Happy {Music} Friday.....Nope. Not Today.

I figured that with yesterday's Shake It Off Battle, you've been "music'd out." I'll resume the whole regularly scheduled program thing next week. Maybe. If I feel like it.

Today, I wanted to talk about Kim Kardashian and her naked body being emblazoned across millions of copies of Paper magazine. If you haven't already seen this - count yourself lucky - I'm sure that you have at least caught wind of it being "a thing." 

Just a few thoughts.

I know a lot of women, friends, men, people in general have read some of my posts about princesses and how as women and very young girls, we are being fed a lie constantly. I've had serious strains in relationships over my views and I've had to defend myself on several occasions. And I am unapologetic 

BECAUSE

Kim Kardashian catapulting to fame via sex video, broken relationships, lots of nude-ish photos, and the basic selling of her body non-stop is just a result of so many of us believing this lie - that our bodies (AKA Beauty) are the only thing we (women) have to offer the world. Everyone wants their shot of fame and how better to do that than (in true Kardashian fashion) get a reality show and sell every little bit of your life. Give it up, ladies.

Women aren't the only ones buying this lie. Obviously, guys are falling for it too. Even when asked why he married Kim, her husband didn't list off anything having to do with her character or her spirit or her mind. I think he basically just said "She was hot." Wow. Kim and Kanye, you deserve each other. Poor North. 

I'll be fair and admit that we can't see everything in their lives - both these folks are selling an image - it's just sad that this is generally to "go to" image that is being sold. Full frontal. No boundaries. No self-respect. 

So, let's take a moment and celebrate some true female greatness. 

Amelia Earhart. 

Mother Teresa

Marie Curie

Charlotte Bronte

You and Me?

There are more awesome women out there (but I'm sipping coffee as fast as I can and trying to get to the gym before 8am - not gonna happen). All of the women pictured above did THEIR thing. They didn't or don't seem to let cultural morays and taboos stand in their way.They don't care what MEN think of them and they certainly don't seem to listen to the critics. 

Kim Kardashian is actually doing all of the above as well....except my examples of feminine greatness don't appear to be selling their bodies. They pursued science, flight, literature, social justice, and motherhood. All really great and honorable things. They all did it with their clothes on (to my understanding) and they all held true to their beliefs and were unyielding (maybe Kim just believes in something much more superficial). 

These are a few of the women we should hold up to our young girls and boys as great examples. But they are not the ONLY great women. These females greats should be peppered in among the mass of strong, REAL women (friends and relatives) that our kids live life with daily. Like Ms. Britt who packs food bags and mentors young mothers still in high school. or Ms. Jessica and Ms. Melissa who are ministering to the people of the Czech Republic. or Ms. Radha who is partnering to revitalize a dying church. or Aunt Beth who stepped away from a career in writing and now home schools and raises her eight children. or Nana who feels like God has her in the classroom to serve kids of active duty servicemen and women. Or Ms. Heather who makes movies. Or Ms. Lyndie who basically sails the money ship of a cancer center. That's a lot of great women...and those are just off the top of my head.  

Our kids need to now what REAL WOMANHOOD looks like. Otherwise we will have girls who view themselves as a commodity and boys who do the same. 

And that is not acceptable.

Ma' Girls

I have two girls. Two really great and beautiful girls who enjoy a lot of different things. Building, play fighting, robots, princesses, drawing, painting, and dolls. They like a plethora of stuff and I like it that way.

As a girl who grew up feeling very conscious of her flaws and her "not girly-enoughness" I have had to fight myself at every turn to let my girls be who they are. I resist forcing a bow into their hair. I resist picking out every single outfit. I even resist holding them down while I attempt a ponytail.  I let them be who they are and explore who THEY are. In all their nappy-haired, mismatched glory.

I often lovingly {and jokingly} refer to them as looking "homeless." Please, understand, they look ANYTHING but homeless. They just aren't coiffed and polished. They are more muddy/torn knees and tangled hair in the eyes. It's definitely more Kirk Cobain in style and less Hello Kitty.

So, what am I even writing about?

If you've read my blog, you know that I have kind of a tense relationship with princesses. But please let me clarify that my problem is not with the idea of princesses. They are fairly innocuous, most girls pretend to be princesses, and I consider them just another role from the motley crew of characters that children choose to play act. My issue has mainly to do with the marketing of princesses. The MARKETING of princesses is not innocuous or innocent. It is very much targeted to make your kiddo believe certain "lies" hook, line, and sinker. Well, at least in my opinion.

One of the main lies that all kids are really being fed is what is "girly" and what is "boyish"? And believing this lie (or parents just going along with the marketing teams that are paid millions to keep your kids coming back for more) leads to our kids being pigeon-holed into a consumer identity at a pretty young age.

Now, do I think that boys and girls are categorically different? Yes.

But do I think that the only color options available to girls should be pinks and purples? No.

Do I think that my nephews should be able to play with kitchen toys and not be seen as "girly"? Yes.

Not only are my girls limited in the color palete of ANYTHING that they may want to purchase, they are also slowly being made into little billboards. We went shopping for shoes today and our options were bedazzled, pink, purple, glittered trash shoes. How are girls expected to PLAY in those? Not to mention that almost every shoe option sported some character's face.

I looked over at the boys' selection and what do you think I found? Functional shoes. Way less characters. It's almost like boys should have functional feet & bodies while girls' bodies and feet are more about how we adorn them or, better yet, how marketers can use those bodies to sell stuff.

Many of you may think that I'm overreacting or making a mountain out of a mole hill, but there are much smarter people than me out there making strong cases for how marketing to young children (especially to young girls) is having much larger implications - including the  over-sexualization of  our kids. KIDS.

For really great reads on the subject, The Packaging of Girlhood and Cinderella Ate My Daughter are very thorough.

Do my girls still wear pink. Yep. Do they still play "princess"? Ayup. Do they like bows? Absolutely loathe them. There is still a lot of "traditional girliness" in our midst, but we talk about it ALL the time. Every trip to the store, every commercial, every birthday party - we ask questions, we analyze, and we try to get our girls to see through the dollar signs.

It's gonna be a long road as we continue on this whole raising girls journey and we are certainly not perfect. But I'm really glad that I can reassure my girls that they are girly-enough and absolutely wonderful no matter what they are into wearing or doing.

{Since I know you are all probably curious, we left the store today with some classic Chucky T's - black for the eldest and pink for the little.They both got to pick what would be going on their body, as that is the new rule}

My eldest is also definitely outside "hiking" in our back yard as she wrestles large sticks away from our dog and gives a stirring rendition of "Let it Go."

Things my children do

Wake up at 5:30am every morning. Without Fail.
Eat raw bread dough (gross).
Throw 30 minute crying fits and then wipe their nose on my clean shirt.
Tell me adamantly that B-U-G spells "Insect."
Talk to me without end.
Drink MY bath water (don't ask).
Think that cups are also acceptable step stools.

Pray honestly.
Love me despite my flaws.
Tell me I am beautiful even when I haven't showered.
Sing songs to one another.
Tell ME bedtime stories.
Hug all the time.

They remind me constantly about the never stopping love of God....

and how I am in no way prepared to answer seemingly simple yet theologically complex questions.

Less Words

For the Love of Sleep

For the past 18 days my children have been waking up obscenely early.

5am with a cup of coffee and some peace and quite is contemplative and respectable. 5am with toddlers is masochistic and unforgivable.

I find myself functioning in a two-hour fog while the girls run around screaming like coke-crazed-hyenas demanding their gummy vitamins, probiotics, and juice cups (I mean, their not demanding narcotics or anything, but my kids live for their daily supplements). Most days, I wring my hands at our family decision to make hot breakfast every day...as it actually has to be prepared. At this unspeakable hour, I would gladly give my children cocoa puffs for just a few more minutes of shut eye.

It helps that I happen to think they are cute. They look just like their dad.

I have no idea how in the world to fix this problem. I've tried keeping them up late, making them go to bed early, deleting naps, adding naps, noise machines, putting them back in their beds, bringing them into our bed, begging, pleading, bribing, weeping.

To. No. Avail.

I shall have to break them.

This week I shall be running my children into the ground physically and mentally. Like ponies. {disclaimer: I know nothing of ponies}

I shall take them for walks and runs whilst forcing them to do long division and sentence diagrams.

I will win.

They shall fall into bed every night being absolutely and positively spent. They shall sleep soundly until at least 6:30am - whereupon, I will gladly make them pancakes or oats...whichever my little ponies request.

For the love of Pete!

Little Girls and Comics

I was a fairly normal little girl.

I played with baby dolls and Barbie dolls. I even came up with an elaborate system of dismembering and organizing Barbie doll body parts so that I could "fashion" the perfect doll for whichever storyline Barbie found herself in that day. For example, an olympic gymnast can't have perma-bent arms. Back handsprings can't happen with bent arms. However, should Barbie decide to go dancing with Ken (obviously celebrating her gold medal win) she's gonna need bent arms for the waltz. It was all pretty obvious to me as a child, but my parents MIGHT have thought I was a sociopath.

Anyhow. I WAS normal.

My sister and I had a really awesome treehouse that my dad built. We played in it for hours on end and even camped out one night surviving a fairly vicious bat attack.

My sister and I went on make-believe adventures in 3 different secret locations in our neighborhood: "the circus" (a dilapidated park where we did back flips off of swings and were in constant danger of tetanus),  "paradise" (a wooded area with what I believe were large boulders and possibly a stream), and my personal favorite, "Lake Little" (a small field at the bottom or our hill where water collected after it rained. Yep, my sister and I would often picnic next to a puddle).

My sister and I even tied sheets together and climbed out of the third story window of our apartment building while my parents were throwing a dinner party...in a foreign country.
 
One of my favorite (and safer) past times was walking with my sister to the bookstore after school. She would peruse TIGER BEAT or TEEN BEAT or TEEN TIGER BEAT. I, however, loved ARCHIE comic books. I was also a fan of GARFIELD and often borrowed my sister's CALVIN & HOBBES.

So, I have a fondness for comics.

My husband. on the other hand, has a LOVE for comics. He loves them. He loves SCI-FI. He loves all things generally geek. And I love him for it.

He has introduced me to Joss Whedon (Firefly & Buffy & Dr. Horrible & Dollhouse & too many awesome accomplishments to really name), Star Trek: The Next Generation (although, my dad was a big fan when I was a kid and I would watch along...so, I really just rediscovered these when we got married), MMORPGs, amazing strategy board games that can last HOURS on end (I will never play Caylus again) and yes, comics.

{I am omitting the fact that my husband introduced me to my beloved Doctor. A mention of him will certainly just lead to the longest tangential aside in all of history and I kind of need to stay on track.}

In my adulted-ness, I realized how much fun these things were - almost as fun as dismembering Barbies. 

Looking back, I don't think I missed out on much as a little girl. I still had imaginary and fantastic adventures. But when we had kids - I wanted my daughters to enjoy these fantastic worlds and stories and imaginary play-lands that didn't necessarily involve Barbies or princesses. Barbies and princesses aren't all bad, but they can limit the imagination.

BUT, it's not like I'm going to introduce our children to Firefly or Dr. Who - space cowboys and time lords may be a bit out of their cognitive reach.

Enter Owly and "Mr. Kyle" at Gryphon Games & Comics here in town.

As soon as our big girl was able to sit down and hold a book and look through it, we walked to the comic shop. We perused some things and purchased a DC comic focused on the pets of superheroes...Super Pets. In the edition we purchased, Super Turtle rescues Streaky (Super Girl's cat) from the evil plottings of Ignatius Iguana (Lex Luther's pet lizard). It was good, but a little wordy for our (at that time) two-year-old.

On a subsequent visit to Gryphon our fave comic store employee and all-around-great-guy, Kyle, recommended Owly - a beautifully illustrated (no words) graphic novel featuring an owl, his pet worm, and his forest friends. It's a series. We own four of them. We're fans. Here's why:

• It features animals...not people...so, you can avoid some of the more "adult" images that many adult comics and graphic novels contain. 
• It focuses on basic kid stuff - facing your fears, making friends, good life lessons.
• My kid can "read" it. Only once has my oldest daughter brought Owly to me and asked me to read it - every time since, she has sat down and narrated aloud to whoever was within earshot the story that the pictures were telling. It is an excellent pre-reading activity and gives my girl just a ton of confidence.

I write about this now because I'm listening to my sweet 3-year-old "reading" Owly to her one-year-old sister. It's pretty adorable. The phrase "And then suddenly," is being used about every other page.

Anyhow. It's a great series. I'm so glad that Andy Runton created it and that "Mr. Kyle" introduced us to it.

Thanks, Kyle. It sure beats teaching my girls how to dismember Barbies.

***I have not been paid or compensated in any way for this endorsement of 'Owly' or of Gryphon Games and Comics...or of Mr. Kyle. These are just all around great things, places, and people and I strongly encourage you to check them out. But don't check Kyle out...that would just be weird.

That Which Shall Not Be Named

Do not call it breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

For if thou utterest such names to my children,

they shall throw thy own food at you

while spitting

and crying

and gnashing teeth.

They shall grovel

and flail

and throweth the grandest of all fits as to mimic a gran mal seizure.

They shall pusheth plates

and spilleth milk

without remorse.

Pure agony they know.

A biblical, Job-like despair they experience.

Do not name their food

breakfast,

lunch,

dinner.

It is snack

and only snack

in this house....

Everything else is seemingly

an abomination.

Throwing it Back

Doesn't look like any little girl I know.

The Poop in Life

My three-year-old is hilarious.

I think to be fair, most three-year-old children are downright funny. They have this natural desire to perform for their parents. They state observations plainly without shame or even the slightest awareness of who their audience is. Unfiltered, innocent, hilarity.

Case in point:

The hubs and our 3yr-old are walking several feet in front of me (giving a piggyback ride to our youngest). We are in downtown Jackson, WY. It's the evening which means that the ski slopes are starting to empty and folks are looking for a good meal after a pleasantly exhausting day. We are on the look out for ice cream. Out of nowhere, my beautiful child inquires (as eardrum-splitting volume),

"Momma, do your boobies still have milk in them?"

 You can imagine my slight shock and disbelief.  Not quite believing my ears, I kindly ask her to repeat the question. Don't ask me WHY I thought she could have possibly said anything else.

Anyhow, this very LOUD "exchange" lead to several strange looks. My cheeks turned bright red and I immediately wrapped my arms across my chest as my loving husband proceeded to laugh as loudly as possible. Ice cream couldn't happen quickly enough.

My Big Girl is full of these one-liners.

She's been having a hard time using the potty lately. This results in us having to place her on the potty - commanding her not to leave until she has pooped. Lots of crying. Lots of holding it in. Lots of constipation.

Oh, and a new excuse for not pooping.

"Momma, Daddy, the poop is just not doing its best."

 True enough.

It made me think of all those times in life when you can try your darn-dest.  You can put forth every effort and positive thought. You can pray and seek and try and try and try. And sometimes, it just doesn't work out. Sometimes, we don't get our way.

Sometimes, the poop just isn't doing its best - even if you are.

I hope for you sake, reader, that today the poop is trying it's hardest.

Traveling is Not for the Faint of Heart

The girls and I are currently visiting my folks in GA. Family is really about as good as you can get and having my momma, daddy, sis, bro-in-law, and nephews & niece around for an entire week is a special kind of sweetness.

Single-parenting and traveling alone with my own babies is another story. Still sweet, but it's a hard-hard-difficult thing that pretty much makes me feel pretty neutral about traveling and visits in general.

My kids are REALLY well-traveled for their ages and I feel as though we have an airplane routine that works for us. A lot of parents worry about the airplane routine...I never really worry about the plane. (1) It's a limited amount of time with an end in sight (about 3.5 hours). (2) A bag of Cheetos given to a zealous 3-year-old to share with her sister lasts approximately 4 hours. (3) No one is really caring about your parenting philosophy or judging too harshly at several thousand feet. Everyone just wants to get to the ground alive and with their ear drums fully functioning.

Best air travel advice I ever got: "You want the moon honey? With a cherry on top? It's yours. How 'bout some whipped cream with that?" For real, if it's not too outlandish a request and does pose an imminent threat to the other passengers, my babies get what they want on an airplane. As an aside: my children have received several hundreds of compliments from skeptical-turned-pleasantly surprised passengers.

So, what's HARD?

Well. Single parents are my heroes. It's hard being the only one parenting. Because let's face it, my relatives are going to spoil the snot out of my kids...which doesn't work so great for consistency or routine. Also, if you're flying on a plane, you're most likely gonna deal with a time change. If I multiply our "Spring Forward" experiences by THREE, my kids are living in a special kind of through-the-looking-glass-sleep-deprived-dementia. Also, poop.

The past three days have been so good, but so hard.

For one, I openly admit my husband is a much better parent than I am. I try, but he and my oldest can handle "conflict" (read: fits) much more effectively. When I am left to my own devices, my three year old and I end up crying piles of mess. Lack of sleep and consistency + three-year-old brain (minus daddy) and you have the perfect equation for EVERYTHING being a fight. As an example: I was yelled at today for making her bagel EXACTLY how she has liked it for forever.

If you ever want a crash course in patience and trying not to lose your stuff with your kids. Travel solo. After several thousand tears, you'll get the hang of it.

The time changes are harder. Namely, because I can't control time. I've talked to God about that job title and the possible extra responsibility - usually at 5am EST which is 3am MT, the kids having gone to bed mere hours earlier. God and I have decided that I couldn't handle the time/space continuum and that my efforts in bathing and drinking coffee would be better appreciated by the general public.

If you travel, just know it could result in your kids sleeping like champs or not sleeping at all. Again, roll with it and try your hardest to not have an emotional break down. You're gonna need coffee.

Poop.

This one is tricky. Nothing magnifies to difficulties of travel like your potty-trained kid deciding to completely disregard all rules of basic society, biology...Leviticus. Expect there to be bowel trouble. If you expect the worse, then those mornings when you DON'T awake to poo-covered sheets & a traumatized kid will be icing on the cake, my friends.

Bottom Line:
Traveling is hard on your kids. It's for real hard on you. Do not engage in anger. It can't fix anything and it confuses your kids...who are already confused, struggling, and nervous (but have no way to talk about or express those emotions).

If you travel alone with your kids often, you are a hero and deserve a parade. Go'head with your bad self...and don't forget the Cheetos.

It can't come soon enough

As a mom (and hey, even as a plain 'ol person), I have always had to fight that nagging desire to speed things up or along. Basically pushing a fast forward button on life in hopes that I could get to the more fun and entertaining bits.

And then you get to the ripe old age of 33 and these things called hindsight and 20/20 and wisdom and thoughtfulness and mindfulness start to take root in your soul. The desire to fast forward starts to ebb as you live IN the moment.

Do not get me wrong. I still find myself wanting to fast forward our way out of X, Y, and Z and into a new season. BLABLABLA. The desire NEVER really leaves. For me it hasn't. It just seems to fade and then pop up at times.

Today I was once again "rotating" the girls' clothes. (Tangent: we have stashes of hand-me-downs that we change out for the seasons, as they grow, etc. I seriously think I have my children outfitted until they are both at least 5 or 6). Looking at little sleepers and dresses and booties, I couldn't believe that the time had gone by so quickly.

Nothing really slaps you in the face with your babies growing up like going through their clothes and seeing the physical change (I'm sure the development of reading skills or doing long division, moving out, getting married are just as striking, but we're not their yet).

I'm putting my baby in clothes that my big girl was JUST WEARING. It makes my heart ache.

This life is a vapor.

Oh how I pray that I soak in every fleeting moment, that I am a loving and compassionate person. That I am fun-loving and free spirited, and that I do all those cheesy things that most country-western songs written on this topic illustrate (I'm staring straight at you Lee Ann Womack).

So, stop reading this silly post and go do something. Something REALLY awesome.

Whether that be saving the day or hugging your kiddos.

Live it Well.

Dear Barnes & Noble:

Dear Barnes & Noble,

I've been shopping with you for years. I do love local "Mom & Pop" book shops, but as those are fading into the background of our society's cultural fabric, I have found my way to your front door on several occasions.

You have a killer kiddo section. I have killer kiddos.

It's a match made on a Tuesday afternoon when some poor soul has to don a Dr. Seuss costume and dance for the natives in heaven {cough}.

I've enjoyed coffee with you as I've perused your travel section and bargain-priced Dr. Who trinkets.

You've offered me comfort on a rainy day, solace when I need to clear my mind, and WiFi when I was a cheap college student who couldn't afford it.

But our relationship stops here.

I was once again wandering your aisles looking for some literary goodies as my husband chased my children after story time. I found my items, took my almost 4-year-old by the hand, and she helped me "check-out" as always.

My Big Girl is smart, independent, and she likes doing things by herself.

She's also observant.

Which comes into play when she innocently asked me "Momma, what are those girls doing?"

I could sense that something was off in her tone. I looked down and it smacked in the face.

Three naked women with their {there's no other word for it in this context} lady parts hanging out, hugging on one another and smiling seductively: Sport Illustrated: Swim Suit Edition

...at eye level with my three-year-old. The sexual objectification of over half the human population (which I have tried to shield her from) starring back at her- as I look on slack-jawed and enraged.

Thank you B&N for willfully assaulting the innocence of my child. You should be ashamed.

As a fairly obvious question: WHY?

Who is that display for?

Is it for the 3-year-old sized man who happens to want to grab a bit of soft-core-porn on his way out of the store?

Because as I see it. The "Swimsuit Edition" has become the "Birthday Suit Edition" and that filth needs to be burned put behind a screen on a high shelf in an area not frequented by children. 

As it was, I tried to flip it over...only to find an equally disgusting depiction of a woman. I then angrily muttered that there was "simply no escaping it."

To which your female employee embarrassingly hung her head and whispered, "No there isn't."

Just so you know, B&N, I responded to my daughter's question:

"Those girls are not honoring God and are showing us how little respect they have for themselves and other girls...like you."

And my response to your EXTREME lapse in basic judgement:

Sexual objectification is hurtful, detrimental, and damaging. See video below.

Until Never. Losing a customer.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Check out this great Ted talk by Caroline Heldman on the dangers of sexual objectification.

Perspectives and Opinions

We as a people have lost the ability to actually have conflict...healthy conflict. In real life. And by this I mean actual discourse.

It's as though no one wants to actually say, "Hey, I disagree" or "Hey, that's not logical or "Wow, that is pretty wrong on a lot of levels" as an invitation for further discussion. We just want to tell people that they are wrong, but lack the conviction to actually have a discussion.

So, we engage conflict in funny ways or we do it super passive aggressively or super passively for that matter. We don't actually WANT to have a conversation where we are forced to be challenged or (God forbid) challenge others.

It's too much responsibility. It gets messy. And more often than not, it gets personal.

Well, I have an opinion. I express my opinion via this blog...which has like 17 readers...so, I'm not changing to world or anything. But I am expressing my opinion. It's cathartic. I get something out of it and I know a few other folks who enjoy reading what I write (Hi, Mom!).

I am a passionate person. I am an opinionated person. I don't apologize for it. I used to, but I'm a grown woman...and at some point in the past few years, I have felt a lot of freedom in being able to BE ME.

For some unknown reason, God made me this way.

It doesn't mean that I can't be gentle or understanding, but it does mean that when I see poor behavior in adults, I'm probably going to call it out. When a see something in our society that I don't agree with, I'm going to speak up. When I have an opinion on something, I'm going to share it.

I'm sure many of you feel (and act) the same way.

I want to have daughters (children) who are okay being themselves and who don't have to feel weird or odd or less...or like they are not worthy of forming or holding an opinion. I want them to THINK on subjects and openly have debate and discourse. These used to be activities that took place around the dinner table or in coffee shops (read: taverns) helping us hone our identities as people.

So, if something I write offends you - just tell me. I'm a big girl and you're entitled to your opinion (just like I am mine). It's one of the awesome things about becoming an adult - You now have enough life experience to form an opinion and to come at life from YOUR perspective.

And we all have different ones (perspectives).

So, we should walk through life expecting a clash in perspectives and inviting the opportunity to learn from one another.

Let's not shy away from being challenged or growing or sharing or debating.

I do apologize if any of my words have been harsh or biting (or maybe just too honest). Believe it or not most everything I write (be it a blog post, a letter, or an email) goes through a vetting, editing, and filtering process by people I love and respect and trust. They know me and they try to keep harsh and biting at bay.

So while I might apologize when a certain phrase or post is taken the wrong way or in a way that is unintended, I'm not going to apologize for my opinion.

Conversations in the AM

Our little family has been making a point as of late to spend meal times at the table, together, talking....what a novelty. During the course of our married life, Hubs and I have gone through phases of how and where we eat. While Hubs was in law school we formed some very bad habits of spending most evenings on the couch, in front of a movie, eating quietly. What a shame. I think of all the wonderful conversations that we failed to have...all the iron sharpening iron moments that we missed out on. I am so glad that we are currently on an upswing.

Early morning conversations are another beast entirely. Neither of us having ever been too chatty in the AM. I'd like to think there was depth to them...but most of our morning conversations go a lot like this:

"WHY do you choose the alarm that sounds like a nuclear bomb has been deployed?!"

"I got up first last time...I get to sleep in today."

"HEYYYYY MOMMA & DADDY. GOOOOD MORNING!"

"Momma. Daddy. I peed in the hallway."

"MOOOOOOMMMMMA. MOOOOMMA. Daddy? Go Get Momma."

"I want pancakes for breakfast."

"My tongue hurts. Can I have some milk?"

(Loud Noise) "Ta-Da!!!!! It's me - the super princess girl!"

"Foggy? Foggy? Pa? Pa? Momma, get Foggy. Momma, get pa!"

"Up. Up. Up. Up." (pick child up) "Down. Down. Down. Down." (put child down)....repeat ad nauseum.

Happy Monday - I hope it is filled with many wonderful conversations. 

Let It Go

The web has been abuzz with everyone's take on Let It Go (sung by Idina Menzel, written by Kristen Anderson-Lopez and Robert Lopez) featured in Disney's surprisingly not-princess-crazed-animated-feature, Frozen.

I have issues with princesses. Specifically Disney Princesses. I think they are stupid poor role models. If you want to tell me that my little girls have something to learn from Ariel, I'm willing argue at length on EXACTLY what worldly and entirely incorrect LIE most Disney princesses are wanting you to believe. 

So...if you still think of yourself as a princess...just go ahead and stop reading now. 

Back to the point.

I've heard that Frozen has a surprisingly NOT Disney take on princess life. I have not watched it. My kids aren't so much into feature films yet (thank goodness), but friends I respect have enjoyed it and have good things to say...except when it comes to this song. 

I've listened to the song in question: Let It Go.

Here is my take. 

As a song writer - This song is darn catchy. It hits the emotional note necessary for the point in time that it is featured in the film.  It sends a broader message to the listener while moving the plot along which means that it will find commercial success outside of the movie. Songwriters like to get paid...and commercial success is equivalent to CHA-CHING!

This is why Phil Collins's You'll Be In My Heart (Tarzan) saw more radio play than I Just Can't Wait To Be King (Lion King). 

No offense folks, but Disney is trying to SELL things, not raise your kids. If it were up to Disney...every girl would let it all go and there would be no rules. Because rules mean self-control and discipline and credit limits. And people who have these things don't buy into the big 'ol lie that all us princesses get everything we want. Folks who have these things don't thoughtlessly and mindlessly spend money at Disney stores, parks, restaurants and at the box office. Lo siento for the bursting of THAT bubble. Disney is just out to create warm-fuzzies so that they will have a life long customer fan.

As a woman - There are aspects of this song that I respond to. I don't have to be ANYTHING that I don't want to be. I don't have to cow to anyone's expectations of what it is to be the "perfect girl." I don't need to hide who I am so that others can be happy. Some rules are stupid and should be broken - mainly referring to societal "rules," norms, and taboos. Why be someone I'm not and live miserably, just to make YOU happy? If my daughters walk away from society's expectations of them and cling to who they are...well, I'm not gonna lose a night's sleep over it. 

As a Christian - There are parts of this that when viewed in the right light...I think are fine. There are some lines about RULES not mattering. Well, some "rules" really do matter....and that's when you stop calling them "rules" and you claim them as beliefs. Hopefully, my girls will never come to the point where our family beliefs don't matter. These beliefs will hopefully be part of their formation as humans. 

But let's say my girls do run away from these beliefs and "rules" and live without regarding them. Well, Frozen still does a good job of showing the dire consequences of Elsa's rebellion. I mean, doesn't she end up causing some major damage to everything and everyone around her only finding healing of it all when LOVE enters the equation. I don't know about you...but I'm not bothered by a song that shows how the idea of rebellion can fill us with this crazy, narcissistic feeling of invincibility. I mean, that's how it feels. BUT...rebellion is sin, sin leads to hurt, hurts are only mended by love. And the movie as a whole seems to show the downsides of just "letting go."

Call me crazy, but it sounds like a GREAT jumping off point for some pretty deep conversations with your princesses, right? {I have a friend who has already ventured in on these discussions with her little girl and I think that is AMAZING} 

Clarification: 
This is my take on the SONG...meaning the lyrics. The video of how it all goes down with a complete makeover for Elsa is another story. But, who is really surprised that Disney is teaching girls to let their hair down, dress flashy, show a little skin, and walk like hookers.

Not me.

One of Those Weekends

My husband had a FOUR DAY weekend. What up?! Every girl's dream come true.

I'm not gonna lie. I was envisioning lots of sleep and a day at the spa and a family trip to "Anywhere but here."

I dreamed of leisurely cups of coffee while my husband and I perused the newspaper, nibbling on chocolate croissants (In my head I am totally pronouncing it in that annoyingly accurate French-way). Our children would talk to the other cafe-goers and play quietly in the kids' area.

Everyone just ignore that fact that NO place like that exists in Chey-oming and that I might have been unabashedly playing out this entire scenario as though we were in Portland, OR or Athens, GA.

In my more realistic expectations, I was planning on a massage (gift certificate) and then a visit to the local coffee shop. I need to work on a a talk that I will be giving to a group of ladies in Ft. Collins, CO on Thursday.

Then I woke up on Friday...Sick.As.A.Dog.

The common cold is a nuisance and really must be stopped.

So, gone were my croissant nibbles and quiet children...they were viciously murdered by cranky (probably sick) children and a coughing husband.

I spent the entirety of Saturday in my pajamas...which sounds like a good day, until you factor in the part where I ran out for an errand only changing my appearance by donning my down coat and boots.

My kids spent at least 2-3 hours of those days in front of our Kindles - playing games or watching Team Umi Zoomi.

My husband and I barely even talked as we trudged through the mundane efforts of caring for our little ones or trying not to fall over during our sporadic coughing fits.

We are on the mend today, but I cannot lie...I would have preferred a massage and a leisurely Chai.

So, what was your weekend like? 

Mother-in-Laws

 Oh, brother. Am I right? Mother-in-laws (insert large overly-dramatic sigh).

Why do some many women have issues with their husband's mothers? And mothers with their daughters-in-law for that matter? I understand that the navigation of such relationships can be fraught with miscommunications, unclear expectations, unreasonable expectations, etc...but sadly, I feel like this is looked upon as one of the most tense relationships on the planet, when it should be seen as a tremendous blessing.

Please, understand that I fully admit that we cannot all have perfect relationships...we are human and in being so, we are broken and bring baggage to every interaction. But I feel like 80% (a figure that I have completely made up and have no scientific basis for) of all mother-daughter (in-law) relationships can be (dare I say it?) GOOD.

I am blessed with a pretty amazing momma-in-law.

I'm not sure she she has always been crazy about me (I was 22 and Matt was 19 when we began dating), but she has always welcomed me, talked with me, prayed for me, and pursued relationship with me...and I hope that I have done the same with her. I love her.

Let me tell you about this lady.

She's up for (almost) anything:
She has taught every child in her family (nieces, nephews, etc) how to water ski. She even tried teaching me (which was an epic disaster). One of our first trips together was a weekend kayaking adventure...where only one person in our group had kayaked before and another was terrified of water. It was memorable.

She is caring.
Whether it's  was checking in on me when I got sick off of duck (true story) while staying at her house or flying out to stock my freezer full of meals as we expected our second baby, she's pretty much ready to help. And it's not just because it's me....she is that way to everybody.

She has the best laugh ever.
Her one quirk is that she laughs uncontrollably when people get hurt (minor hurts) or even when she imagines an incident when people have gotten comically injured (like my husband stubbing his toe - it happens a lot). It's pretty funny. Her laugh is really infectious and I would be lying if I said that I didn't feel the least bit proud the first time I got her signature laugh out of her with some off-hand comment. She loves to laugh and I think most people love hearing it.

She is a really great Canasta partner.
I don't think we have EVER won a single game as Canasta partners. But we relish in blatant "talking over the table," annoying our opponents with gospel hymns (the equivalent of canasta psychological warfare), and politely trash-talking Grandma...who never loses.

She loves.
She loves her family. She loves my husband. She loves my babies. She loves me...and we all know it. There is no doubt. Loves exudes from this lady when we are around and it is a comfort and overwhelming joy to us.

She is godly.
Ask anyone who has met her. That's the first thing they will say. Her sweet and gentle spirit is obvious and her faith in God is undeniable.

We are NOT exactly alike. But we definitely love each other. I think that's where a lot of the daughter/mother (in-law) relationships go askew.

My husband's mother is his mother...and I see the things I love about him in her. He didn't choose me to be his mother. He chose me to be his wife. Very different roles, but both incredibly necessary. So, don't try to be your mom-in-law. Just be you. BUT Respect and appreciate your second momma - because she did something right.

The power and support that can result from two women (three women if you count your momma/his mother-in-law) coming together and praying, lifting up, encouraging a man is AWESOME and something to be reckoned with.

So....let's put the whole myth of mother-in-law aside and just pursue what God has done and is doing.

Jane. I love you. Happy Birthday.

(Larry, you are also amazing and I will try to write something as equally uplifting on your birthday. I know you don't want to be left out of this gushing over the in-laws mess of mine)

Part 5: The Day....

Things I have learned about PTSD:

Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) is most often viewed as a "veterans' disease" or something that victims of rape or violence suffer from. The general public thinks of it in terms of big "T" trauma.

However, it can happen to many of us...and can be the result of other types of trauma. Trauma that when viewed side-by-side with rape or mob violence seems kind of "puny" and "pathetic."

Women are considered more "at risk" to develop PTSD. Also, people who naturally have lower levels of cortisol in their bodies are more "at risk" to develop PTSD.

I fall into both of these categories. I am a woman and I've known that my body doesn't naturally make enough cortisol since I was 15.

Oh, AND I experienced trauma...when my daughter almost died.

I also experienced prolonged exposure to this traumatic stress during our three months of uncertainty concerning her enlarged noggin.'

I'm working through it. I'm seeing a therapist. After months of living with it, I finally decided that something was actually wrong.

I still jump up when I hear loud noises. I run (as in jump out of my chair and sprint) to my children when they have fallen. If my kids bump their heads, I do a basic neuro check...seriously.

I probably "check-in" on my children way more often than I would have - had we never experienced the fall. And my kids know that momma is NOT MESSIN' when I say "Hold onto the rail!" and "No playing on the stairs!"

I often experience uncontrollable shakes when I think about that day and I cry when I tell the story.

But I do NOT crumble into tears at the slightest event or noise...and that's an improvement.

This past Christmas, my now toddling, dare-devil of a baby climbed onto a toilet, lost her footing, and bonked her head on our iron sink. After I scooped her up....she threw up all over me. I admit, we ran her across the street. They checked her out, reassured us that we did the right thing by bringing her in, watched her for an hour, and then let us go home.

Trauma just leaves scars....and some are longer-lasting than others.

Most everyone around me understands and gives me room. There are some who don't.

The other evening a woman said rather pointedly in my general direction:

"I'm just more laid-back than some people. I'm not a fearful person. I mean, my kid fell 20 feet and I don't jump up every time he falls."

Well, I didn't respond at the time. Because I was raised to be a lady (and ladies don't pummel rude women in the head with flying objects).

But that is awesome that you are so incredibly laid back. It's also awesome that your child fell 20ft and suffered absolutely no physical injuries. My daughter wasn't that lucky.

I don't LIKE being this way. I certainly don't do it to get attention I'm hilarious and prefer to get my attention via inappropriate jokes and well-written blog posts. It is not generally in my character to be so neurotic. I wish I could have just moved along without being affected in any way. It doesn't make me less laid back or less faithful. It makes me broken.

Please, don't use your "well-adjustedness" to shame me into feeling like I am "lesser" or "wanting."

PTSD is a path I am walking (you know, the one that God laid out for me before any of us came into existence). I don't expect others to understand how it feels. However, I do expect that we all give one another GRACE. In the Bible I read, It's kind of a big deal.

PTSD doesn't result from a lack of faith. It is not the result of giving into fear. It's not a sin. It's not a mere side-effect of not praying hard enough or disbelief. It does not make me a lesser Christian.

I believe. My daughter was brought back from the brink of death. I BELIEVE.

My brain is just a bit broken right now...and I'm glad for it. It brings me to a place of understanding my own weakness and leaning on a God who is so much bigger than I am.

It helps me empathize with others who are walking the same road...or a different road...whether their trauma be "great" or "small."

It means my heart is turning more into a heart of flesh...and is not hardened to those around me.

It means, God is bringing me out of a pit...and I'm thankful that He is ABLE.

So, like I said....the title of this blog series could have been anything.

The Day My Daughter Almost Died - The Day Our God Answered Our Prayers - The Day I took a $37K Helicopter Ride for a Bad Cup of Coffee - The Day I Got PTSD....

Peace be with you all today.

If you have experienced trauma and suspect that you may be suffering from PTSD, I would encourage you whole-heartedly to seek help from a professional. If someone you know is suffering from PTSD, give grace, speak kindly, and pray that God will work.

Part 4: The Day...

We have scars.

For one, my husband wouldn't carry either of our daughters down the stairs for some time. He will only do it now (over a year later) when wearing shoes.

He seems fairly well-adjusted aside from that one quirk...which can more or less be considered a "rational" precaution.

I have not been so "lucky."

I did not process in the moment what was happening during that time. I was not frantic. I was calm and collected. For many who know me - this is not my "norm." I'm a feeler. I didn't feel anything for a while.

So, scars and feelings would pop up in the oddest places.

I would be in bed, reading a book about nothing at all in particular and I would burst into uncontrollable sobbing.

My husband would rush to my side and ask what was wrong, the only words I could get out..."She could have died."

I would hear noises...and they didn't have to be loud: someone moving a chair upstairs, our oldest jumping, NORMAL things. My response would be an elevated heart rate as I sprinted towards the source...only to crumble into a sobbing pile when I saw that all was well.

I had never been a worried or overprotective mother.

Even after 2 miscarriages, I never felt like the world was out to "get" my family or my children in particular. But after that day, I have  found myself living with this ever present sense of doom. Even in my thankfulness, I felt doomed.

Before that day, I knew my babies would be just fine. Falls happen. Bumps happen. Cuts, scrapes, and burns happen. It's all part of it. 

My being irrational about noises or bumps or falls...was new to me. It was new to my husband. We had always had a wait and see approach when it came to our babies - not wanting them to be anxious or worried. We shrugged off a lot...BEFORE.

My husband was still able to shrug a lot off. I just couldn't shake it even if I could logically process that no one was in danger.

Even in those irrational moments, I knew my children were God's. I knew He was our protector. Just look how He has saved our girl.

This was not a question of faith.

This was...this is post traumatic stress disorder.

Part 3: The Day...

We spent a week at the hospital across the street. A week. 7 days. She wouldn't stop throwing up.

The doctor reluctantly ran another CT. No change. No bleeding. Why was she still throwing up? A virus was their best guess, but everyone was on edge. It was hard to wrap our minds around a head injury so conveniently coinciding with a stomach virus (that lasts an entire week).

My husband and I switched off  nights sleeping at the hospital and days spent with our oldest. Our two-year-old came to visit often and was now very accustomed to the hospital room. She would thank the nurses for taking care of her baby sister.

But, we were all worn out. By the end of that week, she had lost 15% of her body weight. That's a lot of weight when you're barely three-months-old.

After 24-hours of keeping food down and having regular dirty diapers, Baby Girl was discharged. We returned to our house - comforted by the fact that we were only mere feet from medical professionals.

Things seemed normal. We were cautiously optimistic.

In late January, we took our now 4-month-old in for her (now-belated) three-month "well baby" check. They took all the normal measurements. Her weight had bounced back a little and she had lengthened, and they measured her head THREE times.

Her pediatrician came in looking grave - I know that look. I hate that look.

Her head had crossed percentiles - 75th percentile to 99.9th percentile. They can't say "100th percentile" because it would be equivalent to saying she has the "biggest head of all the babies in the whole world."  Which isn't considered to be scientifically provable or medically professional.

The main concern was hydrocephalus - a build up of fluid on the brain which results from what is normal fluid on the brain failing to drain properly. It can build up around the brain (not as dangerous) or inside the brain (not great). It's a tough thing and it is often a result of (you guessed it) a brain hemorrhage. The condition requires several brain surgeries, shunts, etc...it's a lifetime condition and cannot just be "fixed." 

So,  we traveled a lot. We talked a lot. We researched a lot. We lived with our stomachs in knots. We didn't sleep well. Several trips down to the neuro folks in Colorado, several sets of family head measurements, an ultrasound of her head and neck, and an MRI...WEEKS dragged on. WHY is her head so big? Everything seems normal? Why is it crossing over percentiles. The questions didn't stop.

(Answers...even hard prognoses are so much easier to handle and move on from than the unknown)

The end conclusion?

My husband (her father) has a head that measures in the 99.9th percentile. Again...we can't say that he has "the biggest head out there" - but it's a biggern' (love you, honey). When I say "off the charts," I am not exaggerating. I was there, his measurement is quite literally not anywhere on the graphic that we looked at.

She is normal...she just has a HUGE head which is probably one of the reasons that such a "small" fall had such a huge impact (brain hemorrhage). Her brain just had more room to move about (don't think too hard on it because it will make you nauseous).

All being said and done, we lived in this constant state of "waiting for the other foot to drop" for three months. One does not suffer trauma - especially a prolonged traumatic process without being changed.

We have scars.