2003

9 lbs. 3 oz.

Photo by Avodah Images. One of my all time favorites. AvodahImages.com

He has ten year old Hobbit Feet now…

My baby is ten today.

A decade.

Double digits.

Never to be single digits again.

I really, really love who this kid is becoming.

Pardon me while I go have a piece of cake.

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Life, Motherhood, Sloan Tagged With: 10, Happy Birthday, Kids, Sobby Sobbersons

From diapers to orthodontia to college

June 14, 2013 by Kelli

Yesterday I sat in a cheery room looking up at the long watercolor of a beach hanging on the wall. Elevator music played gently from the overhead speakers as I waited rather nervously for the orthodontist to walk in and tell me just how much it was going to cost to iron out the mouths of my babes – the children who, sadly, inherited their mom’s regular (slightly larger than normal?) teeth and their father’s much smaller than normal mouth.

It dawned on me as he explained what we were looking at (thankfully a little further down the road…like starting next year and beyond until forever) for their teeth that I have one more coming up behind them who’s going to need as much, if not more, orthodontia than they do.

I tried to calculate the cost in my mind, allowing for the overlap in treatments from one child to the next, and then smoke came out my ears and instead of finishing my sums, I envisioned swimming in a pool of Nutella because the math was too much and Nutella is my happy place.

Once I settled down a bit, I had a second revelation – I am going to go straight from pull ups to orthodontia without so much as a week off and I suddenly wondered why on Earth we didn’t space these kids out more so we could have a little breathing room?!

Then I remembered that we intended to space them out more, but God has a sense of humor and was all Oh you want to wait awhile? Here, have a third before the second can walk a straight line.

Then I thought about the day I found out I was pregnant with Landon and I thought for sure I’d forever ruined Sloan and Tia’s lives by forcing them to accept a new baby when neither could really speak in complete sentences. This, of course, led me to remember Lee’s reaction to finding out we were pregnant a third time. Shock, a small measure of horror and an accusatory stare that somehow placed all the blame on me for apparently thinking a child into my womb.

There followed a rather significant amount of time when I had one child in pull ups and two in diapers. We finally, mercifully, got it down to one in pull ups and one in diapers and then two in pull ups and we’ve finally chipped and whittled away to where we are only buying pull ups for one child.

Nighttime potty training is my nemesis.

My oldest will be 10 next month, which means I have been investing in Huggies and Pampers products for a decade and when I finally surrender the last pull up to the landfills (you’re welcome environment), I will walk straight to the orthodontist’s office and give him my right arm for straight teeth and with three so close together, treatments will overlap, I’ll have to surrender the other arm and six-seven years later we will pay off the orthodontia just in time to start paying for college.

I’m starting to wonder if there is some validity to choosing your favorite child and investing in only that kid for the duration of eighteen years.

All the books on raising children lead me to believe that would be a poor course of action to take in child rearing, but really how much can those crazy child psychologists know anyway, right?

Wrong?

I know, of course, that having children close together is, in the long run, really the way to go. They will be the best of friends (We hope. Judging by how many arguments I’ve broken up since school let out I’m not sure when exactly that friendship thing will kick in, but I have high hopes. High, high hopes. Hiiiiiiiigh hopes), they will experience much of life together and in relatively similar circles. They will be able to create so many memories together, which will hopefully make converstaions around the Thanksgiving table in twenty years a lot more fun and they will have the benefit of knowing that there’s always someone nearby who has your back.

Those are the pros and I’d say, for the most part, the pros outweigh the cons.

And there’s always the hope that the final child will graduate pull ups at least a week before the expanders/braces begin. Seven whole days.

A girl can dream.

Filed Under: Family, funny stuff that happens, Kids, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: Finances, orthodontia, Raising children, spacing kids apart

Practically the same…

June 4, 2013 by Kelli

It’s my 35th birthday and the day couldn’t be more crazy or indicative of what my life is these days. I have end of school awards, play dates, kindergarten registration (SOB!), laundry, dirty dishes and somewhere in there I think I’ll be allowed to breathe. It’s hectic and crazy and a skooch stressful, but altogether awesome because my life is bustling and full and rich. I wouldn’t change anything about it.

As I sat and thought about turning 35 and remembered back to the day when I thought that was SO OLD, I realized something. 35 and 21 are almost exactly alike! I mean, stand them up side by side and you can hardly tell the difference. To prove my point, I give you:

Ten Ways 35 Is Exactly Like 21

1. You are up at all hours of the night, only at, 35 you’re up involuntarily changing sheets, or doling out medicine or looking for lost lovies and on and on and SWEET MERCY I’M TIRED!

2. You eat Mac and Cheese for lunch. When you were 21 you did it because you were broke. Now you do it because making lunch for yourself takes effort and sooooo tiiiiirrrreeeeddddd…

3. An alcoholic beverage incites a bizarre amount of excitement, again for different reasons.

4. You look at a book and think of all the other fun things you could be doing instead of reading. Only when you were 21 the fun things you thought of involved less sleep, not more sleep.

5. You live in a pigsty and you don’t really care.

6. You have to clean up vomit periodically.

7. When you’re in the car, you crank the tunes. Of course, when you’re 35 the tunes are usually sung by Disney Channel teeny boppers and you turn it just loud enough to drown out the sound of arguing children….

8. You run outside to play in the rain just for the fun of it, only when you come in you now have an entire mountain of laundry to clean instead of just your own soggy clothing.

9. You enjoy a laid back movie night now and again, but instead of that creepy horror movie that allowed you to hide your face in the shoulder of the cute guy next to you, you’re watching a Disney movie with a scary bear in it while small people hide their faces in your shoulder.

10. You have high and lofty dreams of the future, but this time those dreams don’t center around you, but rather around those small people that you helped create….and you dream of a vacation where you’re allowed to do nothing but sleep.

So basically 35 is exactly like 21, only it’s better. Because I sure wouldn’t trade a single thing about where I am or who I’m with.

At 21, life was all about me – my future, my goals, my dreams, my accomplishments. Today I sat on the most uncomfortable chairs known to mankind in a room full of other thirty-five(ish) year olds and I watched my third grader walk up on stage to receive a school accomplishment award and I thought, “Huh. So this is what thirty-five year olds do.”

Afterward I walked out the the courtyard and he ran to me, throwing his long, lanky arms over my shoulders and leaning his head on my shoulder. I kissed the top of his head (because it won’t be long before I won’t be able to reach the top of his head anymore) and I decided 35 is kind of awesome. It’s awesome because of them:

The 21 year old me would have been shocked at this picture.

Heck, the 35 year old me still does a double take when I look at them.

I am blessed.

Thanks for all the birthday wishes everyone! It’s proving to be a good one.

(And if you can think of other ways that 35 is just like 21, share them in the comments. I dare you…)

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: 35, Birthday, How 35 is just like 21, Life, Motherhood

Ambition, Inspiration and the Glorious iPhone 5

May 30, 2013 by Kelli

I talked with my friend, Wendy yesterday. Everyone should have a Wendy that they can call…especially if it’s this particular Wendy.

I love conversations with Wendy because every time I hang up the phone I think, “Huh. I never thought of it like that.” Yesterday was no different. Somehow, some way (mostly because Wendy and I share the same brain) we ended up on the topic of ambition and motherhood.

“Women like you and I need inspiration,” Wendy said. “Yes, we are ambitious, but for us to feel successful we need more than ambition, we need to be inspired.”

That may not sound super profound to you, but it was highly enlightening to me. Because it’s absolutely true.

I was created with a brain that longs to be inspired. It’s why I love the arts so very, very much. I need music and nature and poetry and prose and photography and sculptures and landscape and history and travel and an overactive imagination. I need to see these things to feel creative.

I need to create to feel imaginative.

I need to be inspired to be a better mother.

But I had never thought of ambition and inspiration in the way that Wendy described them. If I had to rate my ambition level, I’d put myself in the moderate range. I am ambitious only to the point that I feel capable of success. This last year has been a big eye opener for me in regards to my ability to chase my dreams.

I’ve realized my limits this year and I’ve embraced them, freeing myself up to be inspired – not to be ambitious.

And in so doing, I’ve accomplished more in the last year than ever before.

Sometimes I look at the successful women around me and I find myself wildly frustrated at my own lack of ability to make things happen. There are some women who are so wonderfully geared and suited for ambitious careers and lofty goals, and they can still manage their homes without becoming completely unglued.

I am not one of those women. I get very easily overwhelmed and when I’m overwhelmed, the world around me shuts down. It gets foggy and dark and I find myself on the couch eating Nutella off a spoon while watching reruns of What Not to Wear.

It’s not pretty.

But when I feel inspired, I am able to do so much more and I feel a sense of confidence in those goals and dreams looming before me. I need inspiration to function, not ambition. That is how I’ve been wired and I’m learning to be okay with that.

So what does that have to do with the iPhone 5?

I’m so glad you asked!

I bought one last week. It was an early birthday present to myself and can I just tell you? I’m having wicked fun with this little device. The photography potential of the iPhone is one of the big reasons I wanted one. I love photography. I’m not very good at it, but I love it.

What I especially love about the iPhone is the ability it gives us to looks at the world a little differently. Instead of dashing past a gorgeous spring bloom, we can get up close and inhale the scent. We can snap a picture and manipulate and play with it until that beautiful flower becomes a work of art.

We can create and creating gives way to inspiration

which bolsters confidence

and before you know it the world is an artist’s canvas just waiting to be discovered.

See? I told you everyone needed Wendy they could call.

So tell me – what inspires you?

Filed Under: iPhone, Life, Motherhood, Photography, writing Tagged With: Ambition, Creativity, Inspiration, iPhone 5, Photography

French Parenting Vs. American Parenting

May 24, 2013 by Kelli

From the article “Why French Parents Are Superior,” written by Pamela Druckerman originally posted in The Wall Street Journal Online.

“Yet the French have managed to be involved with their families without becoming obsessive. They assume that even good parents aren’t at the constant service of their children, and that there is no need to feel guilty about this. “For me, the evenings are for the parents,” one Parisian mother told me. “My daughter can be with us if she wants, but it’s adult time.” French parents want their kids to be stimulated, but not all the time. While some American toddlers are getting Mandarin tutors and preliteracy training, French kids are—by design—toddling around by themselves.

I’m hardly the first to point out that middle-class America has a parenting problem. This problem has been painstakingly diagnosed, critiqued and named: overparenting, hyperparenting, helicopter parenting, and my personal favorite, the kindergarchy. Nobody seems to like the relentless, unhappy pace of American parenting, least of all parents themselves.”

“Could it be that teaching children how to delay gratification—as middle-class French parents do—actually makes them calmer and more resilient? Might this partly explain why middle-class American kids, who are in general more used to getting what they want right away, so often fall apart under stress?”

“American parents want their kids to be patient, of course. We encourage our kids to share, to wait their turn, to set the table and to practice the piano. But patience isn’t a skill that we hone quite as assiduously as French parents do. We tend to view whether kids are good at waiting as a matter of temperament. In our view, parents either luck out and get a child who waits well or they don’t.”

From “Why French Kids Don’t Have ADHD,” written by Marilyn Wedge, originally published in Psychology Today.

“In the United States, at least 9% of school-aged children have been diagnosed with ADHD, and are taking pharmaceutical medications. In France, the percentage of kids diagnosed and medicated for ADHD is less than .5%. How come the epidemic of ADHD—which has become firmly established in the United States—has almost completely passed over children in France?

Is ADHD a biological-neurological disorder? Surprisingly, the answer to this question depends on whether you live in France or in the United States. In the United States, child psychiatrists consider ADHD to be a biological disorder with biological causes. The preferred treatment is also biological–psycho stimulant medications such as Ritalin and Adderall.

French child psychiatrists, on the other hand, view ADHD as a medical condition that has psycho-social and situational causes. Instead of treating children’s focusing and behavioral problems withdrugs, French doctors prefer to look for the underlying issue that is causing the child distress—not in the child’s brain but in the child’s social context. They then choose to treat the underlying social context problem with psychotherapy or family counseling. This is a very different way of seeing things from the American tendency to attribute all symptoms to a biological dysfunction such as a chemical imbalance in the child’s brain.”

I considered writing a whole post on these articles about how I would tend to agree with the parenting philosophy of the French. They have a lot of things right and I would even argue that children with stricter and more well defined boundaries are probably more enjoyable to be around. But more than me talking too much, I thought it might be more productive for us to have a conversation. So let me know your thoughts! Have you read these articles? What do you think about French parenting vs. American parenting?

Do you think the French are on to something here?

(I’ll go ahead and get the conversation started in the comments.)

Filed Under: discipline, Family, Kids, Motherhood Tagged With: American Parenting, French Parenting, Permissive Parenting, Raising respectful children

Cinco de I’m Tired…

May 6, 2013 by Kelli

I distinctly remember leaving the hospital with Sloan and as the nurse wheeled me out, she patted me gently on the shoulder and said, “Good luck, honey and enjoy it. Motherhood is a thrill, but exhausting. You won’t sleep well again for the next 20 years.”

She then packed me into the car and waved with a bright smile as Lee and I pulled out of the parking lot, our eyes saucer-wide. I looked back at the sleeping baby in the back seat and thought, “Whatever. All those books I read said he should be on a sleep schedule within 8 weeks. Two months and we’ll be sleeping all night again.”

No, it’s fine. You can laugh. Go ahead, I’ll wait…

I have been at this motherhood thing for almost a decade now and I can say with certainty I haven’t gone a single month in the last 118 months where I have been permitted to sleep well every night. People…I am exhausted. E-X-HAUSTED!

I mean, it’s awesome. Don’t get me wrong. If we’re being honest, you should know that I was never a great sleeper to begin with. There are stories that my parents like to tell of me not sleeping at all when I was a baby. Oddly enough, they tell these stories with a tiny bit of glee whenever I mention the kids keeping me up all night….

Between bed wetting, nightmares, random fevers, falling out of bed, the dog barking at phantom shadows, the power tripping which sets off the alarm (C’MON!!!!) and down the list it goes, I am exhausted. Right now, I don’t want a month of uninterrupted sleep – I just want one week. Just a week!

Heck – I’d settle for a Saturday morning where I got to sleep until 8:00.

Or…you know what? I’ll just take another cup of coffee. It’s the best I can do for, well at least for the next 15 years, right?

While I sip my Cup ‘O Joe, you can enjoy these pictures. They make the sleepless nights ~~totally~~ mostly worth it. (You’ll notice Landon is missing from all these shots. He is the one with the fever who woke me up at 4:30. Tia is the one who fell out of bed. I’m going to need two more cups of coffee.)

*wink*