Pro-Choice

A lot of energy is focused on what women wear. People have very strong opinions about what is or is not appropriate for certain body shapes or ages. I cut my hair off at 30 because my mom told me it was inappropriate for women over 30 to have long hair. For real. It’s since grown back, and I have no plans for another age or shame-based shearing. I don’t care what other people wear or what people think of what I wear. Still…

Awhile back a woman took to the internet saying that “she wasn’t judging anyone else,”–BUT, there’s always a but (butt), right??–she wasn’t going to wear leggings or yoga pants anymore because her husband told her he had a hard time not looking at women in yoga pants. I believe she might have also claimed Jesus’ involvement. Okay, if my husband told me that, I’d think he needed to keep his eyes in his own business not that I needed to wear looser pants so that other women’s husbands weren’t tempted to look at my ass. Maybe that’s just me.

Let me address one little thing: While yoga pants, leggings and other articles of women’s apparel are hotly debated, men walk around in speedos, and no one blinks. Seriously? Men are distracted by the curve of a woman’s butt, but everyone can ignore the outline of a penis and testicles? Mind. Blown.

In all honesty, I couldn’t care less about this debate. I will wear leggings all day every day. However, it came to my attention that Lakeview Middle School recently instituted a “No Leggings” rule. My little peanut, who will attend this school next year, is distraught because her wardrobe is 98% leggings.

I’m not sure how to approach this.

I am not advocating clothing anarchy. Dress codes certainly serve a purpose, and boys and girls alike should dress appropriately for school. But before someone jumps down my throat, let me say this: If my son cannot concentrate on math because a girl in his class is wearing yoga pants, that is HIS problem. Not hers.

Can you say rape culture?

Before I went to public school in 8th grade, my dad gave me a rather unconventional birds and bees talk. Basically, he told me all kinds of different lines boys would use to try to coerce me into sex. He then pointed out that each and every line was bullshit. He said, “Boys CAN control themselves. Don’t let them convince you that they can’t. It’s a choice.”

I have explained to my daughters and my son that our bodies are our personal property as are other people’s. What you wear is your business. And what other people wear is theirs. You can never touch someone without their permission, and no one should ever touch you without yours. If I wear a short skirt, it is because I chose to wear a short skirt. If a man looks at me wearing a short skirt, it is because he chose to look at me wearing a short skirt. If my husband looks at woman in yoga pants, he chose to. The woman in yoga pants didn’t make him do it. It’s a choice. It’s a choice. It’s. A. Choice.

I promise you, if I see a man in a speedo, I’ll choose to look away.

Unfortunately, circling back to my point, now, my teeny girl doesn’t have a choice. She can’t wear what is most comfortable to her because someone in a position of authority decided that girls (even teeny ones) wearing leggings are inappropriate. That kinda infuriates me. In fact, this whole demonization of women’s clothing seems to be a smoke screen preventing genuine issues from being addressed in schools and in life. How about if we actually start raising our children to be kind, considerate and compassionate adults rather than finding lame excuses for why they’re not?

One of my girlfriends tells her son, “It’s your job to be kind and help people.” She is right, and her son is a darling child, who I’m confident will grow up to be a kind and compassionate man. What if we took that approach to life? What if we woke up every day striving to learn to live and love wholeheartedly? To forgive, accept, and be kind to ourselves and one another? Every day I try. And I fall short. Especially on days when people make a big deal about leggings. For real. But, I get up and try again the next day. Usually in leggings.

21 Days: Day 12

Well, about 50 of you are hanging in and reading this every day. I’ll send you all thank you notes when it’s over–most of you probably already got or are getting one though. Today was a spectacularly average day sprinkled with some fun little interactions … impromptu chats with friends, a phone conversation with a much-missed soul sister, a snowy walk with the dog. Good stuff.

1. My day didn’t start so great though. The dog woke me at 4:00 a.m. alerting me to how I’d be spending my morning — i.e., scrubbing carpet. But, there were still plenty of blessings to count, and I had plenty of extra time to count them.

2. Historically, I’ve been a worst case scenario thinker. I worried about bad things happening to people I love. In the past few years, however, my life shifted to a degree that I learned to surrender and trust that everything is going to be all right.

For example, Chloe lives in another state. She traveled to two different countries last year. I don’t see her very often. Sometimes I don’t hear from her before I go to bed. Sometimes, I don’t hear from her for almost a whole day; I do start to freak out a little bit when that happens. But mostly, I know that she is okay. I remember my dad telling me, “No matter how old you get, you will always be my baby,” and that is the truth. But I am blessed that I get to have an awesome grown-up relationship with her.

Then there’s the fact that Brad travels frequently for work. Twenty or so years ago, when I was super jealous and possessive, it would have made me crazy not to know exactly what he was doing. The ladies love that guy. And although he has never done anything to make me mistrust him, there is that shrew-y little voice that sometimes suggests he could be getting into all kinds of mischief. I told that voice not to even go there with me. Once, I surmised that he had a perfect job to have an affair, if, in fact, he wanted to have an affair. He gave me the squinty-eye and reassured me with, “You’re silly, baby.”

I realized today, as my daughter headed off to New York City, that I didn’t even get a little bit of a pit in my stomach. I didn’t tell her to be careful or lecture her on all the hidden dangers that could be lurking. She’s been lots of places and knows about the dangers. In fact, she is far more worldly than I am. The only thing I felt was genuine excitement for her knowing that she is going to have an amazing time.

Acknowledging that I no longer have to worry about every little thing makes me extremely grateful for the way my molecules have been rearranged.

3. I have to buy more thank you cards. That is all.

I’m writing early because our afternoon and evening are filled up with activities, but today, I’m going to post it instead of messing around thinking, “Oh, I’ll edit this later…” because that blew up in my face yesterday. 9 days left, kids. I ate a half an avocado and two carrots for breakfast. The crazy thing is: I enjoyed it.

Give a little Grace

I have been reading lately about healing and focusing on deep hurts that cause angry, defensive reactions. Because, I’m really ashamed to admit, I have a bad temper and sometimes have really disproportionate angry reactions to silly things.

For example, I burned my finger on a glue gun while making a banner. I curbed my initial reaction to scream obscenities. However, inside me this huge angry reaction was brewing that had to go somewhere. I picked up the end of the kitchen table and let it slam down. When the table slammed down, the anger released, but the plate that was holding the glue gun broke, and my tiny girlfriend started to cry.

Cue the guilt and shame tape that goes like this, “You’re an asshole. You can’t control your temper. You don’t deserve to have these sweet little kids; you’re a lunatic. Way to go. You’re just like your dad.”

And in about 25 seconds, I had gone from pain to rage to feeling about an inch tall.

I apologized to Lily and explained to her that I had reacted inappropriately to pain with anger, and I was sorry for scaring (and probably scarring) her. We talked about some times that our reactions didn’t exactly match our feelings or the particular situation and then finished making our craft without further incident.

For the rest of the night, shame gripped me pretty tightly. I had to delve into my reaction and the motivation behind it. Once I did that and realized that my reaction was something that had been ingrained in me from childhood–when you get upset about something let your rage out on an inanimate object–I was able to deal with it and remind myself that having a bad reaction didn’t make me a bad person.

Guilt and shame always go together for me–the dynamic duo of damnation–so I was enlightened to read Brene Brown’s definition in The Gifts of Imperfection. She explains that guilt says “You did something bad,” and shame says, “You are bad.” I still think they’re a terrifying team, but now I see them more clearly.

Brown goes on to say that we can steal the power away from this team if we talk about the stuff that makes us feel this way and bring it to light. Just make sure that you share with someone you really trust.

She gives a list of people you don’t want to choose, such as:

• Anyone who makes you feel worse about yourself. They will look at you with shock and judgment and say things like, “Oh…my.”
• One-uppers. You know them. They respond to everything with, “Oh that’s nothing, let me tell you about the time…”
• Those with low self-esteem who will use this as an opportunity to feel superior–think, drowning victims who push others down to get themselves to the surface. “Oh, I never have inappropriate reactions in front of my kids, but that’s just me.”
• Condescending jerks. Pretty much the same as above with a heightened air of superiority.

***Please note that sometimes jerks look and sound and act like friends until you share something like this with them***

So, my week has been a lot of, “Yikes, where did that come from? Why does it bother me when people do a.b.c.d?” and more. This isn’t a huge change. I’m always analyzing and overthinking and trying to do better, but sometimes it’s not in the actual moment. I’m steadily trying to live the Four Agreements, but it’s a lot of trial and error.

I spent many years feeling broken and damaged because of things that happened to me, but I am realizing in this decade* that labeling myself is not only unnecessary but it is also unkind. Yes, bad things happened to me, but really great things have happened too. By reconciling that I can simultaneously grieve loss and embrace blessings, by realizing that my past doesn’t define me, and by reminding myself that every moment is an opportunity to embrace and extend grace, I’ve cleared my path from lots of tangled roots that tripped me up.

A few weeks ago the super-wise 20-year-old guru I’m blessed to call my daughter said that she felt fortunate that her dad and I hadn’t really f#$%ed her up. We keep it really real. She said she always felt loved and free to express herself. This was such an impactful statement, as I have questioned everything I did as a mother for 20 years. In fact, the only thing I knew for sure was that I loved these little people God let me hold for awhile more than I had ever known was possible.

I’m pretty convinced some days that I’m messing Peyton and Lily up in some significant way. The nasty shrew in my head tells me all the time that I am worthless and have no business raising these amazing kids. I question myself all the time. And then I shhhhhhh them, breathe and keep going. I’m not sharing this because I need reassurance, but because someone else might feel the same. Do you? Let me encourage you: If you worry this much about what kind of person or wife or parent you are, I’m pretty confident that you are already amazing.

Give yourself some grace. And give the people who make different choices grace too. Namaste.

*The jury is still out on 40 because the emotional and spiritual rewards seem to come at the expense of some crazy things like thinning hair and brain fog and achy joints.

Just Don’t be a Jerk

It’s the most wonderful time of the year. We are fresh off a month of giving thanks and the kids and I are headed for our annual pilgrimage to Camp Mowana to Make Room for Jesus. So, I’m gonna need to get this off my chest real quick.

I’m going to blame my sister-in-law–who posted this article and got me all stirred up–for my angst. It’s been simmering for a long time ready to boil over though … so … I have to let it out. And by the way, that list doesn’t mention the standard mom uniform: Uggs, Miss Me jeans, NorthFace and designer purse. Come on now; is that just Cortland?

What people wear isn’t my business or concern though. And lots of my friends wear that uniform. I love you girls; you’re fabulous!

Here’s what bothers me: drop off and pick up. This might be a universal issue, as certainly entitlement and lack of empathy are symptoms of the global selfishness epidemic, but I can only address the Lakeview schools.

Recently, I have adopted the mindset of talking to my problems rather than about them, and it is in that spirit that I have compiled a list of tips re: drop-off and pick up protocol. Since there is no suggestion box, here you go:

1. The speed limit in front of the school is 20. Even when you’re running late. If your kid is tardy, it isn’t the end of the world. By the way, it’s still 20 when you pull out of the parking lot. You don’t get to run someone else’s kid over just because yours is safely in the building, which leads me to #2.

2. Slow down in the parking lot. There are people everywhere. If you run someone over, that will be far worse than being late for work. Everyone has bad mornings sometimes, but reckless disregard for other people is unacceptable. Slow down. Pay attention. If you are going to just idle there by the entrance while your big kid walks in, at least look before you pull away. Lots of people are actually walking their little kids to the door. Don’t run them over, you jerk.

3. Park in a parking spot. Just one. 40 other people also need to park to pick up their children so be mindful. Driving a giant SUV does not give you the right to park wherever you want. Park in an actual space–they are indicated by lines. You and your children are not handicapped and do not deserve special privileges. Thank God for your healthy working legs and then use them to walk to your car. Jerk.

4. That line of people? They’re all waiting to pick their kids up too. So don’t walk past them all and then yank on the door handle. It’s not gonna open, bro. Did you think we were all just standing here because we like the cold? That’s right; go to the back of the line. Yes, we are all laughing at you. Jerk.

5. When the door opens and you push through to make sure your kid is the first one into class, remember that there are 20+ little kids coming right behind yours. Don’t let the door slam in their faces. That’s terrible. And guess what: Their parents think that they’re the most important kid in the world too. Also, if someone holds the door for you? Thank them and then hold the door for the next person. Don’t just leave that guy standing there holding the door for everyone. That’s not cool. He was trying to be nice. He has to go to work too. Next time he might let it slam on your kid. All because you were a jerk!

6. We’re all busily heading somewhere, but it literally takes 35 seconds for the buses to exit the parking lot. I timed it. Just be patient. Trust me: They will be out of the parking lot before you can tweet about how annoyed you are or how the jerk in front of you held up people exiting the parking lot to let the stupid buses go. I let the buses out. I see you flipping me off. It’s okay. I like your purse. Even if you think I’m a jerk.

7. Finally, let me reiterate: If someone is looking at their phone, it is probably because they don’t want to talk to anyone. It’s not rocket science. Leave them alone. Surely there is another dad somewhere…

Some days I leave the school feeling very sad for humanity, wondering if anyone is capable of empathy and compassion anymore. Fortunately, I quickly realize that for every person who lets the door slam on someone else’s kid, there are 5 who hold the door. For every person who parks where there isn’t a space, there are 5 who walk farther in the rain rather than inconvenience others. For every person who nearly runs you over to get out 3 seconds quicker, there are 2 or 3 who wave you on ahead of them.

It’s kind of like life, right? There are people who are just out for themselves, but there are others (hopefully more) who are concerned with humanity as a whole. I can’t change anyone, but I can be kind and thoughtful, and I can raise people who hold doors, say thank you, park in parking spots and think about others and not just themselves. I can try not to be a jerk or raise jerks.

Thanks for listening, friends. I feel way better.

Now that you mention it…

Today we moved our 20-year-old daughter into a new dorm room. This is the fourth move since she left for college two years ago. She’s never come back for any extended period of time since that first move, and she’ll probably never live with us again. I still cry every time I have to say good bye to her, which this year has included goodbyes to Brazil and Taiwan in addition to Pittsburgh. You’d think I’d be getting used to it. Me too. I’m not.

On a detour through a familiar neighborhood on our way out of town, we got to visit briefly with two of the most darling women ever to grace the universe. As the lovely mom and I commiserated the whole kids growing up business, she pointed to my 7-year-old and said, “You’re so lucky to have this little one.” I know. Thank you. Right? Wow.

I’ve thought a lot of stuff since getting pregnant unexpectedly 8 1/2 years ago such as: There goes grad school. There goes my body. I’m too old for this. My poor boobs. This baby is gonna kill me. My big kids hate me. How can I be a good mom to all of them? But I never really thought until Chloe went to college that I was really lucky to get this little bonus baby.

From the time she was born, my oldest daughter has been my constant companion, soul mate and best friend. She filled a Chloe-shaped space in my heart, and I felt as if I was made to be her mom. When Peyton joined, answering my prayers and completing our perfectly symmetrical little family, I felt lucky. I have never been so in love with two people. So six years later, when it became apparent that our family wasn’t quite complete, I felt different levels of resistant, afraid, angry, and resentful … but I didn’t feel lucky.

However, in her nearly 8 years, this little chick has challenged me in ways I can’t even begin to explain. She has taught me more about myself than the library of self-help books I’ve read. She can be jarringly direct and achingly compassionate. She strolled out of my womb and wrapped her dad right around her tiny finger. She carries his heart around in a Hello Kitty purse. It’s impressive, really, because he is not that guy.

She can be bossy and whiny and smart-mouthed. And she can be cuddly and dreamy and precious. She’s a little bit like my clone, and I’m a better person for getting to watch and learn from a mini version of myself. She’s growing into a pretty cool person, and it’s interesting to watch her free from the pressure of signing her up for every sport and making sure she’s involved in a million activities.

I’m grateful for another round of prom dresses. I’m grateful for more shoe shopping and hair appointments and manicures and pedicures and even more stupid Ugg boots. I’m lucky to have more opportunities to say the right thing to ease the pain of a broken heart and remind her that other people’s opinions of her are meaningless. I’m lucky that I can remind her that pain builds strength and character. I’m lucky that she has the most amazing role models in her sister and brother. I’m lucky that I get another opportunity to raise a strong, empowered woman who will make a difference in the world.

So thank you for the reminder, my friend. I am so lucky.

Heart Hiccups

So, I’ve had a whole bunch of time on my hands the last few weeks fasting Facebook and being unemployed. I’ve spent a great deal of it writing, reading and doing yoga, so I’ll be smarter and more flexible by the time I “see” most of you again.

Well, I may not be smarter, but I can hold crow for about 5 breaths, and I have an increased sense calmness and peace. Evidently, just reading other people’s drama profoundly affected my peace of mind.

And I am still not an intellectual, but I’ve learned that I can dust, sweep, mop, clean toilets, the whole housecleaning shebang in about two hours when I don’t stop to read notifications every five minutes.

I have watched some really good moves. You know, actually watched them–not the whole listen as you scroll and occasionally look up, and:
“Hahaha, did you see that?”
“No, I missed it.”
“Wait…rewind!”
Is that just our house?

Although it all ready annoyed me, it’s been reinforced how irritating it is to hang out with someone who looks at their phone constantly. At Christmas, I took a picture of my family seated around the kitchen table talking while everyone stared at their phones (Lily was looking at an ipod) and then had a big-time tantrum about it. IS EYE CONTACT TOO MUCH TO HOPE FOR? I think they put their phones down for about 30 seconds.

While, all of this is pretty minor and stuff I mostly knew (except crow, I couldn’t do that before without falling on my head) and I’m sorry for missed opportunities to share love, prayer, and encouraging words–I do pray for my FB people every day. Here’s my main lesson: Sometimes by sharing, we divide our blessings. There have been so many cute things Lily said or did. So many funny P’isms. Chloe accomplishments. Witty Brad comments. So many missed tweets and Facebook posts. But every one I didn’t share stayed in my heart much longer.

Sunday, I was talking to one of my little mamas-to-be at church and sharing how I felt a little sense of sadness when my kids were born that I had to share them with the world. Their little kicks and movements were no longer mine alone. Everyone got to hold them and love them and feel their stretches and hiccups, and yes that is wonderful and amazing. But for nine months that had been just mine.

That’s kind of how I’ve felt about all the cute pictures, funny sayings, and sweet comments the past few weeks. Because I haven’t shared them, they’ve blessed me so much more–they’re just hiccuping in my heart.

I haven’t become some incredibly self-absorbed person. Not at all. I feel like I went to the eye doctor and when the lens flipped my life came into sharper focus. I’ve missed a lot by being so plugged in, and I don’t intend to miss any more. I’ll be happy to see my FB friends again, since most of them I don’t get to see in every day life, but I will cherish the parts of my life that are just mine.

Mowana, Magic, and Monday

Snow is not my deal. I don’t like to be cold, so I politely decline to make snowmen, ride sleds, ski, or ice skate. Well, I have ice skated on occasion. It’s rare. Mostly, when the kids want to play outside, it’s on Daddy. Granted, in my overachieving 20’s and and early 30’s, I suffered through these activities, but not now. My kids know I love them; I don’t have to get my toes frostbitten to prove how much.

However, this past weekend, we attended Making Room for Jesus at Camp Mowana*, and my snow perspective shifted a bit. We hiked through beautiful, picturesque, landscapes; every picture I took looked like a Christmas card. Okay, I still had frozen toes and skipped sled riding and the second hike, but for awhile, it was pretty amazing.

In those quiet, still, cold, and beautiful moments, God felt so close. It is easy to feel close to God when you remove the pressures of daily life. No tv’s, ipads, xboxes, or computers, but no one gets bored. Kids play chess, hike, color and make crafts. Moms had great conversations, Bible studies, and spent time in prayer, fellowship, and worship.

It is one of those places where God is just so near. You know? You can feel His presence. You are calm. You are centered.

The bad thing about going to those places is that then you come back home. Home to dog hair–seriously, IT’S DECEMBER! ENOUGH ALL READY. Home to migraines and tummy aches and another day off school. Home to “Are you done with your Christmas shopping yet?” I HAVEN’T EVEN STARTED. Home to whining and bickering and sickness and cooking dinner and shopping, and did I mention the freaking dog hair?

Just yesterday, I felt so calm, centered, close to God. Well, I was close to Him this morning as I yell-prayed, “Please LORD, I have so much to do. PLEASE, Lord, no more headaches. NO MORE STOMACHACHES. PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE.” And God said, “No.”

But in His no, He reminded me that cleaning, working, writing, scrubbing, gifting, shopping, cooking, and stressing can wait. Stop, look around, and embrace the magic in the moments that you are forced to be still. It’s not about going away to find Jesus in a perfect, beautiful place. Sure, that’s great and wonderful, but it’s really about making room for Him in my messy house, cluttered mind, and imperfect life.

It’s about shifts in perspective. It’s about seeing the obstacles as opportunities. I didn’t make it to the gym Monday, but I got to spend the afternoon watching movies with my sweet boy. I’m not going to finish my shopping today, but I get to hold my snuggly littlest all day. I’m not going to spend as much time this holiday with my precious firstborn, but she is going to have an amazing experience on the west coast.

Today, Lord, I’m thankful for messed up plans and the magical opportunities they present. I’m thankful for the ability to see You not only in the picture perfect beauty of Mowana, but also in the messy chaotic beauty on North Park. I’m not thankful for dog hair, but I’m a work in progress. Amen.

* We are not Lutheran, but our good friends are. Also, the camp is more loving Jesus, less being Lutheran.

NEWSFLASH: I’m not Skinny, Fast, or Crafty

Recently, I’ve gotten to spend time with some of my favorite people that I don’t see regularly. Women who inspire me, teach me, understand me and accept me. Women who are confident, independent, comfortable in their own skin and encouraging of others. Women who are amazing mothers, writers, researchers, advocates, friends and sisters. I love them all and am so grateful for their presence in my life.

A few weeks ago, I read The Prayer of Jabez by Bruce Wilkinson. It was a short, very interesting read that detailed the story of Jabez in Chronicles, his powerful prayer, and how to live a fully blessed life ourselves. So, I started praying the prayer of Jabez every day for myself and my family, for our church and our pastors, and for everyone who asks for prayer.

Right now, I’m gonna pray it for my dog as she is emitting an odor that suggests she may have consumed a cadaver. I sometimes pray for my animals. Some people think that is crazy, and maybe it is. I don’t think God censors the things you can talk about with Him though. “It’s Friday, and I, the Almighty ruler of the universe, am not taking prayer requests for stinky dogs.” When I say that I imagine that God sounds like the Wizard of Oz, you know, behind the curtain before we know that the Wizard’s just the door guy. That’s how the God from my Catholic childhood sounded. And sorry, if you haven’t seen The Wizard of Oz, I just kinda ruined that for you.

Phew. Sorry, imagine that, I strayed off topic.

Refocus. My beautiful friends help me realize that it’s okay to be okay with where you are and who you are. I don’t mean settling for mediocrity, but for instance, I think I’ve mentioned a time or two that I don’t like to run. Yet, in preparing to turn 40, I set a goal to run a race with my family. Chloe loves to run, and Brad runs but doesn’t really love it. In a recent conversation with my pastor’s mom (who is my age; my pastor is 18–kidding), she said that her workout consists of meeting a friend at the gym and casually using the elliptical and talking. “Sometimes we don’t even sweat,” she said. Wow. I don’t like to sweat. I don’t like to run. I will make a sign and cheer for Brad and Chloe and my brother, and I will drink coffee and snuggle with my little kiddos because I like to do that. And I’m good at it. Yes, I’m good at drinking coffee and snuggling. I’m not trying to be a runner anymore.

So, I’m gonna give myself permission to be better at the things I’m good at and to let go of the things (most Pinterest crafts) that I generally suck at. Fortunately, my dear little friend from church is super creative and talented. She makes beautiful crafts, and for a nominal fee, she’ll make something fabulous for me, and I remain free from glue gun burns.

I’m also giving myself permission not to weigh 110 pounds. Ya heard. My friend, Jen, is very thin, has two kids, eats like a 300 pound man, and has an underactive thyroid (yes, I know the difference, and no life is not fair.) She runs too. Not on a regular basis, but like, “Oh, I think I’ll run a half marathon,” every once in a while. And she does. The more I type the less I like her. (Kidding, again. I brought my A-game, Rivera) But, I am not made like that. I like to eat, but my body flaunts my love for food. That is O.K.

Initially praying the prayer, I believed that I was going to be stretched in all sorts of ways: running, crafting, writing, gardening, building, redecorating. But what I found instead is that God narrowed my focus. He gave me more people to talk with, listen to, and learn from. He gave me more people to encourage, pray for, and, gulp, forgive. He reminded me to focus on my gifts not someone else’s.

One more thing. For years, we have prayed for Peyton to grow. He went to high school this year and told me, “Mom, I’m the smallest kid in the school.” That hurt my heart. Over the years, we’ve prayed, bought nutrition shakes, set eating schedules, taken vitamins, and then, as I prayed the prayer for him over and over, God impressed this on my heart: “I made Him exactly how he is supposed to be.” When I shared that with him, I was rewarded with a full mouth dimpled smile, and we changed our prayers–not that he would grow but that he would be comfortable in his skin and that God would accomplish great things through him, exactly the way he is.

Please don’t mistake this is my attempt to start a slacker movement where we all give up trying to better ourselves. I’m just trying to be a better me and encouraging you to be a better you. But I’m not trying to be you. And please don’t try to be me, even though my mad snuggling skills are enviable. Be you. God Bless.

I. Have. Issues.

I may have written about the craziness that ensues in the parking lot of my son’s school at drop off. It looks a bit like a pit stop at the Daytona 500. Stop. Drop child off. Rev engine. Fly out of the parking lot with increasing speed, maneuvering around other cars and narrowly missing teachers and children, innocently walking into the building.

A few years ago, a particularly hurried parent almost ran over my son. While she may have been rushing to a super important event, it was not more important than my son’s life. Since that day, I pull up right in front of the door so he can walk straight in the doors. Even though he is almost 13, most days I wait until he is in the doors.

It must have been my waiting that irritated the woman behind me today, as she squealed around me to drive out of the dark, slippery parking lot, at about 55 mph. The slippery, dark parking lot filled with teachers and children walking into school.

That. Makes. Me. Crazy.

In our She’s Got Issues small group, we recently talked about ANGER. I have some issues with anger. I yell more than I should, which is not at all. Sometimes I throw things. Occasionally, I slam doors. That is a particularly unsatisfying habit in my house where the doors just do not slam. However, in the old, drafty house where I grew up, the solid wooden doors shook a city block when you slammed them. That was satisfying.

Sorry, sidetracked. We talked about anger being from God. Anger motivates us to act, and when we act righteously, that anger has produced a good result. For instance, if reading about a child being bullied infuriates you so much that you form an anti-bullying organization at your own child’s school, your anger has triggered a positive response. But if your husband leaves the recycling on the counter instead of putting it in the bin for the fourth day in a row, and in your irritation, you swipe it off onto the floor… Well, you’ve just made a big mess for yourself to clean up, and you haven’t really taught him anything. And by you, I mean me, because I just did that about a week ago.

Unfortunately, our anger is often provoked by selfish motives rather than just cause. Even more often our reactions are misguided attempts at validating our own “rightness” rather than making a valuable contribution to the world. I am working really hard on that issues.

So, to the woman who screeched around me in the parking lot today: At 7:25 this morning, I had some really angry feelings toward you. Part of me wanted to yank you out of your car at the stop sign. That part of me is from Warren and may or may not have a CCL (that’s a concealed carry license, and I really don’t, but you didn’t know that until I just told you).

Instead, I will say: I understand you are in a hurry. I worked full-time for 10 years while my older kids were in school. For three of those years, I commuted to Cleveland. Mornings are busy and hectic, and we are often rushing. I promise you that the two or three seconds you might save by speeding through the school parking lot will never be worth the lifetime of pain a family will endure if you run their child over. Please slow down and be cautious.

Please don’t let me screw them up.

I overthink nearly every aspect of my life–mostly my mothering. It’s overwhelming and scary to have the ability to screw up three wonderful people God has placed in my really incapable hands. People have commented favorably on mine and Chloe’s relationship. And that both humbles and amazes me. I can’t take credit for our relationship; it is “but for the grace of God.” I mean, my whole life is, but Chloe who transitioned from my treasured baby to my very best friend; well, she is just a brilliant shining example of God’s grace in my life.

So brilliant that if I could hang up my mothering hat when she went to college, Brad Bell and I could exchange high fives and begin redecorating our empty nest. Alas, there are these other two children whose lives I can still potentially ruin.

I will readily admit, that I think I’m a better girl mom. I like to shop and do makeup and girly stuff. I don’t dislike sports, but I will pick Cosmo over Sports Illustrated any day, and unless the Buckeyes are playing, I’m probably reading rather than watching the game. But, I love my son very much. So much so that in this awkward tween phase where he doesn’t cuddle as much or share as many secrets or kiss me on the face anymore, sometimes I sneak into his room a few minutes before he has to get up just so I can snuggle with him and kiss his head. I guess that’s kind of a creepy stalker move, but I do it anyway. 

It’s just that we don’t enjoy a lot of the same things. I treasure our shared interests and am always trying to cultivate more. I love watching him play every sport, but if he had to choose someone to hang with, it would be Daddy. And that’s okay. Brad is a really good dad, and in many ways, he gets to be the kind of dad to P that he always wanted. Plus, sometimes they are each other’s only refuge in this house full of hormones and hairspray.

Then there’s Lily. If I’m gonna screw up any of them, it will be her. She is so much like me it is simultaneously amazing and infuriating. I cannot point out one of her flaws without reprimanding myself in the same breath. I mean, I do, but to be fair and honest, I have to put myself in check at the same time because she learned each bad behavior somewhere, and Brad rarely screams and I don’t know if I’ve ever seen him throw a tantrum.

Still, there she is, the baby that I didn’t want (we planned for two kids: one boy and one girl) and never expected–the child who pushes me to the edge of sanity on a daily basis. She has taught me more about myself in six short years than I learned in nearly 40 on my own.

So as I ponder 2012’s blessings and trials, I think about what each of these children taught me. Chloe taught me unconditional love. You know, the kind of love you don’t even realize you are capable of feeling until your whole heart has been pulled from your body and is curled up on your chest. She inspires me not only to be a better mother, but also to be a better person, as I pray to live up to the image she has of me. P taught me joy, and he delights me on a daily basis with his sweet spirit and caring compassionate heart. I pray we raise him into a great man, husband, and father. Lily has taught me to let go of my plans and give in to God’s will. She is full of fire and passion, and I pray I can guide her to use her powers for good rather than evil.

I pray every day to be the mom each of them needs. I pray that God helps me guide them in the direction He has planned for their lives. I pray that I don’t saddle them with any of my own insecurities and flaws and shortcomings. I pray that I don’t screw them up.