Humanity Challenge

I have some really awesome friends.  I enjoy stalking them occasionally on Facebook.  I logged in tonight to get semi-caught up...

 3 Ice Bucket Challenge videos

(all agreeing to also donate $)

1 post from a ministry thanking a friend

for gathering friends to volunteer and serve others for a day

2 posts of people fostering stray animals

6 Anti-Ice Bucket Challenge posts 

6

 

Let me remind myself...

I have really awesome friends...

Even the ones that posted anti-challenge stuff.

But I have to remind myself again, because I'm really confused now seeing more than a handful of posts bashing a good thing.

I get so annoyed with humanity when I see posts discouraging people from their good intentions.  If you don't want to dump ice water on your head, that's fine. Nobody cares.  But stop telling other people to stop doing it.

IT'S BEEN A HUGE SUCCESS.

There are a handful of charities that have benefited from it and plenty of laughs had by it.  When something starts with good intentions and results in an outpouring of support for multiple charities, quit discouraging it. 

You want to write a check silently?  That's awesome!!  And a great idea.  I absolutely 100% support you.  However, had the first guy to do the challenge done exactly that, only ONE charity would be $100 richer instead of multiple charities being thousands and/or millions richer. 

Don't knock a good thing.

Don't want to accept the ice bucket/cold water challenge?  No worries.  I have another one for you. I'm calling it the #HumanityChallenge. 

The rules are simple.

 

When somebody does a good thing with good intentions,

don't discourage it.

You don't have to join it.

You don't have to support it.

You don't even have to agree with it.

Just don't discourage it.

Have some humanity.

#HumanityChallenge

Shut.

This morning sucked.   Sure, it could've been a lot worse, but there was plenty of room for improvement.  3 hours after our intended time to leave the house this AM, Ellie and I finally headed out the door. 

I set Ellie's juice cup on the roof of the car along with a small cardboard box and attempted to secure her in her car seat.   Let's just say getting in the car took longer than expected as well.  When we were both finally successfully buckled I breathed a sigh of relief and backed out. 

Our driveway needs some major repair and could second as a skateboard obstacle ramp at the moment. I bumped carefully up the hill and heard what sounded like an explosion.  I was sure I had just wrecked into one of our concrete obstacles.  Although I try to be a better person these days, there was a period of time in my college years that some of my language was similar to that of a sailor's, and, well, after this most fun morning, I had a momentary relapse.  First one I've had in 2.5 years in front of the kid.  I didn't even notice it. 

I put the car in park. Got out.  Looked for damage and realized that stupid sippy cup and box had just crashed down the back of the car and landed safely on the ground.  Whew.  No wreck.  No damage.  Breathed another sigh of relief and got back in the car.

Ellie:  "Mama, why you say shut?“ 
Me:  "Shut?  What? When did I...? "
Oh, little brain. How thankful I am you didn't process my words correctly. 
"Um... I just needed to shut the door."

She was 100% content with that answer.  Brilliant.  Thought that was the end.  Breathed another sigh of relief.  I took that as this weeks parenting fail and save all tied into one. 

Ha.  Ohhhh stupid, young mom.  Of course your mistake is not gone so quickly.  Every time we put Ellie in the car now....  "Shut." Every. Time.  Not "shut the door", not "shut that".  Just shut.

Ha.  Thanks for that little reminder, God.  I deserve it.  It's precisely what this mom needs to do with her mouth.  Keep.It.Shut.

Shut.

If you ever try to tell me God doesn't have a sense of humor, I won't believe you. 

We packed up Jesus today.

We're moving.  Not far this time.  Just down the street and around the corner, but nonetheless, it's packing time.

Yesterday was 'pack all the random decorations and stuff sitting on the table' day.  Once I'd cleared most of our surfaces, I looked over to our nativity table.  I didn't want to do it, but Jesus is coming with us, so it was time to get him ready to go and pack him up. 

I've never paid so much attention to packing a nativity in my life.  In years past, I remember just tossing the figurines in some tissue paper and stuffing them in the box hoping they'd fit and be protected enough to come out pretty and perfect the next year, much like every other Christmas decoration.

But... Yesterday was different. 

I took Jesus first.  I wrapped half a piece of tissue paper around him.  Then I took the other half of the tissue paper and wrapped Mary up with him making sure they were positioned such that Jesus was in Mary's arms.  I didn't want to separate the two of them.  Then I took Joseph and wrapped him with half a piece of tissue, and I used the other half of Joseph's tissue to wrap the angel with him.  I placed them in the box right next to Mary and Jesus.  I didn't want anything to come between the family and God's angel.  Then I wrapped the wise men.  Then the shepherd with his sheep.  Everything had it's place.  Every place had meaning. I continued like this for about 10 minutes.  It used to take me two to pack that nativity up. 

But... This year is different.

This year I am a mom.  Those pieces aren't just a nativity to me anymore.  They are a family.  They are God's family.  They are my family.  They represent Ellie's understanding of Jesus and our faith.  As a mom, I am now emotionally connected to those pieces.

In other words, I am a mom, and I have officially fallen off my rocker.  Somebody come pack the rest of my house before I have to be committed. 

Just Mom

Ok that's it. In 6 hours when my alarm is blaring telling me it's time for another day, I know I'm going to regret staying up to do this... but with all the other things I've got to do before bed anyway, holding my tongue isn't one I want to add to the list tonight.

So... here goes....
(steps up on soap box a little regretfully knowing I should never step up on a soap box emotional and deliriously tired)

Lately my Facebook and Pinterest have been filled with articles about the stay at home mom; how much they do, how awesome they are, how tired they must always be, how little they're appreciated, how much harder their job is than any other job. Like a dummy, I read every single article despite the fact that I am not a stay at home mom. I actually agree with most of what is written in the articles, but there are some pointed, exclusive words that offend me.  Those words?  Stay at home. And that's what I'm here to address.  It's about time we get rid of those words.

The last article/blog/whatever I read (the one that threw me up on this soapbox) informed me of the hardest job in the world. Want to take a guess at what it is?

Stay at home mom.

Alright then.  Thanks.  That's great for us working moms. Our job didn't make the cut. I guess what those kind people told us 6 weeks post partum as we went back to work was right, "Somebody else is going to raise our kids."

Awesome.

I wish I had listened to those kind people 2.5 years ago. I could've saved a whole lot of effort and energy. Oh well. Now that it's been confirmed over and over and over again on the internet, let me just sit my big working mom butt down and take a nap.  My job is easy.

Oh wait... I just got off work and now there's a little one to pick up from daycare and feed and reassure that even though I didn't spend every second of the day with her, I wish I could have. There's reprogramming to do.  Every bad habit Little Johnny shared at daycare must be broken quickly before it's too late.  Every time out of the day must be addressed.  Every good deed of the day must be recognized and praised.  Then there's laundry to do. Dishes to wash. Floors to scrub. Toys to pick up. A child to bathe and read to and cuddle and love. Spaghetti to wash out of MY hair.  Oh hey... the last bit of that sounds really familiar. Oh wait... That's because I just read that list of to dos in the stay at home mom praise article.

Imagine that.

Stay at home moms and working moms doing equally difficult tasks!  Huh.  Maybe us working moms need a little praise too.  Maybe there's no need to exclude us in your sweet little 'stay at home mom' article.

You want to know what the REAL hardest job in the world is?

Being a mom.

Did you catch that?

Not a stay at home mom.

Not a working mom.

Just a mom.

There's no need to differentiate when you're praising and recognizing the hard work moms do, because we all do the work.  Praise and recognize us all. We all have our battles. It's time they are all appreciated.  Equally.  Not just the ones that stayed home.  

So, to moms:

You're awesome. All of you. Those that work. Those that stay home. If you're present and trying every day as hard as you possibly can whether you mess up occasionally or are the definition of perfection, you, my dear, are awesome. You are appreciated, and what you do is recognized. Keep it up. And ignore any article/blog/whatever that excludes you. You're too good for it anyway.

Our Truck, Pocket.

Ellie, Scott, and I live about two hours away from my family now.  During the summer, Scott works weekends.  We go to church as a family Sundays, but other than that, every weekend is girl's weekend. 


Ellie and I go to visit my family fairly frequently.  It's a quick enough drive that it's easy to drive up  Friday night after work and come home Saturday night in time for bed.  However, the drive is ridiculously boring.  I try to come up with cute games to play; find the cows, look for birds, wave to the trucks, identify the road kill.  But like I said, it's a boring drive.


Luckily this last trip we had some entertainment.  I called one of my best friends, Quinn, to catch up.  She wasn't available, so I left her a message.  Not 5 minutes later, my phone was ringing. 

Caller ID:  Quinn. 

Real caller?  Quinn's butt. 

When I first answered I assumed I was losing service.  "Quinn, are you there?  Hello?  Can you hear me now?"  No reply.  Then I heard her voice in the distance and knew we'd been butt dialed. 


With nothing else to do, I decided it was urgent that we let Quinn know she'd butt dialed us so she could hang up.  I mean, we sure weren't about to hang up.  Of course we had to scream so she could hear us in her pocket.

"Quinn-delicious.  Help.  We're stuck in your pocket."

This went on for about 35 minutes.  Like I said, this drive is ridiculously boring.  Finally the call cut off.


Immediately after we stopped yelling....

"Mama, we in Quinn-delicious's pocket?"

Whoops. 


I said no and explained the 'joke', but that came 34 minutes too late.  Scott's truck will now forever be Quinn-delicious's Pocket, Pocket for short.  Although Scott preferred the old name of Meredith, I'm pro-Pocket.  Road tripping in a pocket is just way more fun than road tripping in a truck.   

Argue forever. Until you're blue in the face. Really. Please.

I put Ellie in the bathtub the other night.  Filled it with bubbles, handed her some toys, and sat down next to the tub.  She looked at me and giggled.

 

"You're a baby." Ellie

"Who's a baby?" Me

"You are."  Ellie

"No, I'm not, silly." Me

"Yes, you are!"  Ellie

(lots of giggles)

"Ha. I am not a baby.  You're a baby."  Me

"You're a baby!" Ellie

 

 

I laughed.  It was cute.  She's reached the age of debate.  This time it was cute.  There are other times where I must admit, I come close to pulling my hair out or hiding in a closet with a bottle of wine.  She argues a lot.  Of course, we knew she would.  She comes by it honestly.  We did (err... do) the same.

It can wear a parent out, but I am always baffled when I talk to other parents about it.

"Oh, I couldn't deal with that. I'd put an end to that quickly."

 

What?  Why?  I don't get it.  Why would you attempt to disarm a personality trait that could come in great use later in life?  Because it's tiring?  Or do you really think you're doing right by your child to not allow debate? 

I remember when I was a kid.  I argued.  All.the.time.  Ask anybody that knew me.  Some grown adults still won't have anything to do with me now thanks to the arguments I had with them as a child (Sorry guys, I promise I'm not such a pain anymore).  I think my mom has about 23 different books on how to handle 'the strong willed child'.  I was a force to be reckoned with.  Luckily for me, my parents figured out how to 'handle' me.  Luckily for me again, my parents weren't parents that wanted to 'put an end to that quickly.'

Instead of discouraging the fight, my parents encouraged the debate.  I wasn't allowed to talk back, but I was allowed to express my opinion, respectfully, even if it took me an hour to finally communicate it.  My parents questioned me.  They questioned my views.  They made me prove my point.  They taught me to pick my battles.  If I was going to fight, I'd better make sure whatever I was fighting for was worth it.

My parents encouraged and reinforced good morals and respect.  This helped out a lot when it came to making sure what I was fighting for was worth it, and it is the main reason I absolutely will not discourage the fight in my child(ren).  If Ellie fights with me today and I don't discourage her, but instead instill good morals and teach her what's worth fighting for, she'll fight with her friends tomorrow.  She'll fight for what's right.  She'll do what's right.  Even when I'm not there.  Even if her friends don't agree.  It's just going to take a lot of patience, effort, and prayer from me (us- the parents) and her. 

I pray I can do what my parents did.  I pray I can maintain my patience and understanding (and sanity and sobriety). I pray I can teach her what's worth fighting for... and what's not.  I pray that her arguments with me today help build a strong foundation for her tomorrow.  I pray that they keep her on the right path.  I pray I can develop her debate without killing her fight. 

I'm no parenting expert, but it just doesn't make sense to me to discourage debate with a child... especially when it's a natural trait in some children.  Make the extra effort, say some prayers (eat some chocolate or drink a glass of wine if you must), teach your child what the good fight is, and encourage them to fight it.

I can see the fight in my child every day, and I love it.  Even when it exhausts me.


I did it.

Apparently it's stomach bug season, and we've been hit.  Ellie's been throwing up the past few days.  She doesn't comprehend what's going on.  She just knows it sucks.  A true Southern Belle though, she handles it with grace.  Seriously. 

This is what she chose to do in between 'episodes' this weekend. 

 

 

She even picked the shade that best brought out the color of her eyes.

I'm such a proud Southern mom.  Ha.

I won't mention the fact that she snuck this adventure in while I was taking a shower and dad was away at work. 

 

Slight detour...

Back to the story... 

 

We've been trying to teach Ellie to throw up in a bucket.  Explaining upchucking to a 2 year old isn't easy.  Explaining why they should run for a bucket/toilet as soon as they feel that 'sick sensation' is even less easy.  But, this smart kid has it mastered.  To a T.  It's so pitiful.  Yet so precious at the same time.  Yes.  I just said puking a bucket was precious.  If you know Ellie, you'll understand.  Everything she does is precious.  Really.  I know I'm biased, but really.

 

We've developed a strategy:

She coughs. 

I come running with the bucket. 

She holds it until I get there. 

So far that works.  I know it's not fail safe. 

She leans over the bucket.

Success.

 

"I did it."

Cough. Cough.

Sniffle. Sniffle.

"I did it, Mommy."

 

The first time she said 'I did it', I had no idea what she said.  Then she threw up again and said it again.  I got it that time.  I was so proud.  She was so proud.  It cracked me up and brought a little light on the dark day.  It was funny.

 

Welcome to parenthood. 

Where puking is precious,

puking in a bucket is something you're proud of,

and 'I did it' is a sentence that can bring a laugh and brighten a day.

 

 

 

Now... to get her well... so she can feel better, we can feel better, 

and we can all laugh without there being any pain behind the funny...

Parenthood Initiation

I've been a mom for over two years now.  I thought this day would've come way before now.  I thought I qualified with the ridiculous pain of labor.  Or the countless hours I stayed up all night with you as a newborn.  Maybe the millions of ounces of breast milk I painstakingly pumped the first 14 months.  Or the thousands of diapers I changed.  Or with the many milestone celebrations we've shared over these 2 short years.  Nope.  No ma'am.  Those didn't come close to this.  There was not a single contraction, pumping session, dirty diaper, or other first that would've prepared me for this.  After two years, despite the fact that I was a parent, I'd yet to be initiated into the parenthood club.

 

So... here's how it went down...

 

There we were.  An hour from home.  An hour from our destination.  You were crying in the back seat, miserable and confused.  You'd just thrown up.  For the first time ever.  You were covered in vomit.  I was panicking in the front seat, searching for somewhere to stop.  I wasn't prepared.  We were coming into the edge of town, where the 4 lane road had just turned into a 2 lane.  About a mile from all of the stores in town, but I couldn't leave you covered in pink vomit with bright red chunks for one more mile.  I was sure you'd just thrown up your guts.  Judging by your blood curdling screams, I'm fairly sure you were thinking the same thing.

 

I pulled over.  I prayed.  I had stopped right in front of a vacant building that was apparently the hang out for the unemployed in town.  I got out anyway.  I prayed.  I rushed to the back seat to pick you up, but first I had to wipe away the chunks.  I'll never be bothered again when someone makes fun of my stash of 500 drive thru napkins in the glove box.  I used every last one.  But they weren't enough.  I used every wipe in your diaper bag.  They weren't enough.  I'd cleaned you off as good as I could with what I had, but I needed more.  I prayed again.

 

I looked up and there shining in the sky were two golden arches.  Yes, today they were shining like they'd been sent from the heavens.  I buckled you back up, still covered and screaming, and we rolled into McDonalds.  Tears began to fill my eyes as I grabbed you, still screaming and confused, your diaper bag, and clean outfit.  At this point, I was covered, you were covered, and I knew I was about to bathe you in a McDonalds bathroom.  I prayed again.  As I was carrying you in, this sweet little old man held the door open for us and just smiled. 

 

"Awe, bless you." 

 

And that was all it took.  Down came the tears.  From me this time.  I tried to hide them and just continued to walk with you to the bathroom.

 

The bathroom was immaculate.  Go figure.  I wiped down the counter anyway and proceeded to bathe you, screaming and shaking.  You'd never thrown up before.  Not once.  Not like this.  Spit up doesn't count, and even if it did, you didn't do that much as a baby.  You had no idea what had happened.  You just knew you were miserable, and I wasn't able to fix it instantly.  I prayed again.  I finally got you dry (despite the fact this was a no paper towel/hand drier only McDonalds) and dressed.  I got myself cleaned up, and you climbed up my arm and into my shoulder and held on for dear life.  You needed a mama hug, but I needed a baby hug just as much.  We were ready to be on our way, but I just couldn't put you straight back in that car seat.  I prayed again.

 

I bought you some fries and a sprite.  Yes, you'd just thrown up.  Yes, I knew I was asking for it by feeding you fries.  No, I didn't care.  I knew it would cheer you up, and in that moment that's all I cared about.  I wasn't about to put you back in that seat without something to take your mind off of what had just happened.  I handed you fries and prayed they would stay down.  You were a happy kid. We got back on our way.  The fries stayed down.  I was a happy mama. 

 

That was it.  I was officially a member of the parenthood club.  I'd been hit with a mess.  By myself.  In the middle of nowhere.  It was a moment of unnecessary panic, but it ended ok.  There will be more, but those will be ok too.  I'm prepared now.  We're prepared now.  Whatever happens, we'll just pray and get through.  Until then, we'll pray we never see anything worse than vomit in the middle of nowhere.  Even though we probably will.  But we'll get through that too.

Words to Remember

Hello, sentiment.  It was nice of you to pop over today.  

 

This post is simply for me.  To remember. 

Because I want to.  And because I'm scared I'll forget.

I don't journal. 

I never remember to write in the baby book. 

This is as good as it gets.

 

So, here are some Ellie memories.

Somewhere we can find them. 

And not forget.

Ellie's Words

Pacifier:   Went from Poppy to Boppy
Almonds: Almies (her favorite snack- thanks SaSa)
Gloves:    Glubbs
Butt:        Hiney
Cream:    Cleam (as in 'hiney cleam' aka Vaseline)
Love:       Lub
Uh-huh:   Uh-huh (pronounced correctly- just used frequently and preciously...
                makes it hard to teach manners... just don't want to forget how cute
                it is/was)
Roly Poly: Pahdilly-Puddy  (by far our favorite word ever)

Marshmellow:  Caterpillar (no idea where this came from... When you correct her it becomes Marsh pilow) 

A Letter to Ellie

 

You had a tough week this week.  I picked you up from school yesterday and immediately you told on yourself.   You'd hit.   You'd bitten.   You'd gotten time out.  I was disappointed.  I felt bad for your 'victims'. I felt bad for your teachers.   I felt bad for you.    I told you, 'We don't bite.  We don't hit.'  And made sure you apologized. But I knew it was just a rough today.  Tomorrow would be better.

 

I made a deal with you this morning as I dropped you off at school.   If you wouldn't bite and wouldn't hit once all day, I'd bring you fruit snacks right after school.   I hugged your neck and asked if you understood.  

 

'Yes ma'am. Understand.' 

 

You sat down at your table, looked around, then you reached across the table to take a toy from a bigger kid on the other side.   He yanked it back.  He was twice your size.  The only way you could've gotten the toy from him was with a hit or a bite.   You looked back at me and immediately gave up on the toy.  You sat sadly, toylessly in your seat as I walked out the door.

 

I wanted so badly to just ask the little boy to share with you or to give you a different toy.   But that wasn't my place.   You needed to learn on your own.  You can't hit.   You can't bite.  It's not ok to be mean. You have to learn other means of getting what you want. And you have to learn for yourself.  Even if it means being sad.  So, I walked out the door.  Leaving you in your chair.  Sad.  Toyless. Mornings like today aren't my favorite.

 

I went to work (luckily from home today) and cried.   Most of the day actually.   When I dropped you off this morning almost all of your other classmates were in the room.  As I sat you down at your table I realized that you are the smallest in your class.   My teeny, tiny baby has grown into a teeny, tiny toddler, and it's not the easy being the littlest kid in class.  After looking around, I understood immediately why you'd fought so much yesterday.  But that still doesn't make being mean ok. 

 

When I left you this morning, I wanted nothing more than to protect you from the great big kids.  I wanted to sit by your side all day long to make those kids share willingly, so you wouldn't feel the need to hit or bite.  I wanted to sit down and teach your whole class how to share and how to communicate better.  But I couldn't.  It wouldn't have been best for you.  The best I could do was leave you to figure out how to work with them on your own.   You have to figure out on your own how to get what you want kindly, despite the disadvantage of being tiny. Yes, even though you're only just 2.  So, I had to leave.  I had to let you be.  I had to let you grow.  I have to let you learn.   Even though sometimes I don't want to.   Even though sometimes it's hard.   For you.   And for me.  So, I'll try.  There will be more tears.  From both of us.  But I'll try.

 

I picked you up from school today.  As soon as you saw me you ran towards me.   You were ready to knock every other kid out of the way to get to me (I hope that never stops), but you didn't.  You ran as politely as any toddler I've ever seen.

 

'Scuse me, peas. 'SCUSE ME!  My Mama!  My Mama, peas.' 

Albeit a little impatient, but ridiculously polite for a 2 year old. 

And hilariously precious. 

 

When you finally got through the madness (the 3 loud bigger kids and the fence gate standing between us), you jumped into my arms and grabbed onto me so, so tight.  I asked if you'd had a better day than yesterday.   You just buried your head into my shoulder and held on.   I knew that meant it wasn't great.  Your teacher proceeded to tell me that you had cried almost all day.  You didn't hit.  You didn't bite.  But you cried.  Almost all day. 

 

Me too, kid.  

Me.Too.  

 

We walked hand in hand to the car.   You were ready for the promised no-hit 'nacks.   I told you how proud I was that you didn't hit.   How proud I was that you didn't bite.   I knew I couldn't express my amazement of you in words that you'd understand right now,  but I just kept telling you over and over how awesome you are.  How much character you'd shown today.  At only a few more than 800 days old.  You are one impressive kid.  You needed to hear that.  You needed to know that. 

 

I hope you always remember that.

 

Today, instead of hitting or biting, you chose to cry.  You were willing to do the right thing, even though it made you sad.   Even though it broke your tiny, two year old heart in the process.   You knew the reward for doing right was greater than the instant satisfaction doing wrong would've been.  Even if the reward was just some measly old fruit snacks.  You knew it was worth doing right.

 

This morning I wasn't so sure that bribing you not to bite and hit was a good idea.  Turned out ok I guess.  So far.  You're learning.  You're making an effort.  A huge effort for a 2 year old.  You're making sacrifices.  You're doing right.  You're growing.  And learning.  On your own.  Thank you.  Thank you for trying.  Thank you for succeeding. 

 

If you haven't picked up on it yet, I kinda doubt every decision I make when it comes to you.   Luckily, so far, for me, you've been quick with reassurance.  Thank you for that.  I hope that sticks.

 

I hope you continue to do right...

Even if it isn't fun at the time. 

 

I hope you continue to stay on track, waiting for the big reward at the end...

Instead of detouring for some instant satisfaction.  

 

And I hope I can continue to discipline you and teach you right...

 in a way that gets across without breaking your spirit...  

Even if it makes me cry... 

And especially when it makes you cry.

That's the worst.

 

You're such an awesome person.  You're barely two, yet you're already such an inspiration. You're my teeny, tiny, barely two toddler with a ridiculous amount of character and love already.  I'm so amazed by all that you are already.  I'm so thankful too for the reassurance that you give me every day.    

 

I love you, kid. 

I am so, so proud of you.

Always.

Mama says I love you.

I got stuck at work yesterday.  Ellie had a doctor's appointment to check on her tubes, and I couldn't go.  The male half of May had to take her.  60 minutes away.  The female half of May was not happy about this at all.  Although I completely trust my other half, I hate not being there whenever she has an appointment of any kind.  Half of the hate is probably because I want to be in control of the situation (I have a slight problem letting go), but the other half of the hate is because I hate not being present for her.  Sure it's just a doctor's appointment.  No, she won't remember it a month from now.  But it matters to me.  And I'll remember. 

 

I struggle with being a working mom.  I was raised with a stay at home mom (mostly until I was older anyway).  She was always there.  Still is.  Doesn't matter what she's doing or what I'm doing.  I know if I need her, she'll be there.  I've worried since I was pregnant if I would be able to do the same for my child as a working mom.  The echoes of people asking, 'Are you really going to let someone else raise your child?' still scream in my head.  But I didn't have much of a choice.  Sure, I could've quit my job.  But we had a mortgage.  And a car payment.  And bills.  And my paycheck is responsible for 50% of those things.  We can either struggle and stress more than we do now or I can work.  I confidently said, 'No.  I'll raise my child, but I'll have help educating her.'  But I not so confidently questioned the words as soon as they left my mouth.  How would I deal with this??

Yesterday I got a call immediately after the check-up.

"You know we have the sweetest baby in the world?"-Daddy

"Of course.  Did she try to give her pacifier away again?" - Mama

(this is generally an everyday thing now as soon as she sees someone sad)

"Nope.  Not that today.  Well not that I know of.  We were talking about what the animals say.  We went through the Monkey, the Donkey... blah blah blah.  Then she goes 'What does the Mama say'.  I could've guessed, but was too curious and didn't want to lead her.  'I don't know.  What does the Mama say?'  ' Mama says I love you, Ellie.'  Is that not the sweetest thing ever?!?  Love that kid..."- Daddy

 

Me too.  And she knows it.  That's how I'd deal with this.

It was okay I wasn't at the appointment.

It's okay that I work.

She knows I love her. 

She knows I will be there for her.

Mama says I love you, Ellie. 

 

It sucks sometimes having to work.  Not being there for every appointment, every boo-boo, every play date with the stay at home moms, every 'first' that might occur at school, every second of every minute of every hour of every day.  But it's okay.  And it's nice to be reminded of that.  Reassurance is good.  Glad my God knows I need it.  Often.  Glad He uses my sweet baby to give it.

Detour

I'm slowly learning perseverance.  If I had to pick my worst quality, I'd put that at the top.  I guess that's the word I'd label it anyway.  I don't stick with things.  I try something for a little while and as soon as I get the slightest bit of satisfaction (or dissatisfaction) from it, I'm done.  Bored.  What can I do now?  I'm not a lifetime hobby person. 

I played 5 different instruments as a kid.

Yeah, I counted the recorder, but not the xylophone. 

I played 3 different sports, did 3 different kinds of dance, and was a cheerleader. 

I sang in chorus.  I performed in drama. 

I went hunting.  I rode horses. 

I bought a camera and took some pictures. 

I even got a little obsessed with computers and writing code at one point. 

Oh and let's don't forget swim team.  I didn't include that in my 3 other sports. 

Just don't you dare ask me to do any of it now.  I didn't stick with any of it.  I "mastered" (in my mind) a few of those things at the time, but they didn't tie me down.  They didn't keep me coming back.  I'd get bored or frustrated or bored or distracted or bored (did I say that already?) and was off to the next adventure. 

Some people might call me a quitter, but I don't see it that way.  Maybe I'm also delusional, but I'm just not obsessive, at least not consistently obsessive. I don't think you absolutely have to have one hobby or expertise in life, but I do think you need to learn to persevere, and well, after looking back at that list, it's easy to see it's about time I do.  I think a big part of learning to persevere is learning to detour while staying on track.  Contradiction?  Maybe.  Possibility?  Absolutely.  You'll never reach your destination if you drive straight into the sink hole instead of taking the detour. 

 

Today's detour is taking me away from the funny.  I'm attempting to persevere with this blog, but I'm failing to keep up.  I originally started this with the intention to post every hilarious event that happened in our household, but I'm learning not every week is hilarious.  In fact, since the first few postings, it's been everything but.  So, in order to persevere through this adventure and stay on track, I've got to take a detour. 

 

If you're here only for the laughs, you'll be disappointed.  There will be more, but they won't be exclusive.  We laugh a lot, but we cry some too.  We also get sappy.  Well... I do anyway.  So, although I've never been a persevere-er (one who perseveres sounds too stiff.  get over it), I'm attempting something new again... and that's to ride this thing to the end... and in order to do that, I've got to detour a little.  Feel free to follow the road signs and come with.  (Yep.  That's for the grammar nazis that are still upset about persevere-er.  Take that for a detour.)  Just know that while I'm taking a detour, I intend to stay on track.  It might not all be funny, but it'll all be Ellie, May, and Jesus.  On our walk through life.  One step at a time.  Funny or not.