A Letter to My Daughter

After writing a letter to my boys earlier this summer, I thought it a good idea to write one to my daughter who is set to arrive sometime in the next couple of weeks. Really though, it captures my hopes for little girls everywhere. I shared it over at Denver Metro Moms Blog.

Dear Daughter {affectionately known for now as Lovey},

As I wait for your arrival sometime next month, let me start by saying how excited I am to meet you. I fall asleep wondering what you’ll be like; what you’ll look like; what kind of personality you’ll have. Will you be a good sleeper, unlike your brothers? Will you be a tiny peanut like one of your brothers or a bundle of chub like your other one? Will you want to host tea parties? Explore the outdoors? Or perhaps, both? While I’ve attempted to make green the new pink, I wonder if you’ll love all things pink and frilly? It’s ok if you do. The reality is you will be your own unique person. And I commit to doing my very best to love you exactly as you are. I hope to help you live into all of who you were made to be. I thought I would pen a few more hopes that I have for you, truths which I pray you'll come to both understand and embrace.

Read more here.

 

 

Another First: The Joy and Sadness of Letting Go

And just like that here we are, the first day of Kindergarten. Each first seems to get a little harder because as the old Semisonic song goes, “every new beginning is some other beginning’s end.” This day marks the end of a chapter - of my time at home with my firstborn, of arranging our days however we pleased, of him being a “little kid,” of him needing me for ALL the things, and of so much more. 

Making himself at home in his new classroom

Making himself at home in his new classroom

We’ve been talking up Kindergarten for a while now, focusing on all the many skills he will learn, the friends he will make, the fun he will have. We’ve also talked about the many great qualities he has which will help him navigate the ups and the downs of this new world. He is ready. Me? Not so much. Up until two days ago, if you were to ask him how he was feeling about going to Kindergarten, he would’ve told you he felt “a little bit nervous and a little bit excited.” But yesterday after seeing his classroom, meeting his teacher and discovering who would be in his class, he seemed to feel a sense of assurance.

So, as we prepared to bring him to his 1.5 hour orientation {without me}, he said he was mostly just excited because now he knew some kids in his class and what to expect. As we approached the door of his classroom, I gave him a big hug and kiss, and told him he has what it takes to make this whole kindergarten thing great. And then it happened…he just walked right in. He didn’t even look back. Not once. My heart couldn’t have been more proud or more thankful in that moment. Simultaneously, my heart couldn’t have felt more broken - I struggled to handle the pain of letting go.

The minute his little brother, Blake, and I were back inside the car, I started bawling. Mind you, this was not even the first day, just the orientation.

But I was sobbing and Blake asked,

“Mama, why are you crying?” 

I told him, "it’s hard watching my babies grow up." 

With a confused look he said, “but we're not all growed up yet!” 

"I know," I attempted to explain, "but every day you grow up a little bit more, which is a really great and wonderful thing, but it’s hard for Mamas.”

“Why is it hard?” He pressed. I found myself ill-prepared for this conversation with my four year old.

“Well, because when you’re babies, you need your Mama to do all kinds of things for you - hold you, feed you, get you dressed, take care of you. And as you grow older, we help you learn how to do those things on your own. And wow, look at you now, you can do so much more on your own now than you could when you were a baby, which is so great. But it’s also hard for me to let you go, to let you do all those things on your own. Does that make any sense?”

With his usual inquisitive tone, “So you like helping us?” 

I laughed. And I cried some more. Right there, in that space between us lay the ultimate parental paradox. “Yes," I answered, "I like helping you.” And I thought to myself, it’s true, I do. And I also feel like I want to rip my hair out sometimes when everyone needs me, for all the things, all the time. I wish I could hold it all together in one moment a little better - the joy and privilege of getting to invest in, nurture, and help grow this little person up with the often-felt frustration which comes from having someone be so very dependent on me all of the time. I both celebrate and grieve my children forging their independence. Love deeply, hold loosely, it’s my life’s motto. And the hold loosely part gets me every time.

It’s our job as moms to teach our little ones how to fly, to give them the needed tools, and to instill in them the courage to do so. And then it’s our job to let them go, to give them the opportunity to actually fly. And we start off at Kindergarten which I liken to a 3 foot cliff, and gradually, with each passing year, the heights to which they rise grow higher and higher and the more we are called to let go. And oh my, what a beautiful, joyous sight it is to watch them live into who they were made to be, to soar high above. And oh what a sadness to feel the distance as they fly farther and farther away.

So here I stand at the precipice that is Kindergarten, hugging my brave and not-so-little boy goodbye. I'm sending him off to fly on to a new adventure. It's evident he is holding that jittery combination of nervousness and excitement, and he is oh so brave. I'm a bit of a wreck. But the tears are because of the love, and that's a beautiful, wonderful thing. It's a new beginning for all of us and with it comes another chapter's ending. Love deeply, hold loosely...and grab a tissue. Sometimes, that’s all we can do.

 

A Letter To My Sons {Before Baby Sister Arrives}

Dear Boys,

As I write this to you, you are 5 and 4 years old, and our family is headed for some big transitions in the next few months. And there are a few things I wanted to share with you before all of the these big changes come.

For starters, I think you know this, but I wanted to put it down in writing, I LOVE being your mom. You two, born so close together, are the ones who have taught me how to be a mom. I still have so much to learn and I make many a mistake, but you are teaching me a little more each day and I'm so grateful for that.

And I love these ages that you're at right now - you're still small enough to climb up and cuddle in my lap but big enough to get yourselves dressed. You're old enough to engage in some semi-logical conversations but young enough to still be filled with innocence, and a joy and wonder so pure. While there are wonderful aspects of every age and much more good to come, I want you to know how much I delight in you both right now.

I love the way you wonder so freely, Ben. I love to listen to your curiosity run wild and your never-ending questions, even though sometimes I get to a point in the day where I can't answer them anymore {because there are just so many}. It's kind of like getting full on really good food - the food is still tasty but you just don't have any more room in your tummy for it after a while. Sometimes, Mommy gets a little full and I don't have anymore room that day for your questions. But that doesn't mean that they aren't great questions and I hope you keep asking them, always. We just might need to get a little journal to write them down in! Keep letting curiosity lead you and wonder spill forth. I am positive that I am filled with more wonder and curiosity because of you and I am so happy about that.

And Blake, I delight in the way you relate not only to people, but to all creatures big and small, with an interest and a tenderness so profound. It makes me smile to see the ways you love with your hands {most of the time} through your big Blakey bear hugs and sweet tickles; and the way you are so quick to pick up any and every insect or animal you find {perhaps a little too quick for Mama's comfort}. And I have learned to really enjoy going on walks and hikes with you, as slow as they may be because you need to stop and inspect and touch all the things. You help me to slow down and appreciate the smallest of beauties that lay before me - and that is a gift.

I love waking up to the sounds of your little footsteps, pitter pattering their way into the bathroom each morning. It delights me to hear you embarking on a new days' worth of play together; playing "house" and "camping" and "school," as I listen to your imaginations take the lead, inventing new games and creating a host of characters and scenarios to live into. At night, I love to listen to you two talking in your bunk beds, recounting the adventures of the day and scheming of even greater ones for the day to come. And then I always feel so proud of you when I hear one of you say, "I'm tired now, can you please stop talking so I can go to sleep?" Because when you say this, you are communicating how you feel and what you need. This is really important, especially as our family grows bigger. I want you both to continue to express how you feel and what you need, even though I am only one Mommy and I can't and won't be able to meet all of your needs all of the time. But it is important that you express them because I want to know what they are so Daddy and I can do our best to meet your needs. And maybe sometimes you can even meet each others' needs in the way that you share and help each other out. 

And while I'm on the topic of helping each other out, I want to tell you how much I love seeing you two love each other. Although I know you sometimes fight, get on each others' nerves, and need the occasional space from one another, you love each other so deeply and so well. It makes my heart so happy to see the bond that you share with each other. And this is one reason why this upcoming season of changes might be hard for you both. Because Ben, you are going off to Kindergarten. This means you will now be going to school all day, every weekday. And while I'm very excited for all of the new adventures you will have and the things you will learn, I know this will be a big change for both of you, and for me too. This will be the first season when you won't have most of the day, every day to play with each other. You will probably really miss each other and that's ok, it's actually a good thing because it shows how much you love each other. But sometimes things that are good are also hard. I know that may not make much sense to you now, but trust me on this one and know that it's ok for it to feel a little bit hard.

Changes can be really hard, especially when things feel really good as they are. Our life right now and our family feels pretty good, doesn't it? And we are preparing for the arrival of Lovey, your baby sister, who doesn't have an official name yet. Babies, they bring a lot of change and they have a lot of needs. They're not big like you yet, so they can't get themselves dressed or get a snack or brush their teeth. Actually, did you know that babies don't come with teeth? Weird, huh?! And babies don't know how to use the toilet yet, so they go pee and poop in their diapers. You did that too before you grew into big boys. You can imagine that it isn't very comfortable to sit in your own pee and poop. So, someone has to change all those diapers and it's ok if you don't want that someone to be you. Mommy and Daddy will have to do things like change her diapers and rock her to sleep. As we've talked about, she'll drink Mommy's milk until she gets those teeth, which means that Mommy will have to feed her whenever she's hungry. Babies get hungry a lot, even more often than you guys, if you can believe that.

Babies cry a lot too. Ben, you and I are both sensitive to noise, so this might be hard for us both. We can talk about it when it happens. But babies cry when they need something, so maybe you both can be like detectives and try to help me figure out what she is needing when she cries.

You know what I'm thankful for? That  you two have become such great helpers around the house. It's going to take a lot of teamwork and helping each other out once Lovey joins our family. But I believe in us and that we can do it together, with lots of help from God.

Boys, these changes are probably going to feel a little bit hard, maybe even a lot a bit, but they're going to be good. So, as we go forward into this next season, let's talk about the hard and the good. Let's do it together, with lots of love in action and prayer. And just know, I will love you through it all.

Love,

Your Mama

Pregnancy In Your Forties: The Whole Truth

If you’ve ever read anything about pregnancy over 40, it probably discussed the reduced chances of conceiving and/or the risks of carrying a baby in your 40s, likely containing very valid points. But what is it actually like to be pregnant in your forties?

At 42 and pregnant with my third child, I’m here to shed a little light on the “Really Advanced Maternal Age” situation, the good and the bad. If you start to feel depressed as you are reading this or like you better do the deed ASAP before the big 4-0 comes a knockin’, take heart, and keep reading. I’ve discovered some very beautiful aspects of being pregnant in your forties, so I thought I would share those, as well. Without further ado, 12 things you may or may not know about post-40 pregnancy: 

Head on over to Denver Metro Moms Blog to read more!

Age spots and Braxton-Hicks; achier body, stronger mind. The lowdown on a post-40 pregnancy.

Age spots and Braxton-Hicks; achier body, stronger mind. The lowdown on a post-40 pregnancy.

I Can't Remain Silent

Rape Culture

I recently read something that said, “whatever it is that you’re most afraid to write, that is what you should write." So, here goes…

In reading about the recent events surrounding the Stanford Rape Trial, in which Brock Turner was sentenced to a mere 6 months of jail for raping an unconscious woman behind a dumpster - an act for which he was stopped and caught, an act for which he tried to flee, and an act to which he admitted, yet denied any wrongdoing - I cannot remain silent. My emotional response to this life-altering choice is composed of so many layers - my response to the reprehensible act itself, to the woman to whom this trauma was forced upon, to Brock, to Brock’s father who defended him, to the two young men who stopped him and held him until police arrived, and then, to the throngs of people reacting to this case, from all sides.

I am a survivor of college rape. My heart sobs for this young woman, knowing all too well, the litany of emotions, questions, and inevitable ‘what if’s' that will likely follow her into the years to come. I don’t know her. Other than reading the very brave letter she wrote to her attacker, I don’t know her story either. Rape affects everyone differently. I can only hope that light pierces her darkness and the rest of her story is filled with hope, and a grief that gives way to healing, triumph, and love. You are never the same after this kind of trauma. It becomes a part of you, woven into your story at very unwanted intervals. My hope is that it does not become her identity nor the measure of her worth.

I weep when I begin to think of the countless women, 1 in every 4, out there who have experienced sexual trauma. I ache for the ones who are still carrying this pain inside, feeling too afraid or too ashamed to share it with anyone. I think about the many incidents of rape that go unnoticed, unbelieved, and unpunished. This leads me to Mr. Turner, Brock’s father, who pleaded to the judge, saying that Brock’s life has essentially been ruined by his "poor choice" and that prison was a harsh sentence for “20 minutes of action.” To you, Mr. Turner,  I say this:

It has been over 20 years since I was raped and yet I still find myself emotionally undone as I read about how your son chose to rape an unconscious woman. It is still triggering, even after doing a tremendous amount of work and healing around my own trauma, even after meeting and marrying a man who loves in such a way that much of my mistrust for men has been redeemed. But you, sir, have no idea the deep reaching and long lasting effects that a violation like this has on someone. You have no idea what it is like to live every day - attempting to trust your own instincts, believe your own worth, engage in healthy relationships, and love people deeply - when someone once took it upon himself to decide that what he wanted in the moment was of greater importance than you and what you wanted or did not want, and then used his power to take it from you. As a parent myself, I can't imagine how devastating it must be to witness your son make a conscious choice to hurt and violate another human being. I suspect that, right or wrong, I would call into question my own parenting and all that I had taught or failed to teach my son. I don’t have a clue how you raised your son, what you did or didn’t model to him about relating to women and respecting boundaries. And regardless of what we teach our children, we cannot control them. They will still make their own choices, so I have no judgment for you there. But I think your greatest visible failure as a parent came when you did not advise your son to take full responsibility for his actions and instead, further victimized this woman by painting your son as the victim and discouraged him from accepting the consequences of his choice. There is a huge difference between continuing to love your child no matter his choices and defending your child’s choices, attempting to reduce his consequences. That is not love. That is failure to love.

How is it that we live in a culture in which a crime so devastating receives so minor a consequence? How is it that someone ever thinks he {because it's often a he, but not always} has the right to take whatever he wants from another person at any cost? How is it that we live in a culture in which the acts of attempting to force, coerce, possess, or control another human being are still not seen as wrong by so many? Is it any wonder that women are still so afraid to come forward and speak of their trauma? 

Whether we want to admit it or not, a rape culture not only exists but permeates the fabric of our society. There are those who still seem to be confused about the wrongfulness of rape, underplaying it's impact or worse, believing it was the victim’s {though these people wouldn’t call her a victim} fault for being drunk at a frat party. I cannot even dignify that mentality with a response other than to ask, “ok, so if you’re drunk and/or fall asleep, that gives me the right to go ahead and cut your testicles off?” I don’t think so. This, this contributes toward the existing rape culture.

But on the flip side, I am also angry, perhaps confusingly so, at the attitude which leads people to call Brock and his father things like "pieces of trash" or "shit" and far worse as they call for their deaths. Why? Because I think the rape culture of today is largely built upon layers of attitudes such as these, attitudes in which we deem ourselves better and our lives of greater value than someone else’s. In other words, I believe that whenever our attitudes and actions lead to the dehumanization, objectification, or commoditization of people, we contribute to a culture which sets the stage for rape to seem like a permissible choice. I don’t think rape culture is to blame for the rapes that occur. Let me be clear, the people who choose to rape, out of their own unhealed wounding and brokenness, are to blame, and ought to be held accountable. But identifying who is responsible for a crime and identifying the contributing factors in creating a culture which promotes the occurrence of that crime are two different things.

There are a whole host of attitudes and actions, big and small, that contribute to creating this kind of culture, and many of them have nothing to do with sex. While I'm still processing all of this myself, here are some of my thoughts on how we might bring light and change into the existing rape culture, both as parents and as adults...

  • Boundaries. We can teach our kids the importance of setting our boundaries {and not just with regard to their physical bodies} and of respecting the boundaries of others. When we don’t teach our kids why it’s important to stop when another kid says, “stop touching my head” or “stop pulling my hair,” we fail to teach them that each person is in charge of his or her body and that we must respect a person’s wishes with regard to her body.
  • Physical Affection. We teach our kids that it’s ok to say no to unwanted physical touch and that the giving of physical affection is their choice when we decide we are not going to make them give people, even ourselves or relatives, hugs or kisses, or any kind of physical affection. When we make them give hugs, we are essentially telling them that it’s ok for someone to make them {or guilt them into} do something with their bodies even if it’s against their will.
  • It's ok to say "no." It’s important for our kids to be able to say “no” to things like sharing a toy with someone else. It’s equally as important to teach them that they can’t just grab or take what they want and to allow them to feel the disappointment of not getting to play with a toy that they might want.
  • Empathy. I’m a big believer in empathy as a connecting force within relationships. Whether a child is hurt or a child hurts someone else, both modeling and teaching empathy is key. But empathy is not a substitute for consequences. And that’s where I think Mr. Turner got it wrong. I can say to my child when he hits another child, “You were really mad. You really wanted to play with that toy. I get that. That toy belongs to so-and-so, so we can’t use our hands to take it and we can’t use our hands to hurt him when he doesn’t give it to us. Do you see that he is crying? How do you think he feels right now?” But then I can also allow for consequences to occur, taking my son out of the play for a while, letting him know that the other kid probably won’t share his toy with him now, etc…”
  • Handling Power. My mom used to always tell me that, “with freedom comes responsibility.” And, so too it is with power. I wonder if this is why rape is so prevalent at the college age: underdeveloped thinking + sudden increase of freedom + sudden increase in bodily strength and power + recognition for achievements and accomplishments = a stage set for the abuse of power to occur. So, backing up to when they are little, how do we teach them to handle power? When they have someone over to their house they have increased power. When they are bigger than another kid they have an increase in power. When they are in the role of leader or decision maker in a group they have power. I come back to empathy here, teaching them to be aware of how their actions may affect others. Is it their intention to love or hurt others? How would they feel if the tables were turned and they were the one not in a position of power?
  • Using Their Voice. Teaching children from a young age to use their voice to express their hopes, feelings, desires, is equally as important as empowering them to stand up for themselves, using their voice, when something does not seem right. We have a rule that we don't keep secrets in our house {You can read more about that here} because I want my kids to learn from an early age that they don't have to keep hard things inside, that it is safe to tell me anything. Because should my children ever experience any kind of trauma, I hope to God that they don't remain silent about it.

As adults, male and female, how are we viewing and relating to women and each other? Women, and people in general - we are not a commodity. We are not an object. We are human and we should treat each other as such.

  • Let’s stop complimenting girls only on their appearance. Because when we do so it leads them to believe that their appearance is the only thing valued in this world and they come to believe that their looks are what make them valuable as women. I have yet to meet a woman who when asked what she would like her obituary to read, says, “So-and-so was really hot and beautiful.” If a woman secretly wants the world to think this, it’s likely because she has come to believe that her body/appearance is the only thing for which a woman is valued. Let us {women too} recognize women as whole persons, mind, body, heart, and soul, and value them as such. 
  • Let’s check our own hearts whenever we find ourselves attempting to use our position of power to get what we want from someone else; when we reach out to someone, not to connect, but instead, for what that person can do for us or to get our own need met in some way; when we erroneously think that because of our effort, skill, income, looks, race, sex, etc…that we are more deserving of something than someone else.
  • Let’s not lump entire groups of people into a category and slap general descriptors and labels across said group, because in doing so, we fail to recognize the individual names and faces and unique stories of those people, and this can lead to dehumanization, which in turn makes it feel easier to hurt people.
  • Let’s try empathy ourselves. It takes not thinking about ourselves for a moment to think about what it must be like to be in someone else's shoes. It takes setting aside, at least momentarily, our need to be right, because we cannot listen when we're busy trying to be right.
  • Let’s respect each other’s boundaries, whether they be of time, energy, money, or of a physical nature. Bosses, do you respect the boundaries of your employees when they prioritize their families and stick to a 40 hour work week? Friends, do you feel the disappointment when a friend bails on something but also respect the boundary they feel the need to set? Do we demand our spouses do something for us or do we ask if they’d be willing to do it and respect the answer? Are we applying pressure to the people around us in attempt to get them to do what we want?

This is as much a challenge to myself as it is to anyone else. I can do my best to live into the best version of myself, the person I was created to be and attempt to parent the way I hope to parent, but my heart needs to remain open and soft to the way of love, growth, change, forgiveness, and healing. That’s the only way people change. And it’s the only way culture changes.

 

Dream On, Little One

As kids, we have this innate sense that anything is possible, that we can do anything we set our minds to. But then somewhere along the way, whether it be from the deflating words of others, the setbacks we encounter, the acceptance of our weaknesses, or the increasing pressures that come with adulthood, we begin to stop dreaming. And we start wondering, if anything big is possible anymore, doubting our own ability to carry out what our dreams and hearts desire.

My second son, who is four, has a self-confidence that far exceeds his actual abilities. A few weeks ago, after skiing several easy green beginner runs, he says to me on the lift, “Mom, I’m a really good skier. I could ski black diamond (expert) runs if I wanted to.” For a split second, I was tempted to set the record straight and say something along the lines of, “well, I don’t think you’re quite ready for black diamond runs just yet.” After all, that would have been a perfectly true statement. But I didn’t say that because one, there’s no arguing with this kid and two, more importantly, the last thing I want to be in my kids’ lives is a dream crusher. Now, let me clear, I refuse to lie to my kids or blow smoke, making them think they are better at something than they actually are. But the thing is, the “you’re not quite ready yet” statement would have just snuffed out the possibility. I can kick the door of possibility wide open for my kids without falsely inflating their ego. 

Of course, there will be a place and a time to gently offer the hard truth of reality, but life tends to do a pretty good job of that on its own. In the event that my first-born son, who has always sat below the 10th percentile in height and weight, at age 16, still has his heart set on being an NBA star, well, then it might be time to have a serious heart to heart. But if at 5 years old, he takes a liking to basketball, loves to play, is motivated to practice, and dreams about playing pro ball, who am I to get in the way? Who am I to ring the loud gong of the impossible? No, life in the form of team tryouts will likely affirm or challenge those dreams. But until it does, I want my kids to believe in the seemingly impossible. After all, I believe in a God of the impossible whose ways are higher than my ways. So, I want to encourage my kids to chase after big goals, to dream of things far bigger than themselves, things beyond their reach.

I’m not talking about a “just follow your heart” approach to life, though I do believe the heart is always worthy of a good listening to. But I think that as adults we tend to swing too far the other way. My husband was telling me that he knows so many men who feel stuck in jobs they hate because they either don’t see any other way or because they don’t think there’s space to dream of any other way. I know of countless women, myself included, who feel the flutterings of a passion or idea, but who all too quickly give ear to their inner critic who says, “that’s silly. You could never make that happen.” They ignore their heart’s pleas because they deem them too impractical or impossible. And maybe they are. Maybe they are. But what if they’re not? And they won’t ever know unless they try. 

The people who achieve the seemingly impossible are the ones who keep believing despite the internal or external naysayers who claim it cannot be done. I want to model this for my sons. I want to learn how to dream again, give myself permission to freely entertain God-given passions, dreams, and ideas, and let possibility occupy more space in my heart. So, what does it look like for me as a mom to foster and nurture a little dreamer? I’m not entirely sure, but I’m going to try my darndest to find out. And in the meantime, I’ll start with holding that door of possibility wide open saying, “Black diamonds??? Well, anything is possible and I guess you’ll never know until you try?" So, dream on, little one.

Love After The Fog {How We Kept Our Marriage Alive After Babies}

I'm sharing about love and marriage after babies over at Denver Metro Moms Blog today...

Someone recently asked me whether my husband and I had ever gone through a hard time in our marriage. I chuckled and said, “Oh yeah we did. We refer to it as, The Fog Year – the year following the birth of baby number 2 {who was born 16 months after baby number 1}.” It also happened to be the year that we sold our house, lived with my parents for 3 months, moved into a new house, my husband switched jobs, and oh yeah, in addition to working full-time, he was working on a PhD. My friend continued to ask me about that year, why it was hard, and how we got to the place we are today, a place of deep love and respect for one another, though far from perfect.

I began to share with her that as parents, it's all too easy to get sucked into the vortex of Taskyland. It’s the place where we become all-consumed with the needs of the kids, the job, the house – all the things that need to get done. We can become so focused on all of the tasks, that we sort of stop seeing our spouse or partner as a person, a person with needs and feelings, the person we love. I remember that after the birth of child #2, my husband and I were so exhausted and in such a fog, we were just trying to survive. I felt like I had started to see my husband as, “the guy who takes out the trash.” And ugh, why hasn’t he taken out the trash? I had let the stress of the season cloud my view so that I was only seeing him through the lens of the tasks I needed him to do, most of which he was doing all wrong {from my warped perspective, of course}...

To read more about how we found our way back to each other and worked at our marriage, head on over to Denver Metro Moms Blog by clicking here

 

Mama, We Did A Lockdown Drill {And Why I'm Mad As Hell}

This is my latest piece for Denver Metro Moms Blog:

Just the thought of it makes me want to cry – a gaggle of 4-year-olds tucked into a ball under their tables, encouraged to be silent as they hide from a hypothetical bad guy. It makes me sick. And I’m mad, really mad that 4-year-olds have to practice hiding. To be clear, I’m not mad they’re doing lockdown drills in school. I’m mad that we live in an age where mass shootings seem commonplace in the landscape of our culture and that lockdown drills have become part of the school routine. I’m mad that my kids are growing up in an age where they have to do lockdown drills in the first place.

I think of those kids practicing for a lockdown and I can barely stand it. The idea of hiding and staying hidden is foreign to kids that age. I LOVE playing hide-n-seek with my kid for that very reason. I start counting, he goes scurrying away to hide. Before I can even get to 20, I hear him pop out into the hallway, arms stretched wide like a shining star as he exclaims, “Here I am, Mama!!!” Oh my heart. “Yes, THERE YOU ARE, baby. There you are.” Kids are not meant to hide. They’re meant to be seen. They’re meant to be heard. They’re meant to be known. They are not meant to hide and certainly not in fear. And I’m mad that my kids are growing up in a world where from an early age, they are taught to hide...

To continue reading, click here to head on over to Denver Metro Moms Blog.

 

A Life Unimagined

IMG_0509.JPG

Yesterday I caught myself in a moment, standing at my kitchen sink, smiling. As I washed the dirt from every crevice of an ironman figurine that had been taken for a ride through the mud, I could hear Tom and the boys belly-laughing at America's Funniest Home Videos downstairs. When I think back to a decade ago, I couldn't have ever imagined a moment like this. I couldn't have imagined a life like this, one in which I'd be cleaning dirt off of ironman (and off of everything really); I couldn't have imagined I'd breathe in such terrific joy from hearing people laugh; and I certainly couldn't have imagined that I could love three people as much as I love these three. I couldn't have imagined this life and I'm so thankful it's mine. 

It's wild to reflect on where I was a decade ago and how I had no idea of what all would unfold in my life - the unexpected, the hard, the beautiful, the hoped for, the painful, the lovely. 

It makes me wonder, what is it that I can't see or imagine today that I will be giving thanks for in some down-the-road tomorrow?

Happy Thanksgiving, friends.

I Am Her, She is Me, and We Are We {Reflections on the Paris Attack}

{My earliest thoughts last night, raw, incomplete, and for the most part, unedited. But I had to get them out.}

I was slow to hear the news today, but when I began to listen, all I could manage was a string of one word prayers...hold, love, healing, light, courage, hope, strength, peace...

As the stories and images of people in Paris poured forth, so too the emotions erupted within. I couldn't find words at first {and still really can't}, only emotions. And questions. Seated in the comfort and current safety of my own home, I felt the urge to turn it all off, to go to sleep, to look away. But I can't look away. I can't. We can't. 

I would love to give someone credit for this photo...

I would love to give someone credit for this photo...

When I see an image, like the one to the left, of the American Flag laid out in front of the Eiffel Tower, with a caption that reads: WHAT THEY DID TO HONOR US ON 9/11, I think to myself, there is no us and them {France and the U.S.}. They are us, and we are them.

Earlier, I kissed my boys goodnight, as I do every night, but tonight the massive wave of that indescribable something washed over me, the one that leaves me wanting to hold them ever so tight and never let go. My mind turns to the Parisian mom, holding her kids tightly tonight, hovering in the dark, covering their ears from the never-ending scream of sirens. And it hits me, I am her and she is me, bound together not only by the thread of our humanity but also by the commonality of a love something fierce, that of a mother's love. I think of how we are probably more alike than we are different. Tonight, see her tears. I hold her pain. I stand with her in her fear. I make room for her sadness. I think of her tonight. I am her, she is me, and we are we.

I think of those who have lost and are devastated today, those who have loved ones unaccounted for, those whose innocence has been shattered. I feel a deep sadness for their pain. And if I'm honest, I also feel deep gratitude - for where I am right now and for my people, here sleeping soundly under this roof. That always bizarre and never comfortable juxtaposition of two strikingly different emotions, held together in one tiny beating heart. To feel thankful for what I have, in light of someone else's have not, feels on one hand cruel, and on the other, strangely right.

As I feel the sadness and the gratitude, I also see the injustice and I see the terror in their eyes and I feel angry, so angry. There is this sense of feeling so very small and yet still capable of holding such big, big emotions.

And then I watch the powerful video showing thousands of strangers joining together in singing the French national anthem as they walk with trepidation toward the exit of the soccer stadium, unsure of what they will find as they cross out into the street. Why is it that we come together in tragedy? That in a blink of an eye what was "us and them" gets traded in for "we." That suddenly we see each other in both our humanity and our glory. That we finally realize, I am her, she is me, and we are we.

I know that people will be working long and hard to figure out who is responsible for this horrific attack on innocent people. As they should. There absolutely needs to be a response on the larger scale. But I also have to ask myself, what do I do with all of this? Right here where I live. How do I allow it to change me? How do I stand with Paris? What does that even mean? Because Paris isn't just a place with a big tower. It's a city filled with people, people like me. People with names and faces and stories. People who are hurting. People who don't have the option to look away. And these hurting people are not just in Paris, they are everywhere. They are in Beirut, where a deadly bombings ocurred two days ago. They are in the Horn of Africa. They are wandering refugees looking for a home. They are right next door. Because when we peel away the layers of difference, they are us and we are them. And so, no, I cannot look away.

There is a temptation to let fear and anger lead the way. But they cannot win out because alone, they don't lead anywhere worth going. So, I stand and I listen and I watch and I think and I feel and I shout and I pray and I hope. I hope not for understanding but for healing, the kind of healing which I don't, in fact, understand. I call out to the one who heals, for the light to rise, because I don't believe that darkness wins. I hope for comfort and strength and light - light to shine into the shattered and broken places. And I am reminded to see, to really see people, near and far - the neighbor, the store clerk, the person on the other side of the political aisle, the homeless person on the corner, the bank teller, the parent at school drop-off - and I enter into what she is experiencing and feeling. I stand with her, because I am her, she is me, and we are we. And only when we see, can we truly love. And love is the only thing that can drive out hate.