31 Days – Lunar Magic: Living Life with the Eyes of a Child

 

Do you remember being in awe of nature as a child? Did you ever sit beneathe a black-blue sky dotted with a milliion stars and gasp at the wonder of it all? Did you marvel at a sunset or watch the clouds float by in an array of shapes.

An alligator! An elephant! A one-legged dog!

I remember specifically being around nine or ten years old and we had gone on a camping trip to some Jellystone Park in somewhere Wisconsin. While my parents worked hard to crank open the pop up camper, my brother and I romped in the wooded fields around us as the sun sank lower beyond the trees. And then we both stopped and gasped.

 

The glow of the moon lifted above the treeline before the moon itself appeared. It was huge and orange and seemed to hover just above the ground, willing us to reach out and touch. I remember standing breathless for several moments. I wanted to step forward and cross the expanse of sky to enter the golden, shimmery world that seemed to be just steps away.

As a roaring fire cackled and we prepared to bunk down for the night, I stole continual glances at the moon, which continued to rise up above the Earth, the orange hue fading and morphing into a brilliant white. A diamond in the sky.

I remember the magic of that moment, and it’s not the only time the moon’s nearness has stopped me in my tracks. There is something so glorious about the moon and it’s nearness and proximity.

Saturday night, we were in Clearwater with the boys while Tia spent the night at a friend’s house. The boys played football outside while Lee and I enjoyed a few rare moments of adult conversation. As the sky faded to a dusky grey, both boys came tumbling into the condo, screeching and motioning us to come.

 

I didn’t want to.

 

I had a glass of wine in my hand, my feet were propped up and I was enjoying the grown up conversation. But something in their eyes beckoned me to set the glass down and follow them out.

“You halfta see this!” they cried, motioning wildly. Lee and I followed them out and we stopped and gasped. The moon hung low over the Earth, bright and orange and filled with a golden magic.

“Isn’t it amazing?” Sloan asked and I remembered that night in the campground, when I felt it entirely possible to step off of Earth and run amongst the stars.

This month, I believe in living life with childlike wonder.

Have you looked at the moon lately?

This month, I am participating in The Nester’s 31 Day challenge, in which over 1,000 participants have chosen to write about one topic for 31 days. I choose to spend 31 Days Believing I Can. If you are stopping by from Nester’s site, welcome! Let me know in the comments so I can visit your site in return.

31 Days of Believing I Can

We sat in the airport in Amsterdam, all still basic strangers to one another. Having missed our connection, we had a full eight hours to sit in the food court, to have small fish eat the fungus off our toes and to develop a fast bond with one another before sharing a unique and life changing week.

Sometime during that delirious, sleep deprived layover, Shaun gave us all our room assignments and I found out I would be rooming with Nester. I already felt like I knew her a bit. We had been emailing back and forth for weeks, sharing our own fears about the trip. We had been praying for one another and encouraging each other over email, so I was thrilled to get to spend the next week getting to know her in real life.

Seriously. Could she be any more adorable?

As warm and sweet and funny and sincere as she is online, Nester is all of those things in person.

She is just a delightful person to be around.

For the last three years, Nester has issued a challenge during the month of October. Write about one topic for 31 days. The topics are always multifaceted and provide ample room for personal growth and creative expansion. This year, I’ve decided to join in.

I decided last night, around 9:00, just as she put up the first link up. I have gone back and forth for weeks now about whether or not I should join in. I had a topic in mind and already had a mental list of all the ways I could expand on it, but I just wasn’t sure I wanted to commit. What if I couldn’t keep up? What if I couldn’t think of anything to write about? What if I couldn’t do it?

My topic?

31 Days of Believing I Can.

 

I’d like to introduce you all to my friend and constant companion. Her name is Irony. She’s a wily little bugger…

So after hemming and hawing around for long enough, I decided to go for it. I will spend the next 31 days believing that I can abandon myself and the useless doubts and laziness that hold me back. I will spend 31 days learning to embrace the qualities that show love to those around me and honor the God who knit me together with a unique set of skills and passions. I will write on a variety of topics including:

          – Believing I can see life through the eyes of a child.

          – Believing I can plan and execute a week of meals from scratch using whole or organic foods.

          – Believing I can exercise and take care of my body.

          – Believing I can finish my book.

          – Believing I can speak to my children with kindness and patience and self control. (whew)

          – Believing I can serve and pour into those around me despite the fact that life feels overwhelmingly busy.

          – Believing I can eat Nutella every day for 31 days and not gain an ounce…. (Alright. This one might be a stretch)

         – Believing I can model a faith in my Jesus by better modeling the qualities He displayed so freely. (Love, Joy, Peace, Patience, Kindness, Goodness, Faithfulness, Gentleness and Self-Control)

My desire in this series is to focus on all the ways that I can grow as a wife, a mother, a friend, a daughter, a homemaker, a neighbor and a lover of others. This morning, as I sat down to write and to further refine my topic, I flipped the calendar sitting on my desk to October 1. The quote for today was by Angela Nazworth.

 “When we replace our desire to believe in ourselves with the desire to become more like Jesus we take another step toward loving each other a little more like He does.”

There’s Irony again, stepping forward to slap me around a little bit…

The posts will probably be a little shorter and I will be chronicling not only how I’m being stretched as an individual, but also what I’m learning along the way as I make the choice to turn my back on self doubt and believe with full confidence that I can live in a way that honors others above myself. I hope you’ll join me!

If you’re here from the 31 day challenge, leave me a link in the comments and I will make sure I visit your sites and check out the ways you are growing and developing over the next 31 days.

And come back tomorrow for installment one in my 31 Days of Believing I Can. Lunar Magic – Living life with the eyes of a child.

My ears, they bleed

Alternately titled: Riding in cars with girls…

 

At least twice a week, Tia and I are in the car alone headed to gymnastics. I’d like to say this is a fun, relaxing girl time, but the truth is…it’s exhausting.

Girls talk a lot. I mean, I know that I am a girl and I’m quite certain I talked a lot as a kid (in fact, I distinctly remember my mom asking me to be quiet on occasion because her ears hurt. Hmph…), but I really wasn’t prepared for the intensity of the chatting. Half the time I don’t even understand what she is saying. Take, for example, this most recent conversation (which I can only remember pieces of because I’m not kidding she talks without breathing…)

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…(every new sentence begins with this phrase)”

Me: “What?”

Tia: “Riley has an older sister and she got her ears pierced and she said that it hurted really bad and her sister cried and her sister is eleven…and she cried.”

Me: *open mouth to respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…”

Me: *open mouth the respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “There’s this boy who is in my group and I think he likes me, but I don’t like him. I mean I do like him, but I only like him like…you know…like a boy. But not like a boyfriend. I don’t like anybody like a boyfriend, right mom?”

I don’t even attempt a response.

Tia: “I don’t know if I want to get my ears pierced. I mean, I kind of do want to get my ears pierced but I’m a little nervous. Does it hurt weally bad to get your ears pierced, Mom? Can I get my ears pierced, Mom?”

Me: *open mouth to respond but there isn’t time so I close it again*

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…my friend in my class said she wears a bwa (bra). She’s six! Six year olds don’t wear bwas, right Mom? Can a six year old wear a bwa? Do I need to wear a bwa, Mom?”

I would really like to respond to this, but there simply isn’t time.

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…when I play soccer, I think I might be the star player, ’cause I think I’m pretty good at soccer. But I don’t know if I should be a professional soccer player when I grow up or a professional gymnastics girl. Maybe I should be both, right Mom? And a veteranian. I want to be a vet, ‘kay Mom?”

I manage to nod.

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…sometimes when I go to school I play with just the boys on the playground, but not usually. Only sometimes. Mostly I just play with the girls. Mom I smell centipedes. Do you smell centipedes?”

I…I just…I don’t…huh? Oh wait. She stopped talking. This is the question she wants me to answer?

Tia: “Mom. Mom!”

Me: “What?!”

Tia: “Did you hear me?”

Me: “I…uh…yes?”

Tia: “Oh Mom, guess what…”

And on and on it goes until we arrive. And I think she only manages to use an eighth of her daily allotted words because it starts all over again on the way home. So if you see me out in public and I look lost in a daze, just know I’m trying to process it all.

And I’m trying to figure out what the heck centipedes smell like…

How to dress like a mom without LOOKING like a mom

Yesterday, I made my way downtown to the County Clerk’s office to track down yet another elusive form needed for the adoption. When I entered the building, I decided to run into the bathroom before heading up to the sixteenth floor. Friends, what I saw upon glancing in the mirror both shocked and horrified me.

I looked like a mom.

But Kelli, you ARE a mom.

Yes, I know. I know I’m a mom. I’m a mom who drives a minivan, no less. BUT IT DOESN’T MEAN I HAVE I LOOK LIKE IT!

I had put zero effort into my appearance before leaving the house yesterday. I hadn’t even brushed my hair!

(But I did brush my teeth. Go me.)

(For Real. GO! ME!)

I had simply pulled my dirty, greasy hair back into a ponytail, slapped on a little mascara and chapstick, threw on the first clothes I managed to grab out of the drawer (in the dark, no less, since I woke up before the sun) and I skipped into a very public place looking like I’d been hit by a truck.

Case in point:

A couple of months ago, I bought the above pictured shorts at GAP. I didn’t try them on when I bought them which means I came home with a pair of shorts that were one size too big (which is always more encouraging than coming home with shorts that are too small, mind you).

Because I am the most orgainzed scatterbrained person on the planet, I almost immediately lost the receipt and decided they weren’t really that bad as long as I belted them. They were kind of comfy, actually.

Lee came to me the second time I wore those pants and leaned in close. “You know those are Mom-Shorts, right? They totally give you Mom-Butt.”

I’m not entirely sure what Mom-Butt means, but the way he said it did not lead me to believe that it was something I should be striving for. I was a bit disappointed as I really loved the shorts, so I decided they would just be around the house comfy shorts from there on out.

Until yesterday, when I had a moment of terrible mombrainitis and decided to leave the house in said Mom-Shorts. I also had Tevas on my feet, which let’s face it, scream Mom-With-A-Minivan.

At least it wasn’t a skort and Keds! Baby steps, people. Baby steps.

Upon seeing my unkempt appearance, however, I made a resolve to try juuuuust a scooch harder to put forth an effort in my appearance before heading out in public. Thus, I give you:

I generally tend to leave the house looking a bit frayed for a few different reasons. Sometimes it’s pure laziness. I don’t feel like washing my face, or brushing my hair, or putting on a semi-cute outfit.

Sometimes it’s because I’m running late. We moms generally have to attend to all the chicks in the flock before we can fluff our own feathers (how do you like that metaphor, eh?) which means we run out of time to do anything more than make sure we at least have the proper undergarments on before leaving the house.

(Um…there’s a chance I’ve left the house in the past without even getting to this step. Maybe. I mean, I won’t say for sure, but…)

Sometimes I have high and lofty expectations of getting to the gym after I drop children off where they need to be and I have no desire to try and look cute only to go work out. More often than not, though, I never make it to the gym so I walk around looking like a drowned gym rat without ever having worked a muscle.

*hangs head in shame*

So what is a busy mom to do? How do I dress like a mom without looking like a mom?

First things first. I will fix my hair!

Even if I’m throwing it into a ponytail, I can still brush it. And if it’s dirty? Well, that is the perfect excuse to invest in a couple of cute hats. Am I right?

Second – Never underestimate the power of accesories:

Yes, it’s only September, which in Florida means we are now enjoying temps in the mid to high ’80’s every day. Not exactly scarf weather, but how cute is this lovely? I have been dying to wear it, so yesterday I put it on over a tank top with a pair of jeans and voila! Cute outfit in less than ten minutes!

Third: Wear clothes that fit. I dunno, but I have a sneaking suspicion that Mom-Butt has something to do with shapeless formless clothing, giving one the appearance of a wide, saggy derriere. Just conjecture, but I’m pretty sure I’ve hit the nail on the head.

Fourth: Make up. I know some of you are so naturally beautiful that you simply don’t need make up. I salute you (and I’m secretly envious).

I am not one of those people. I mean, I’m not afraid to leave the house without make up, but I also feel MUCH more secure with a little bit of color on my cheeks and some mascara to give the old eyes a lift. Just me. Even if I’m going to the gym, I’m putting on a little make up.

Because I would rather not scare everyone in my path!

Finally – a pair of cute shoes goes an awfully long way. They can make or break an otherwise drab outfit. I mean, even a skort can be dressed up with the right pair of shoes.

Hmm? What’s that? Forget trying to make the skort sound good ’cause you’re not buying it? REALLY?!

Is it time to give up on the idea of the Skort? *sigh* Fine…back to the shoes.

Listen, just because I have three kids, am nestled somewhere in my thirties and drive a minivan doesn’t mean I have to abandon all hope of dressing sassy. Even if I’m headed to the gym, I can do so looking cute and put together. I can look like a mom without LOOKING like a mom.

Know what I mean?

Have any cute fashion tips for us frazzled, busy Moms? Do share!

*PS-Please know this is all written very tongue in cheek. It’s not meant to offend. Here’s the obligatory winky face emoticon so you know I’m only writing in jest:  😉

Amidst the flames

Last night I smothered them all in kisses. Soft cheeks still ripe with innocence and youth. Noses dotted with the freckles of childhood, when life is secure and free and beautiful and each day can be met with wonder and imagination.

I don’t tell them about the fires. I don’t mention the lives lost and the political uproar, the fear for what tomorrow might hold. I don’t share the unrest or the prevailing hatred that threatens to overwhelm. While flames lick the embassies and grieving loved ones bury heroes, I play another round of UNO, wipe another runny nose and gather my chicks under my wing with nothing more than a prayer.

These are scary times. I look at my children sometimes and I wonder, what will they face? I think of the little girl who may already be waiting for us across the ocean and I long to gather her close, too. To protect her from the scary. To tell her it’s okay, everything is going to be alright.

I haven’tcompletely sheltered the kids. Sloan and I talked politics just the other day. He watched footage of the 9-11 Memorial and I did not try to hide my tears as I listened to a mother remember her son who perished in the flames of that awful day. He knows that evil exists. He understands that there are those who possess a hatred so fierce it causes them to commit the unthinkable.

But while these flames burn, I feel an overwhelming urge to keep my little ones near and to guard their innocence with all the ferocity I’ve been given as their mother. I whisper prayers over them each night. I pray for protection and peace and for days filled with the magical fantasy that only the youthful can possess. 

I pray this not just for my children, but for all the children. I think of Moses and Mwajuma and the different kind of innocence they possess. I pray for the little ones who are trapped right in the center of the flames, the ones burying their daddies and the ones who go to sleep at night to the sporadic sounds of gunshots.

In the nighttime hours, I study the candidates and dissect what they believe so that, when the time comes, I can use what little power I have to try and protect the future for my children. I learn and try to understand and ultimately I remember that in the end, it is God who places people in power and it is all for a reason.

I will fight the flames the only way I can and I will do so with as much education as I can to ensure I truly understand the choices I am making. Because those choices don’t just affect me – they affect them. They affect my children, the ones who are set to grow up in this beautiful, wonderful, scary, volatile world.

My vote and my prayers are the only weapons I’ve got and I take my responsibility to utilize them seriously.

 

Yesterday, I sat behind a woman and her three children who had that very morning said goodbye to a husband and a daddy. He had left in the early morning hours for a nearly nine-month long deployment to Afghanistan. I watched as she and her mother-in-law clutched hands through the worship set, each swiping tears from her eyes in a swift motion of strength and vulnerability.

Two women with the young ones huddled securely beneathe their arms. A hero sent into the flames. My vote and my prayer all I have as back up.

 

 

I believe in the power of both.

 

I will utilize both my vote and my prayers with as much humility and wisdom as I have been granted. I will vote with passion and conviction, but I will not step into the voting booth with hatred.

Hatred ignites the flame.

I have a responsibility to guard my chldren – all the children – from the heat of those flames.

I urge you, my friends, to educate yourselves before this election. Don’t vote based on emotion or popularity or even based on what you’ve voted in the past. We cannot be lackadaisical in our knowledge of the issues. We must go forth with conviction and courage.

The heat of the flames must compel us forward in wisdom, grace and humility and, above all else, we have to protect the little ones who are coming up behind us.

Are you prepared to vote?

Dear Mom, Mondays: Make ’em laugh

Do you remember those magical moments as a kid when the stars aligned and you said the perfect thing to send your parents into a fit of laughter? Do you remember how good it felt to know that your parents delighted in you?

Dear Mom,

Laugh a little…or a lot. The sound is magic and I will walk away knowing that you think I’m fun, that you delight in me, that I make you happy.

Raising children is a battle. Each morning I wake up, take a deep breath and prepare for the fight. Some days, the fight begins before my feet even hit the floor. By the time I get to the kitchen people are already arguing and crying and tattling and demanding food and drink.

(My children insist on being fed EVERY DAY! Multiple times, even…)

When I awaken to a battle already being waged, I do not smile much. I’m on edge, I’m frustrated, I’m tired, I just want coffee and thirty minutes of quiet. But I’m not afforded such luxeries, so I push through.

If I can find the strength to muster a smile and even a little laugh, it does wonders toward diffusing the battlefield. If I can throw in a little joke and get them laughing, and we all leap together into delight, suddenly brushing teeth and putting shoes on is no longer akin to torture and the waters smooth just a bit.

The other day, when the arguing was too much, the tattling too far, the smiles too hard to force, I pulled up this video and put it in front of the kids.

BOOM!

Hearty laughter abounds and what were we fighting about again?

Sometimes they’re so silly, and the jokes they tell are so bad that I must bite my lip and swallow the impatient sigh. If I can muster a smile, that’s a nice place to start, but if I can offer a chuckle or a genuine laugh, I’ve made the day of the silly clown of a child.

Because fifteen years from now, the children will remember me, their mother, in some form or another. Will I be remembered as one who delighted in them, who filled the rooms with laughter, or the sour puss who only wanted coffee and alone time?

Dear Mom. Delight in your children. Smile often and laugh every day and never forget that they will, potentially, some day be in charge of choosing your nursing home. You want them to choose wisely…

HAPPY LABOR DAY! Go sit on your tail and do nothing… 

On playing the fool

“It’s better to keep your mouth closed and let people think you’re a fool than open it and remove all doubt.”

Mark Twain

 

I wonder what Mark Twain would think about social media. I would love to hear the zingers that he’d come up with regarding the many, many opportunities we all have now to play the fool. Perhaps he would change his quote to say, “It’s better to keep your fingers still and let people think you’re a fool than send out a Tweet and remove all doubt.”

With the influx of social media and the numerous sites that allow us to convey ideas, share thoughts, connect with one another and offer our vastly different opinions, I fear that we have opened ourselves up to looking the fool if we aren’t diligent and careful to manage our online footprint.

And as parents, we had better be ever vigilant in teaching our children how to navigate the waters of the online world. Social media isn’t going away and I don’t think it should. There is a lot of good coming from the online communities that have sprung up these last few years.

There’s also a lot of danger.

We are all prone to fits of frustration and angry backlash of the tongue. Some are, perhaps, more prone to issue a biting, angry barb than others, but none of us are immune. We have all inserted a foot in the mouth at some point in our lives and we’ve probably all had to apologize for foolish words spoken in the past. It’s the nature of being human – we can’t control our tongues.

But while a biting comment may ruin a relationship, if it’s been said in private there are steps one can take to restore that relationship, to apologize and to learn from the mistake in a private way.

A foolish tweet or Facebook post, however, will last forever.

 

This scares me for my children and it’s this reason alone that will keep them from opening a Facebook account or having a Twitter profile until Lee and I are sure that they have mastered enough control over emotions and words that they won’t blast off 140 characters that end up painting them fools for the rest of their lives.

And lest we think this issue of foolish tweeting is only a thing for youth, the fact is it isn’t. I’m astounded, particularly now as we are headed into a contentious political season, at the things grown ups are posting online. Foolish tweets. Ridiculous pictures and meme’s. Shameful Facebook posts.

So many words are being misused and the online world turns into a dreadful game of cat and mouse. This isn’t to say I don’t think people should share their opinions. Of course not. I am completely supportive of people writing about the things that they feel passionate about.

It’s the snarky, online bickering and arguing that I find tiresome and this is the very behavior that I will passionately teach my children. Don’t be the fool online. Think before your tweet. If you don’t have something nice to say, just say nothing at all.

Please.

 

I have one child in particular who is very susceptible to reacting in anger. Words are his weapon of choice and when he’s frustrated, he uses them in an attempt to ease the frustration. I understand this about him only because I struggle with the same thing. A single quick, harsh word only feels good for a split second.

It feels horrible for eternity afterward.

We are constantly working with him and teaching him how to control and tame his tongue. How to stop, to breathe, to think and to decide if the words he wants to say are really going to make the situation better or worse.

If he can learn to do this in his every day interactions, then I feel like we will be better preparing him to handle the interactions of the internet.

In the nearly five years that I’ve been blogging, I’ve learned that not every sentiment of my heart needs to be blogged. Not every disagreement needs to be resolved online. Sometimes people say things that I disagree with and I find myself getting hot and angry.

So I walk away from the computer.

I’d rather keep my mouth shut fingers still and be thought a fool than send out a tweet and remove all doubt.

If you have children, how are you preparing them and training them for the online world that stands in their future?

Dear Mom

They call my name four hundred times a day. “Mom? Mom?! MOM! MOOOOOOMMMMMMM!!!!!!” They need help with this, correction for that, reminders for everything and they want to eat all the time.

I get weary.

I get impatient.

I get frustrated.

I get tired.

And yet, I love them so very much that even though I threaten to go on strike and throw in the towel, I know that I never will. But do they know that?

I’m beginning a new series this week called Dear Mom Mondays. This is a chance for us to come alongside one another and spur each other on to greater love, greater patience, greater depth of motherhood. I would love for you to join me in this longing of my heart to be the best Mom that I can be.

Not the perfect Mom. I will still get frustrated. I will still get tired. I will still lose my patience. I will still look at the destroyed kitchen in utter disbelief because didn’t I JUST clean it?!

But when my children are grown and have left the house, when they look back on these early memories, what will stand out the most? Will it be my short temper, or my desire to love quickly? When they write me letters in twenty years, what words will follow “Dear Mom?”

This week, my focus in motherhood is to start at step 1 – Take Care of my Heart.

 

Motherhood can be very discouraging. There are days when I just really don’t like my children. They are rude and disrespectful and mean and argumentative and by the time bed time rolls around I’m so battle weary that I dream of some sort of escape.

Then one of them wanders out of their bedroom for one last kiss and hug and whispers “I love you” in my ear and I melt and decide they’re not so bad after all.

If I’m guarding and protecting my heart, I find I am much more patient with my children throughout the day. One of the first and most important ways I can do that is to get more sleep. I have a nasty habit of staying up way too late doing a whole lot of nothin’. I like to convince myself that I’m doing productive things, but messing around on Facebook and Twitter, reading blogs and watching TV are hardly productive things.

Lately, I’ve been trying to stay up late and wake up early, which means by 2:00 every afternoon I am a crabby, exhausted mess prone to react to my children in frustration and anger. Simply going to bed at 10:00 would do wonders for my patience and would probably make me more productive in the day time hours as well.

The second part of taking care of my heart involves simply starting my day off with scripture and prayer. For me, this is the best way to not only begin my day, but it’s also the best way for me to love my children well. If I begin the day by bathing them in prayer, my heart tends to be so much softer to their needs throughout the day.

So when they freak out over something small and silly, I can respond to the wails with love rather than with a deep sigh and a roll of the eyes.

 

Praying for our children makes their childish behaviors less of a nuisance.

 

This is my heart and my desire this week. Everything I do will build upon this very important piece of the motherhood puzzle. If I am taking care of my heart in these two very simple but impactful ways, then I can begin to work on other areas in mothering that need improving.

So what about you? What areas of motherhood are a struggle for you and how can we be an encouragement as you work to improve in those areas? 

Join me next week for Dear Mom Mondays as we continue to tackle the frustrations and joys of mothering in order to spur one another on to greater love and grace with our children.

The Tooth Fairy’s a Vampire

Tia lost one of her two front teeth last week. It wasn’t the one I expected her to lose first, which means the looser of the two front teeth was left hanging precariously to the side without a mate to hold it up. In short, it was the epitomy of The Snaggletooth:

Yowza.

Because she outright refused to let us pull it, I tried to come up with as many creative ways to “accidentally” knock the tooth out for her. We went to Busch Gardens twice last week and I purposly put her in front of me on several rides hoping she would slide forward and bump her mouth.

Just a tiny bump, enough to jar it loose is all…

Finally, I caught a break on Sunday when she and her dad were doing some sort of gymnastics/cheerleading move and she bumped her mouth on his knee. Before she even knew what was happening, I had my fingers around the tooth and gave one solid yank.

I figured I only had one chance so I had to make it count, and I succeeded. Then I nearly passed out from all the bleeding. Ugh…mouth bleeding.

Aren’t you glad you stopped by to check in on us today? You aren’t eating are you? Sorry…

I didn't know it was possible for her to get any cuter...

So we had the tooth and Tia had a lisp and all was well in the world again. We spent the night at my parent’s condo last night, which was very exciting, because whenever the Tooth Fairy visits at the condo, she leaves money behind in a shell.

That is, of course, if the blasted Tooth Fairy doesn’t forget and head to bed instead of doing her job.

Tia walked out quite dejected and disappointed this morning. She saw my dad first and I heard the conversation.

Tia: “Boss, the Tooth Fairy didn’t come.” small sniff

Dad (aka ‘Boss’): “Uh-oh. I wonder what happened. You should go see if your Mom knows anything.”

She walked around the corner holding her tooth, her eyes sad and dejected. And I? I thought fast…

“I am so sorry, kiddo. That was Mommy’s fault. You went to sleep last night with your glow sticks by your pillow and the Tooth Fairy is afraid of light so she probably got spooked and left without taking your tooth.”

And then she grinned. At least I think she did. It’s hard to tell if she’s smiling when I can’t see any teeth. A few minutes later, I heard her telling Sloan the reason the Tooth Fairy didn’t leave behind a treat.

“The Tooth Fairy is afraid of the light?” he asked. “Like a vampire?” 

*sigh*

Tonight her tooth is back under her pillow with a very sincere apology note for scaring her off last night. And as soon as the Tooth Fairy gets off her tail and quits blogging, she is going to go deposit a dollar under the patient child’s pillow. The child who insisted there be no light on to scare the Tooth Fairy tonight.

Landon sleeps on the other side of the hallway and just after I put him to bed he called me into his room. “I need light,” he whimpered. “I don’t want the Tooth Fairy to come in here and take my teeth.”

A small note now lays outside his door that reads, Dear Tooth Fairy. Please do not come into Landon’s room. He has not lost any teeth. Thank you so much.

What’s the most creative tale you’ve ever had to tell your children?

PS – I know this business of telling our kids about the Tooth Fairy and Santa Clause and the Easter Bunny can be a hot button topic. We have chosen to allow our children the magic and fun of believing in those things while they are young. We plan on telling them ourselves that those things are just myths when we feel the time is right. We will be letting Sloan in on the secret this year because clearly when you start drawing connections between the Tooth Fairy and vampires it’s time to end the game.

This is what we have chosen to do in our family. I respect completely if you feel differently about the issue.

Nine

Photo by Avodah Images

I love this child with a ferocity that cannot be strung into words. He is smart, funny, kind, passionate, loving, silly, outgoing and…tall.

Lord Almighty, this kid is tall.

I can’t believe I have a nine-year-old. I learn something new every single day parenting this child. He shocks me with his constant ability to love others deeply and fiercely. He is going to change the world, this one – perhaps for the masses, perhaps for just a few, but I have no doubt he’s going to make an impact wherever he goes.

As we drove home last night, the golden glow of headlights zipping past us, we just talked. The other two were asleep and there was no sound beyond the gentle hum of wheels on the highway.

“What should I be when I grow up?” he asked. “Not what you think I could be, but what do you want me to be when I grow up?”

The questions are getting harder to answer…

I won’t tell you what you should be,” I answered. “There are just too many possibilities.” I went on to list the many things I think he’d be great at: Missions, Pastoring, Business, News reporting, Sports, Science – really, at nine? The sky is the limit.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?” I asked.

*pause*

“I don’t know,” he said thoughtfully. “I just want to glorify God.”

Even as I type this, the tears prick the corners of my eyes. Nine years ago, I held him in my arms for the first time and I had no clue what I was doing. I just knew, as I looked in his tiny eyes, that I was meant to be his Mom. I didn’t know how hard it would be to be his Mom. I didn’t know the tears I would shed and the inners corners of my own sin and selfishness that would be laid bare before me in his reflection. I didn’t know what this would be like.

I just knew that this kid was something special and he was meant just for me.

God, I’m grateful for that gift.

Avodah Images