The Bakers and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

*Disclaimer: This story is completely true and happened about a month ago.  It is not fabricated or elaborated upon.

When we went to bed last night, we were expecting a good nights sleep, but when we woke up this morning, we wondered if we'd even gone to bed.  The sometimes-amazing-usually-decent-sleeper was sick with a fever and was up every. Stinking. Hour.  The toddler played his normal game and climbed in bed with us at one point.  And we had a new puppy that needed to go to the bathroom. A lot.

So then the husband went to work and I (Mama) was left alone with a screaming, unhappy baby, a high energy little boy, and a brand new, not-potty-trained puppy.  

I tried to give the baby a bath to cool her fever down, but the cold water just got her mad.  I hate screaming.  And then I went to get her dressed again and the boy said "I stepped in poop", and apparently the puppy had had an accident and Miles had stepped right in it.  I hate poop.  And the baby was still crying.  I hate crying.  Finally the puppy was put in a box, because I couldn't find the dog crate and couldn't handle her anymore.  But then she chewed a hole through it and ran downstairs and peed.  I hate dog pee.

I had to take the baby to the doctor and had no time to look for the puppy crate, so I locked the puppy in the laundry room with the box pushed against the baby gate at the top of the stairs.  The doctor said that Nora had an ear and eye infection.  Her eyes were crusty, her ears were hurting, and she was just plain unhappy.  

So then we ran into Walmart for puppy toys to kill time until the baby's antibiotics were ready.  Only, when we came out, the pharmacy still didn't have it ready, and I had to call the doctors office.  Again. 

And then I decided to go home, only to find the husband upset because the dog had pushed the box aside, squeezed through the baby gate, and ran downstairs and pooped and peed and ripped stuff up.  So I promptly found the crate.  

And the husband was even more grouchy because he had had a bad day at work and had to break up a fight.  Between grown men.

We had words.  But then we apologized and all drove into town for medicine and carpet remover and greasy fast food.  And Miles almost had an accident in the car, but thankfully he made it. 

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.  My mom says that all moms have them.  Do you? 

You Are My Greatest Adventure

To My People,

Recently we were hanging out with a group of married friends when it dawned on me that Daddy and I were the old-marrieds of the bunch.  Everyone else had been married two years or less...and here we are fast-approaching our 5th anniversary.  What the what???

I'm realizing more lately how quickly Daddy and I really did have kids.  Sure, we'd been married two years before Miles came along, but here we are five years and two kids into marriage, when some of our friends have been married five years and are still [purposefully] waiting.  My Instagram feed seems chock-full of childless married couples going on grand adventures together and living nomadic lifestyles.  Meanwhile, my personal Instagram feed is exploding with pictures of the cutest little chubby faces you've ever seen (yes, I'm biased).  And in case you didn't get that, Little Munchkins, that would be you.

Settling down and having kids isn't for everyone, I'll give you that.  But for Daddy and I, it really was and is.  And really, the family life is a bigger challenge and adventure than any fast-paced action movie showing at the theatre.  What is an adventure after all?  It's full of unknowns and fatigue and pushing you beyond what you thought possible.  It's full of challenge and hurt and mistakes and worry.  What's a bigger adventure than getting married and having kids?  I mean, the Fast and the Furious crew can't hold a candle to me.  I'd like to see them navigate traffic with one hand holding a paci in the back seat and not be distracted by the loudest, most obnoxious screaming ever (again, a little biased).  Oh, and Jason Bourne?  I'll bet I can function way better than you can on no sleep.  I've conditioned myself...I have babies.  Don't get me started on kicking b*** with super human strength.  Have you ever tried to mess with mama's babies?  And I'd like to see MacGyver figure out a way to hold a potty training toddler over a public potty while simultaneously holding a newborn as well as I can. (And Miles, I will be telling the pooping-on-my-foot story at your wedding someday because...you owe me.)

In all seriousness though, you all are the greatest, most fulfilling adventure I've ever been on...or probably ever will go on.  No, I don't spend my days scaling mountains or living out of a station wagon, but my days are still incredibly rewarding.  We really try to keep traveling and going on spontaneous adventures with you little crazies in tow (#babywearing or #carrythemwithyou anyone???).  We throw in our fair share of crazy.  Think: flying cross-country with a two-year-old and an 8 week old, flying alone with a 23-month "lap" baby and an ever decreasing preggo lap, camping big and pregnant, camping with an 11-month old, or hiking with two kids on our back.  Yet, even on the days when I'm just home with you all day there are still challenges to overcome and new adventures to be had.  Although it may seem like it sometimes, being a wife and mom is not mundane.  It's an adventure that's not for the faint of heart.  It's gritty and raw and revealing and strengthening all at the same time.  It's one of the hardest and best things you'll ever do.

Some days as parents, Daddy and I thrive.  Others, we just barely survive.  Yet, I know we wouldn't trade the adventure of parenthood for a billion solo adventures out in the world.

Andy, Miles, and Nora, you are my greatest adventure.

Love,

Caitlin (aka, Mommy)    

Bitterness

It's like a cancer deep down inside of you.  Nobody sees it.  Nobody knows it's there.  Except you...and, of course, God.

I've known the nagging pain of it far too well.  It began with a valid reason.  A blunder.  Somebody did me wrong.  The fact that I had once called that someone a friend made it worse.  That that person claimed to be a Christian sunk me.

Why would they do this?  How could this person not see the hurt they had caused?  How could they claim to have been led by the Spirit when all they brought was pain?  These questions whirred through my brain in a never-ending loop.

Slowly, I found the hurt turning black, rotting my heart from the inside out.  Shamefully, I found myself hating.  I wanted to scream and yell.  I wanted to write a nasty letter.  I even dreamt of doing this person physical harm.

I wanted to hurt them, but instead all I ever ended up hurting was myself.  I let it breed in me and poison me.  With it came anger, sleeplessness, and even depression.  There didn't seem to be a way to stop it.

But there was One who could...the only other One who knew it was even there inside of me.   One day I realized that I needed Him to fix me.  I needed Him to get rid of this.

It was as if I looked down and saw for the first time that my fists were clenched, holding tight to the wrongs done me.  I didn't want to let them go.  I wanted to hold onto them until this person paid for what they'd done.

But that is not His way.  That's not how He works, how He heals.  No, instead of letting me inflict retribution, He asked me to do the opposite...He asked me to let go.

And I did.

It wasn't easy or all at once.  When you've held tight to something for that long, your muscles are tight and unmoving.  It took prying and tears and hard choices, but eventually I was able to let go of that last shred of hurt that I'd held onto for so long.

All at once I saw what the poison had done to me.  What I'd let grow in me.  I vowed to never let it grow in me again, although I knew I could never really keep that promise.

O Lord, cleanse me of the blackness within.

Rid me of this poison I drown myself in.  

Let me know the freedom of true forgiveness,  

And free me from this trap called bitterness.  

5 Things That Make Me a Better Mom

1. Being a stay-at-home mom.  I always knew that I wouldn’t want to work after my children were born.  While there have been times since I became a mom that I have worked (check out #2), I’m thankful that I haven’t had to work for the majority of the time.  I get to spend my days focusing on and pouring into my children’s lives, yet I also have the freedom to do some things that I’m interested in (gardening, writing, random Target day trips…).  I’m pretty sure I get more sleep that all the amazing working moms out there too.  I don’t have to get up early to rush out the door, after all.  Lots of sleep=happy mama.  

2. Having been a working mom.  For a time before Nora was born, I worked part-time.  I never thought I would work after I had children, but I did, and I learned a great deal through it.  First, how valuable my time is.  When you work outside the home, your time at home is precious.  You have to be incredibly diligent to keep your house running.  Second, how important it is to wake up and get going in the morning.  Even if I don’t have anywhere to be, my day is far more productive when I get up and going first thing.  Third, I have a new appreciation for working moms.  I realize how hard it is for them, even if they have to work or honestly enjoy their job.  As a stay-at-home mom once again, I’m much more productive and cognizant with my time.  In turn, I get a lot more done.  

3. Having a high-needs child.  I’ve talked about this before.  The gist is that I see my children for who they are instead of who I think they should be.  Most of the time, anyway.

4. Having a low-needs child.  My sweet, easy-going daughter has made it very obvious that my high-needs son was not my “fault”.  Each of my children simply has their own, unique personality.  I’m also thankful that she’s so laid-back because I would have probably lost my sanity otherwise.

5. MOPs.  I’ve been a part of our local MOPs group since Miles was just a few weeks old, and now I’m on the leadership team.  I love it and I have a huge heart for it.  In those early newborn days with Miles, and more recently as I’ve learned how to be a mom to two, my mom friends from MOPs were the support I needed.  I’ve gained some amazing friends through MOPS.  I also love the opportunity it presents to serve others right where I’m at…by letting motherhood be the common denominator.   

  

Shadow of the Past, Shadow of the Future

I hear it often enough.  I’m thin, as I always have been, and the scale balances a mere 10 lbs heavier than it did before my babies came.  “You look so good!” is common to my ears.  “You don’t look like you even had a baby!"

In many ways, I do look good for having two kids, one only three short months ago.  Yet, I remember well what my body was like.  These days when I look in the mirror I only see a shadow of what my body used to be.  Stretch marks dot my skin...scars from carrying new life within me and then bringing it into this world twice over.  Love handles that never used to be there, even after my first baby, hang over the top of my jeans.  My belly pooches out in a squishy mess of extra skin (thank you, Nora, for making my belly so stinking big!).  Things sag that didn’t used to and squish where there used to be firmness.

Then there’s the rest of my physical appearance.  My fingernails sit chipping and needing attention for weeks because I can never seem to find the time to paint them.  When I do finally paint them, invariably some child will unexpectedly need my attention and they’ll end up smudged and imperfect.  I usually manage to get makeup on, but by the end of the day it’s badly needing to be refreshed.  I tend to go one too many days without washing my hair, and my outfits are planned around nursing.  I never wear white because that would just be insane, plain and simple.

Yet, I’ve honestly never felt more beautiful.  I’m lucky enough to have a husband who thinks this post-baby me is more attractive than my pre-baby, skinny-as-a-rail self…and he makes sure I know it.  My children find comfort in my squishes and rolls.  My extra skin is Miles’ favorite place to snuggle when he’s sick or tired.  As I gradually transform my wardrobe to accommodate nursing and motherhood, I find myself discovering better my own personal styles and tastes and dressing accordingly.  Most importantly, I am proud of each stretch mark and roll.  They’re the lasting memorials of the two precious babies I bore…my two little blessings from God. 

Maybe, after all, my current body is not the shadow of its former self.  Maybe it’s the other way around.  

The Grey Days of Motherhood, Outside Voices, and Joy

It's late afternoon and I sit in my car on the side of the road overlooking a lake several hours from home.  We were supposed to be enjoying a rare, midweek getaway, but my husband had had some service calls to make and work to do, and I’d had to entertain the kids most of the day.  Both little ones were recovering from a nasty cold and were terribly overtired, and I finally just had to escape the room, thinking I’d get some peace and quiet.  But then the baby screamed in the car and wouldn’t fall asleep, and I couldn't take it and had to pull over. 

So here I sit, parked in a dusty parking lot.  In the rearview mirror I watch the toddler’s head sag as he finally drifts off to sleep, and I look down to the fussy baby sitting on my lap.  The grey skies outside seem to reflect my heart all too well.  A hotel coffee mug with strong, black tea sits next to me, getting cold.  I decide to sit here until it's gone, and then I turn up the music, heart weary.

"Messiah/You're Beautiful” comes up on shuffle and peace immediately floods over me.

***

My head swirls with outside voices.  Voices proclaiming how strong and worthy working moms are.  On the opposite end of the spectrum, voices proclaiming how you should be able to handle baby after baby in succession and be happy about it.  And all I feel is failure in light of those voices.  Because I trudge away at home.  Because I don’t want to, or feel called to, have baby after baby for the rest of my childbearing years.  

I feel tired...so very tired.  And not just because of how little sleep I got the night before.  I feel soul tired.

Earlier that day I went to Target thinking I would be refreshed and instead spent the whole time bouncing and nursing a fussy baby, and wishing I just had a kid who’d fall asleep and stay asleep in their car seat.  Wishing, too, that I had more money to spend.  Wishing that the tall Starbucks coffee I’d bought wasn’t too small for the nifty coffee cup holder on the cart.  Wishing that I could just sit in a coffee shop for a couple of hours…with just quiet and coffee shop music to distract me.

***

The baby on my lap finally nurses.  I put her in her car seat and sing along to the music playing.  She rewards me with a big, toothless grin.  I realize that I wouldn't trade a million quiet hours at a coffee shop for that one smile…that I wouldn't trade a job or being super mom to a billion babies for that one sweet smile from my girl.

And I know that I won't always be so tired.  That someday I'll sit in a coffee shop, heart aching for the fussy baby smile.  

And I know that those voices are just voices.  They are not me and they are not God, and all they do is make me lose sight of what God has given me to do…and they steal from me the joy that is found in being exactly where God wants you.

And I know that my days will not always be easy.  Sometimes I may just want to scream and cry.  Some days may seem pointless and rote.  And that's okay. That doesn't make me a failure.  Even in those days, I am right where God wants me.  I know that He will give me the strength and wisdom to see them through.  

***

Later, I pause before going back in the hotel.  The sun is setting burning orange in a beautiful painting from the Lover of my soul...the perfect balm for my worn and weary heart.  And He knows it.  I am not alone.  He is what I need.  He is all I need.  

Both babies are napped and happier.  I think of the good food and good sleep that definitely hopefully awaits me inside.  Almost imperceptibly, joy creeps into my heart.  Joy that is only found in the center of His will…joy that cannot be quenched or lost, even on the greyest of days.  A smile creeps across my face.  And inside, I’m smiling too.   

To the Young Parents Out There

Recently, I found myself sitting at a friend’s home on a Saturday night watching a football game.  Truth be told, the little crowd that had gathered wasn’t really there to watch the game.  We were all mid- to late-twenty somethings with at least one or two kids apiece.  In reality, getting together for this football game meant being able to let our children play, eat some good food, and just be able to sit down, breathe, and have some grownup conversation.  By 9 pm, we were all falling asleep and ready to go home.  If you’ve got any number of little ones at home, I’m sure you can relate.

I’m sure you can also relate when I say that there are times that I look at the lives of my childless peers with longing.  Not that I want to be without children again, but that sometimes being a parent is so stinking hard.  And sometimes it’s the farthest thing from fun.

You see, when you’re a young parent, whether through planning or fate, responsibility weighs especially heavy on you.  Many of your friends are still single or childless, and one glance at your Facebook newsfeed quickly makes you realize that your place in life is not the norm for people your age.  You may feel like you’re missing out on all the fun and spontaneity that should come with this age you’re at, overwhelming burdens ever holding you back.  While your childless friends can just up and go out tonight without even a thought, you would find yourself wishing that you had enough money for a sitter.  And even if you did, you’d be scrambling to pack the diaper bag, only to end up having to cancel everything because one of your children had come down with something.  I repeat: sometimes being a parent is the farthest thing from fun.

But sometimes it’s the most ridiculously amazing fun.  

There’s nothing like the joy that floods your heart when your baby smiles at you for the first time, or the pride you feel when your child says thank-you to the cashier at the grocery store.  Your two-year-old can make you laugh harder than any comedian ever could.  And have you ever taken a kid to Disneyland?  It’s like being a kid and seeing the magic for the first time ever yourself.

I’m sure that our single, childless peers would find our Saturday nights lame and boring…proof that you shouldn’t have kids young.  Some may shake their heads and say that we're tied down or missing out.  And maybe we are.  But I think they’re missing out too.  

If you’re a young parent, like me, your life stopped mirroring a Taylor Swift song a long time ago.  And that’s okay.  You can still have an amazing impact on this world, have fun, and enjoy your youth, even with little ones in tow.  Children and responsibility don't have to be terrible things to put off and avoid.  In fact, sometimes the most freedom and joy is found when we are  “tied down” with little ones.  We know the purpose God has for us today because that purpose is looking up at us with a crooked little smile every morning at breakfast.  And knowing that gives us the freedom to grow and be and change and do without spending time worrying about committing to the wrong path.   

Someday when our kids are all grown and our peers are still raising theirs, they’ll be the ones looking at our lives with longing.  Meanwhile, we’ll be off adventuring and changing the world.

I Didn't Want a Daughter

I knew before the ultrasound tech said it.  It was a girl.  Part of me was thrilled.  I had a little boy, and now I'd have one of each.  Yet, secretly, there was a part of me that was stunned.

I love being a woman, don't get me wrong.  But I was supposed to be that mama with the boys...the cool mom who played Cowboys and Indians and went on crazy, fun adventures with them.  I loved growing up in a modern-day version of Little Women [read: three sisters, no brothers], but I thought that us girls had enough hormones and drama for a lifetime.  Being something of a tomboy as a child, the very thought of tutus and giant bows and pink everywhere was foreign to me.  It even made me cringe a little bit. (Don't hate me, that's just me!)  To quote a line from one of my favorite musicals, "You can have fun with a son, but you've got to be a father [insert "mother"] to a girl."  

Up until the day my daughter was born, I was scared.  Scared that I wouldn't enjoy her the same way I loved my little boy.  Scared that I wouldn't know what to do with a girl.  Scared that she'd be a dramatic little diva.  Scared that I'd mess it all up.

And then our sweet little Nora Jane was born.  

Nora means "light" and Jane means "God's gift", both names that are incredibly fitting for the sweetest of babies that is our Nora.  From day one she's been the most easygoing baby.  She's an incredible sleeper, colic has been almost non-existent, and she really only fusses when she needs something.  She lets me cuddle her, rock her, and sing to her...all things that Miles never let me do in the early months.  While I loved him indescribably, his colic and high-needs personality left me little time to just sit and relish in his preciousness.  But Nora?  Well, I've been able to just enjoy her.

The bows and pink and sweet little girl things just suit her, and I love them.  Sometimes I wish she'd have more blow-outs, just so I'd have an excuse to change her into another adorable outfit.

And I look forward to the future.  I look forward to getting to watch "girl" movies with her, and to getting to see the princesses at Disneyland and not just the action heros.  My heart melts thinking of seeing her dance with her daddy, or introducing her to Anne Shirley and Gilbert Blythe for the first time.  I can't wait to see what kind of girl, and eventually woman, she'll be.  Will she be a free-spirited horse lover, as I was?  Or will she live for tea parties and tutus?    

I've said it before, and I'll say it again: God knows what we need.  He knew that after Miles (and really, with Miles ongoing), I couldn't have handled a Miles II.  He knew the deepest fears of my heart, and blessed me with a beautiful, precious little girl that I can cherish and adore.  A little girl who, instead of wanting to be like daddy, will want to be like me.  A little girl whom I can lead and guide.  A little girl who will one day, hopefully, be a beautiful, strong woman of God.

I will never be one of those moms who can refer to her all-the-same-gender kids as "the boys" or "the girls".  Instead, I get to say things like "the kids" or "my children".  I would never have guessed that I'd have a boy and then a girl, nor would I have wished for it.  Yet, knowing what I know now, I wouldn't trade my son and my daughter for the world.

Our Nora Jane.  Not a diva or a drama queen.  Instead, a sweet, exquisite little blessing who stole my heart from the first moment I saw her.

No, I didn't want a daughter.  But, thankfully, God knew better.     

 

The Woman I Want to Be in 2015

I woke up this morning without any New Years resolutions.  The past year, and especially the past month, have been such a blur that I haven't even had a chance to give resolutions a thought.  For planning, goal-setting, control-loving me, that's unusual.

In the quiet stillness as everyone else slept I got out my journal and started writing.  To my surprise, words and goals began pouring out on the page.  Apparently they were all there, they were just waiting for me to let them spill out.

What I discovered was that what I want to be this year is a better version of myself.  Here's what I wrote:

In 2015 I want to be a better...

...follower of Christ.  Exuding His joy and light.  Recklessly abandoned to what He calls me to do.  In awe of His majesty.  Taking joy in His blessings.

...wife.  Less nit picky, moody, and naggy.  More full of grace and love.  Abounding in love.  More supportive.  Speaking with more thought and tact.  

...mother.  Spending less time on distractions like TV shows and Facebook.  Less eager to push my children.  More time spent relishing every moment.  Less anger.  More grace and truth.  

...friend.  More communication.  More seeking out.  More dependability.  Becoming a better listener and confidant.  Caring more.  Being more empathetic.  Being more truthful, but in love.

...homemaker.   More diligent.  Less frivolous with my time.  More about simplifying and less about buying.  Being happy with less.

...gardener.  More diligent.  More focused.  More realistic.

...cook.  Paying more attention to detail.  Better at planning.  Better at balancing taste and health.  Better at eating seasonally and storing for later.

...exerciser.  Start over.  A little each day.  Staying healthy for those I love.

...caretaker of my body.  Better at eating and staying active.  A little more attention to how I look and present myself.  Simplifying my wardrobe.  Making it represent the woman God created me to be.

...improver of my mind.  Less TV and social media.  More books and writing.

...writer.  More consistent about blogging.  Being more careful with words.  More honesty.  More of the real me.

...caring more about the tasks God gives me to do, and finding joy in them, than the frivolous, empty things of the world.  Being brave enough to be the woman God created me to be, and letting go of everything else.  

What My Children See At Christmas

I was determined to have beautifully wrapped presents under our Christmas tree this year.  I'd looked up tutorials on how to make gifts look professionally wrapped, and I had everything all laid out.  But then Miles wanted to help wrap the presents for his daddy.  

As any parent knows, a two-year-old little boy isn't exactly the most helpful when it comes to wrapping presents.  By the time the few presents were wrapped, the paper was wrinkled from being stepped on, there were pieces of tape in various random places, and the gifts looked anything but professionally wrapped.  I found myself snapping at my little boy who had been so eager to help.  I saw the crushed look in his beautiful blue eyes, and I hated myself for it.

I set the presents under our Christmas tree and remembered how just the day before I had contemplated replacing our cheap, Walmart angel and ornaments.  Yet, each piece had been bought in love and excitement by two beautifully happy newlyweds...each item budgeted for and purchased with the little money they had at the time.  No, they weren't magazine worthy, but they were full of memories and love and a symbol of a new family being formed.  I knew then that I would not be able to replace them, even though I could afford to.    

I looked again at my mangled gift wrap job and smiled.  I wouldn't trade those random pieces of tape and the wrinkled paper for the world.  In them I see my tenderhearted little boy, always eager to help and love others.

I pray that my children will not grow up thinking that Christmas means store-bought perfection straight out of a magazine.  May they grow up with treasured memories of family, hope, and love.  May they see Christ in Christmas...and may they see Christ in me.    

Winter

Today as I drove home from town, I watched fog roll down the mountain behind our house.  The trees were barren and lifeless, the fields empty and brown.  I shivered as I hurried my two little ones into the house and plunked the three of us in front of the fire to warm our chilled bodies.

Winter in Arkansas is often grey and cold.  The damp air makes the cold seemingly settle right into your bones, and many times into your soul as well.  For the girl who spent most of her life in sunny Arizona, it can be incredibly depressing.  I was used to cold winters, but not to the wet cold or the endless days of grey.  Each winter here, I find myself struggling with Seasonal Affective Disorder.  Extra Vitamin D helps, but never completely.

Today, though, I actually saw beauty in those barren trees and in that cold fog.  Today, as I warmed myself by the fire, I was reminded of another fire that once warmed my bones, but this one an ocean away.  It's been almost seven years since my friend Caris and I went on our grand adventure to England in the dead of winter.  Seven years since we sloshed through sheep fields in the rain and climbed up hills to abandoned castles together.

It was grey there, too.  It was cold, dark, and oh-so-wet.  Yet, I don't remember anything but joy from it.  Looking back, I see a girl on the cusp of adulthood, full of fear and hope, still trying to find myself.  I realize now how crucial those two weeks were to my journey and my path.

I remember fondly the time spent by warm fires.  I remember wearing cozy sweaters and drinking gobs of tea and hot chocolate.  No thought was given to walking through soggy fields or traipsing down wet streets in the rain.  We adventured anyway.  I remember laughing and singing and dancing, and snuggling in under cozy blankets, reading books quietly.  I remember making new friends and eating pasties and flapjacks; watching movies and letting the rain soak my hair; taking a hot bath and sleeping in late; reveling in the smell of old books in a bookshop; feeling God speaking to me so very strongly, altering my course from there on out...and all in the middle of grey, dreary winter.

That shy little not-quite-woman could never have imagined where she'd be seven years later.  It's ironic, really, that the grey winter days that changed my life and brought so much joy now eat at my happiness.  Yet, I know that they don't have to.

Winter, whether actual or a season of our life, can be hard and isolating.  Like the leafless trees behind my house, it can leave us barren, raw, and exposed.  Some days you may feel like you just can't get warm.  Yet, it shouldn't stop us from pressing on.  It shouldn't stop us from doing God's will, adventuring, and finding joy.  Sometimes it is those quiet, dark winter moments that are exactly what we need to hear Him speaking.  The question is, will we stop to listen?      

This winter I've determined to choose joy and embrace each cold, grey day.  I've even started a Pinterest board dedicated to it.  Will you commit with me to not let Satan steal the beauty of this season from us?

Being Miles' Mama: Why I'm Thankful for My High Need Child

*Note: When I refer to my son as "high need", I'm referring to Dr. Sears' description of a high need baby.  

My first child was a really hard baby.  I feel qualified to say that now because my second baby is significantly easier.  In many ways, my laid-back second born has made me feel vindicated.  I can now say, "See!  I did know what I was talking about!  I wasn't just a hormone-crazed new mama grossly underprepared for motherhood (although I was)!  It wasn't my parenting, eating habits, or personality that made him that way!  He was just plain hard."

One of the mysteries of motherhood, however, is how fiercely in love I was with that colicky, high need baby.  Even more mysterious is how that love still grows each day...how I think it always will.  Beyond all the incredible love, however, I look back and truly am thankful that my first baby was high needs.  Here are some reasons why:

He humbled me and revealed my heart.  I came into motherhood with the idea that I had everything figured out.  I knew what kind of mother I would be and why.  I was prideful and, sadly, judgmental.  Then my beautiful, screaming Miles entered this world and threw me for a loop.  He wasn't what a baby was supposed to be, and I quickly had to let go of all that I thought I knew about babies and about motherhood.  He showed me how wrong I was.

I had to depend on God for my strength and wisdom. I always felt myself to be an intelligent, capable young woman.  However, being Miles' mom has often made me feel utterly incapable and weak.  The beauty of it all is that when I couldn't go on, God sustained me.  When I didn't know what to do, He led me.  I simply couldn't rely on myself, and instead learned to rely on Him.  

I was forced to relinquish my need for control.  I have control issues.  I really do.  While that's something I'm still working on, I've gotten immeasurably better since Miles was born.  I had to let go of scheduling anything or the idea that I could somehow control my baby's behavior (because I really couldn't).  Most of all, I had to get over the idea that I could somehow manipulate my life to create the"perfect" family and "perfect" marriage.   

I learned not to care what other people thought.  I use to dread people asking me if Miles was a "good" baby or if he slept good.  If I told them the truth, I was quickly given advice about how I could "fix" the problem.  If I mentioned that Miles was "high needs", I was often met with raised eyebrows and skepticism.  I could tell that certain people thought that my parenting style was to blame.  I held him too much.  I didn't schedule him.  I didn't let him cry it out.  I was too clingy.  I wasn't persistent or resilient enough.  I had to learn to brush off comments like these and be confident in my parenting.

I became less critical and more sympathetic towards other moms.  Criticism from other people made me much more careful about the comments I made to other moms.  Just as I had learned that my baby and I were both unique individuals, so I came to see that every baby and mom is, in fact, different.  I could never know every circumstance of a person's life and, therefore, I had no right to judge another mom.  I began to look at the mom in the grocery store with a toddler way past due for a nap with sympathy, rather than judging her for shopping instead of getting her child a nap.

I learned to pay attention to him as a little person instead of treating him as a generic baby.  Miles never went "by the book" as a baby.  That used to drive me crazy.  I am now thankful for it because it caused me to really learn about him and mother him accordingly.  It taught me to be responsive to my children, instead of expecting them to fit into my parenting style.

He taught me how important it was to be proactive in my marriage. For awhile after Miles was born, Andy and I had a pretty strained relationship.  Not that there was really anything wrong.  It was just that, up until Miles' birth, pretty much every night was a date night for us.  Miles demanded so much of our attention that we spent most of our time tag teaming instead of doing things together.  Our own relationship was put on the back burner, and we felt like two ships adrift at sea.  Thankfully, we began to learn what was necessary in our marriage in order to keep the flame, and even the friendship, alive.  This is something we're still working on, and I'm sure always will be, but we're much more on our guard now.

I got a glimpse into how God loves us.  Miles wrecked my life.  He left my nerves frazzled, my brain foggy, and my self-confidence lacking.  Yet, somehow my fierce love for him only grew.  Through it, I got a taste of God's love for us.  I began to see how unfathomable it was for Him to love us so indescribably, when we can never begin to reciprocate...when we forget Him and fail Him and betray Him.

I now get to watch him blossom into an intelligent, intuitive toddler.  Miles was a hard baby and he's definitely a challenging toddler.  Yet he's also so very sweet and fun.  He loves to talk and is very communicative.  He's also very observant and intuitive.  He quickly picks up on people's emotions, whether they be his mama's or a strangers.  His hawk-like eyes miss nothing, and he'll often bring up things later that I had already forgotten had happened.  I love it, and I love him.

I'm enjoying having a more laid-back baby this time around...and getting more sleep.  Yet, I wouldn't trade Miles and his personality for anything.  I firmly believe that I am a much better mother to Nora because of what I learned from Miles.  God doesn't make mistakes.  He knew the children that I needed.    

Shaming the Breastfeeding Challenged

I'm going to be real honest: breastfeeding and I have a love-hate relationship.  As much as I loved nursing my son and am very pro-breastfeeding, I don't believe that breastfeeding is always the best way.  There are way too many moms out there (me included) that are made to feel like less of a mother for either struggling with breastfeeding, not enjoying it, or choosing not to breastfeed altogether.

This was circulating recently, and it was awesome, but I think that some women forget that there are other reasons besides health ones that can prevent moms from being able to nurse their babies.  For some, the stress of nursing is just not worth it.  For others, breastfeeding is a struggle and at some point the benefits of fighting for it don't outweigh the physical and emotional exhaustion.  For still others, their supply, their physical attributes, or their baby's mouth keeps them from being able to breastfeed.  

I've not really shared this here before, but I really struggled nursing Miles in the beginning.  I had dreams of effortlessly nursing my newborn in what would be a completely natural and incredibly bonding experience.  Unfortunately, a combo of issues between me and him made latching impossible.  For several months, the only way I could get him latched was with a shield.  Even then, it was a struggle.  There was a lot of screaming and frustration.  Finally, though, he got the hang of it and became a pro.  Breastfeeding became a beautiful, peaceful thing, and I loved it.  I couldn't understand how anyone who could breastfeed would choose not to.  I was terribly proud of myself for sticking with it and persevering.

When Nora was born, I prepared myself for another struggle.  To my surprise, only minutes after she arrived she latched right on.  She was such a good little nurser that she wanted to nurse constantly.  My poor husband had to go to Walmart at 5 am to get a pacifier and give me a break.  I was in proud Mommy heaven.

Then engorgement struck.  Terrible, painful engorgement that I wasn't able to get to go down for several days.  Suddenly my nursing champ couldn't latch.  After a sleepless night of trying unsuccessfully to get her to nurse, and her not getting more than a few drops of milk, we gave in and gave her a bottle of pumped milk.  One bottle.  That's all it took for my nursing pro to decide that nursing was simply too much work.

My dreams of easily nursing my newborn whenever and wherever crumbled into a heap.  I can't even begin to describe to you how hard it is to have your own child screaming in rejection of you, in favor of a cold, artificial substitute.  Meanwhile, all you can think of are the many, many friends whose baby's latch right on and never have any trouble nursing.  You know it's not true, but you can't help but feel like a failure.

You see, I know from experience that not being able to "Exclusively Breastfeed" (or "EBF", as it's known in the cyber world), whether by choice or necessity, is never easy.  Something deep down whispers that you are less of a woman.  After all, women have been doing it for thousands of years so why can't you? 

Then there's the judgement from other moms, especially those that don't know the pain it is to struggle to nurse your little one.  Whether imagined or not, you feel the stares when you pull out that bottle.  You hesitate before posting that cute anecdote about your child on Facebook because it includes the world "bottle", and you know what certain moms will think.  You cringe inside when that mom who doesn't understand the whole situation gives you advice on what will help with your "problem".  You skip over that article someone shared for the millionth time about how much better breastfeeding is, implying that your kid will be less healthy, smart, and developed than those lucky kids who nursed until they were 2.

Mamas, if you've struggled with breastfeeding or have had to give up on it altogether for whatever reason, take heart.  You are not less of a mama, and your child will not lack because of it.  My grandma likes to remind people that all of her three amazingly smart, high-IQ, beautiful children (which include an orthodontist and a PhD psychologist) were, in fact, formula babies, as were my sister and I.  If you can breastfeed, that's wonderful, but breastfeeding alone will not dictate the future and health of your children.  What's far more important is for our children to have a mentally stable mama who loves them with all of her heart.

To those of you to whom nursing comes easily, think twice before passing judgement.  If you haven't struggled with breastfeeding, you can't fully understand the struggle of those who have.  Make the choice to support other mothers, whether they breastfeed of bottle feed.  What is best for one family and one child will not be best for another family and another child.  We need to embrace one another and the unique paths that we are all on.  Remember that breastfeeding your children does not make you a better mother than the woman who bottle feeds.  

***   

Nora is almost three weeks old now, and she's had more bottles than I can count.  I'm producing more than enough milk, so it's all been mama's milk, but it's still not my preference or my choice.  Pumping often enough to produce enough milk for your little one is exhausting (especially when that includes pumping in the middle of the night after already having fed your baby a bottle).  There have definitely been days that I've wondered how long we'll make it before switching to formula.  Being a busy wife and mama makes exclusively pumping for the next year impossible.  I had to come to terms with the fact that, should she not return to breastfeeding, my sweet Nora might end up on formula...and I had to be okay with that.

Thankfully, taking it one day at a time has worked.  By the grace of God (because it's certainly nothing I've done), my sweet Nora has suddenly decided that she really does like nursing after all.  It's 3 in the afternoon and she hasn't had one bottle all day.  Yet, I know that that could change in a heartbeat, and that's perfectly fine.  My worth and value as her mother is not tied up in my ability to feed her the "natural way".  Instead, it's found in the love and devotion I have for her, whether she's fed formula in a bottle or right at my chest.  

Before Baby Bucket List

Well, here I am at 38 weeks, 1 day and still no baby.  After all the trouble we had with preterm labor, a hospital stay, and a week and a half of bed rest, we were definitely expecting Baby Girl sometime last week.  So far, she's still hanging out in there.

After my doctor'a appointment this past Thursday, my husband and I decided to make a little bucket list of sorts of things to do before the baby is born.  While we may be in a time of waiting, we know it's for a reason, and we don't want to waste it.

We've been adding to and adjusting the list as the days have gone on, depending on our mood.  Here are a few of the things we've done in the past five days:

*Watched Fiddler on the Roof with Miles  while Andy worked on his Jeep.

*Andy made some progress on his Jeep.  

*Got donuts for breakfast...definite treat right there!

*We took a drive on a road I'd been wanting to go on forever...with our bags in the car just in case. ;)

*Extended that drive on another road that I just love driving on. (I so wish I'd got pictures!)

*Ate dinner at a restaurant that holds a lot of memories for Andy as a child.

*Made it to church for the first time in weeks.

*Took Miles to a local pumpkin patch that opened up this year.  He loved it...and we did too.

*Went to a movie...technically we only made it to a movie at church (they were showing God's Not Dead), but it was still nice!

*Had dinner with friends after the movie.  

I've also just been soaking up as much time with my boys (especially the soon-to-be big brother) as possible.  I'm having to go extra slow, but Miles and I have been enjoying going to the park, playing at home, and taking afternoon naps.  Andy and I have been enjoying getting to watch "Big People" movies and shows before bed at night.  

The introvert in me is also definitely coming out.  Before Miles was born, I didn't really want to do too much except settle in at home and "nest".  I know several people thought something was wrong, but it wasn't.  It's just how I prepare for everything that's about to happen!

So, if I seem aloof or distant in the next few days or weeks until Baby Girl comes, don't worry.  I'm not depressed and it's not you...it's just me and my introverted self. ;)

Anyway, a few other things we've talked about doing before baby comes are:

*Getting ice cream

*Maybe going to an actual movie theatre. ;)

*One last Jeep ride

*Concert at the Ozark Folk Center

*Smores on the back deck

*Work on the garden

*Drive down to the creek

*Tommy Q and rootbeer floats (for those of you who know what we ate the night before Miles made his swift arrival ;) )

The Ugly Truth

Feeling so out-of-control of everything the past few weeks has really brought to light some secrets buried deep in my heart.  Dark, ugly secrets.  Like, how prideful I am as a pregnant woman.

I see this picture I posted on my Instagram feed some months back and cringe.  The heart of it was so braggy…so self-centered. 


You see, secretly, I felt that the easiness of my first pregnancy was all due to me.  I ate good, tried to stay active, and purposed to stay positive through it all.  My feet barely swelled, heartburn was non-existent, and I delivered a healthy baby boy at 40 weeks, 1 day with no Pitocin, no epidural, and a less than 10 hour labor.  Motherhood ended up being far more challenging than I expected, but I loved it and eventually thrived as a stay-at-home mom.

Then I became pregnant with Baby #2.  I expected nothing less than the easy pregnancy I’d had before.  I planned on staying healthy and active, keeping up my garden, being an amazing mother to my toddler, and babywearing until the very end, when I’d go in and deliver another healthy baby with a short, easy labor.  I would be even more prepared this time.  I knew what to expect.  This wasn’t my first rodeo.

As the weeks of my pregnancy went on, I found myself slowly losing more-and-more of the “control” I thought I had.  First, one of the ventricles in Baby Girl’s brain was slightly enlarged (which, thankfully, resolved itself).  Then, excessive contractions and cramping almost landed me in the hospital at 25 weeks.  I found myself having to go much slower than with my first pregnancy.  We had to turn down outings with friends, for fear that the heat and walking would be too much for me.  I tried to pace myself, but still found myself pushing…perhaps too much.  Heartburn and breathlessness plagued me incessantly. 

Still, I had some control. I was going to be ready.  I had lists made of what all needed to be done before baby came.  They included everything from deep cleaning the house to making freezer meals to packing everyone’s bags to being stocked up on paper plates. 

Every shred of control was lost when I found myself hospitalized with preterm labor at 35 weeks, 3 days.  I was sent home to face the daunting challenge of strict bedrest for the next week and half.  All of my best laid plans went down the tubes.  At night, I’d hear my son crying for me and just ache, knowing that I could not go to him…that someone else would have to.  I found my independent self having to rely on others just to bring me water, change my son’s diaper, or find the extra box of cereal in the kitchen.  I had time to think…and I thought a lot.

I thought about how prideful I had been.  I thought about how nothing, as it turns out, had ever been in my control…nothing was due to my superior actions as a pregnant woman.  This had been a hard pregnancy, with unexpected twists and turns, and it was okay to admit that.  It was okay to embrace that, knowing that nothing I had experienced this go around made me less or more of a woman or a mother.

Right now, my baby carriers are collecting dust, my garden lays fallow, and my son is having to learn that Mama can only do so much today.  At 37 weeks, 2 days, I wait in limbo…waiting for the arrival of my so very wanted baby girl.  I no longer have any expectations of what her birth will be like.  At this point, my once decidedly-pro-natural-childbirth self would even welcome a C-section, if it meant that I would have my little girl in my arms at last and that this pregnancy and everything that comes with it would be over. 

Today, I know that I’m not “Super Pregnant Mommy”.  Today, I feel very out-of-control.  Today,  I know that that’s perfectly okay.          

God Sees the Little Tears

A few weeks after my son was born, my sweet little cat died.  I cried, but I mostly hid those tears.  In light of all the suffering going on in the world, it didn't feel right to be sad about a cat.  I grieved, but silently.

A few weeks ago, one of our beloved dogs passed away quite suddenly and unexpectedly.  Again, I found myself stifling my emotions.  With people fighting cancer and babies in the NICU, it didn't seem right to blubber about a pet.  Blubber I did, however.

Now I find myself on day 8 of bed rest.  On day 3 I found myself back at the hospital with contractions, silently begging God to make them the real thing...for Baby Girl to really, truly be coming.  As much as I wanted to keep her in longer for her sake, I was done on my part.  The unknowns, the contractions, the feeling terrible, and the being stuck in bed, unable to care for myself, let alone my family--all these were killing me inside.

Baby Girl did not come that day, and she's still healthy and cooking inside of me.  As we drove home from that second hospital visit, I found myself blinking back tears.  Once again, they seemed so silly, so futile.  I should be happy that my baby girl was still safe and healthy.  I should be thanking the Lord for each day more with her inside of me, knowing that that was one day more for her to grow and for her lungs to develop.

I took my frustrations and fears to the Lord and, to my surprise, was not met with condemnation and ridicule.  Instead, I felt the most overwhelming peace flood over me.  In my lack of control I found the most amazing strength.

Sometimes it takes the smallest things to make us feel forgotten by God.  The glorious truth, however, is that He will never leave us or forsake us.  It's okay to grieve, to be sad, even in the little things.  No tear is too insignificant for God to miss.  He sees and He cares.  So often, it is in these little tears that we need Him the most.  For, in our grief and hurt, no matter how small, we find the One True Balm...the Source of radical, inexplicable Love and Peace.

Take heart, dear one.  He sees even the little tears.  

33 Weeks: The Honest Truth

It's been one of those days.

I just loaded up my two-year-old son in the car for no particular reason other than in the hope that he'd fall asleep.  We've been prisoners in our family room all morning while a contractor puts in new flooring in the rest of the house.  It's too hot for this preggo mama to go outside, and I have no errands that need running.  There are a billion things I need to do and want to do, but they all involve the rest of my house.  My mind has been going since 5:30 this morning when I found myself wide awake in the pitch black darkness.  And it hasn't stopped.

Looking at the calendar fills me with stress as I think about the things I need to get ironed out for MOPs, and the things we need to do to get our house back in order before Baby Girl Baker makes her appearance in seven short weeks, give or take.  

But then, but then...

I drive down one of my favorite streets, just because I want to.  I suddenly realize what a gorgeous day it is, despite the heat.  I stop when I see this:

I take a deep breathe and let the simple beauty of it all seep into my soul.  The old barn, the lazy clouds, the wildflowers, and the tall green grass...all gifts for me from the Lover of my soul.  I breathe in.  I breathe out.  I feel God's love and His peace washing over me.  I am reminded that I am in the center of His will, and my perspective is changed.

I remember the seven weeks I still have left, the 20 freezer meals I've already assembled, the deep cleaned family room (thanks to this morning's imprisonment), and the friends and family that I can depend on.  Most of all, I remember that God doesn't give us more than we can bear.  

I decide to skip the chemical-laden drink that I thought was calling my name and I drive home instead, toddler thankfully now snoozing in the backseat.  I plan on taking this opportunity to take a rare nap of my own.  The honest truth is...33 weeks is hard, but I am blessed.

33 Weeks, 3 Days

Stop Saying "I'm Introverted"

Sometimes people hold me up as an example of someone who is independent, confident, and outgoing because I was able to move far away from my family and build a new life with my husband.  The very idea makes me laugh.

As long as I can remember, I’ve been a self-proclaimed introvert.  As a child I loved books and playing by myself, and I was hopelessly shy.  I remember distinctly a time when my mom sent my younger sister and I into a gas station to pay for something.  I was too shy to pay for it myself, so I made my younger sister do it.  Yes, my younger sister.

Later on, a 17-year-old me sat in my mom’s car crying because I was too afraid to go into my first college class.  For years, I would get so nervous going into new situations where I knew no one that I would throw up beforehand.  But, oh yeah, I moved 1000 miles away from my family, made new friends, and now have little trouble going into a big new group.  Real life confession, though?  I still don’t like calling people on the phone and I am still definitely an introvert. 

Being an introvert is something you’re born with.  You can’t change it anymore that you can change the color of your skin or your eyes.  What you can change is how you respond to it.  Too often, I see the phrase “I’m an introvert” used as an excuse to shy away from situations that make someone nervous or uncomfortable.  Believe me, I get it!  I’ve used the very same excuse.  I know from experience, however, how unfulfilling that excuse can be.  Life has pushed me out of my comfort zone and away from that excuse.  I’ve become unafraid by being forced to push through my fears.

That day I cried in the car?  My mom made me go anyway.  A few months later I went to England for two weeks with a friend.  I puked a lot on that trip, but I came back the better for it.  That same year I timidly submitted an application to be a small group leader with the on-campus Christian group I was a part of.  My two friends and I nervously joined the 40 other leaders (that we didn’t know) on their weeklong camp.  We had an amazing time and made many new friends.  Just a few months later I went to a conference where there would be 300 other homeschool graduates…none of which I knew.  I puked the morning I left…but I went anyways, and while there I met the man that one would day be my husband.

I could have let my introversion hold me back from all of those things.  If I had, I wouldn’t be the woman I am today, nor would I have the wonderful life I have today.  Without a doubt, I would be just as afraid, shy, and lacking in confidence, and probably miserably unhappy and lonely.

I will never regret pushing myself out of my comfort zone.  When I started to do so, I suddenly started thinking a lot less about myself and a lot more about others.  You see, as introverts sometimes we get so caught up in our feelings and fears that we completely forget about the feelings and fears of others.  Often times, we miss out on being a blessing to others by letting our introversion be a cop-out or an excuse.  In turn, we never get out of our own selves, and we sink only further into our introverted “ways”.

Today, I don’t get sick to my stomach in new situations or panic talking to new people.  My instinct is still to wait for someone else to initiate, and I avoid making phone calls, but I am no longer afraid of them either.  I embrace who I am as an introvert, but I don’t let it control my life. 

Pushing past your introversion is never easy…but it is always worth it.

The Beauty in the Trouble

Compared to my first, this pregnancy has been no picnic in the park.  In the beginning, I felt guilty for not being as excited about this pregnancy as I was with the first.  Then there was a worry about baby girl’s brain ventricle being too large, and more recently such bad contractions and cramping that I almost went to the hospital.

I realized the other day, however, how long October seemed away, and how impatient I was for it to get here.  The time has slowed and I find myself counting the days until sweet Baby Girl Baker makes her arrival.  I’m excited and expectant and eager…all things that I wasn’t in the beginning of this pregnancy.

You see, all the trouble and worry has made Baby Girl’s life all the more dear and precious to me.  I’ve come to realize just how much I love and cherish her…and that I’d do anything to see her safely in my arms.  The contractions, the excessive water, the aches, and the insomnia are insignificant to me in comparison to knowing that, Lord willing, in a few short months I’ll be able to kiss her tiny little toes.

I don’t mean to say that God gives us troubles and heartaches, but I do believe He has allowed these things to happen because He knew they were exactly what I needed.  He knew that I needed those worries to prepare my heart to receive my daughter. 

Sometimes hardships are exactly what we need to make us stronger.  Sometimes there is beauty in our troubles.      

A Month Without TV: What It Taught Me

A couple of months ago my husband came to me with the idea that we should take a break from the television for a month.  The more I thought about it, the more sense it seemed to make.  With the busyness and stress of the last six months, watching television had became our life.  I watched it sporadically throughout the day, it helped me fill the hours when my husband was coming home late, and when he did finally come home, crashing in from of the tv was our default. 

So, with the exception of a few movies, we turned off the tv for an entire month. 

The first day, we honestly didn’t know what to do with ourselves.  We were bored and antsy, and were constantly wondering what had happened on one of our “shows”.  I didn’t think we’d make it past a week.

Quickly, though, we started to find things to do.  We kept busy, felt better, and didn’t end up missing the television all that much.  By the end of the month, we weren’t even anxious to turn on the tv.   

Here are a few things I learned from our month-long tv fast:  

I waste a lot of time.  One of the first things I noticed was how efficient I suddenly was at getting things done.  Folding laundry took half the time because I wasn’t trying to do it while catching up on a favorite show.  In fact, everything took about half the time.  Without the tv being available, I was more productive, my house was cleaner, and I wasted a lot less time.

Television makes me feel tired and brain numb.  It was amazing how much more energetic I felt during that month without tv.  Reading books, writing, doing crafts, and getting projects done filled my time instead of mindless tv watching, and my brain could feel it.  Even with being on partial bed-rest for a weekend with some freak contractions, I didn’t feel like I was dragging.  I hadn’t even realized how low watching tv can make you. 

I don’t need television for entertainment. Very early in the month, we realized that we had forgotten how to entertain ourselves without the television.  The mere fact that we didn’t have a clue what to do was disheartening.  As we started to remember our other interests and hobbies, we started thinking about the television less and less.  We remembered that we don’t really need the television at all. 

What I watch effects my mood and daily outlook on life. One slightly unexpected side effect was that I started sleeping better, waking up more ready to start the day, and feeling more at peace wtih everything going on in my life.  I realized that modern television can be downright depressing.  It plays at your heartstrings and never gives you full-resolution to anything, hoping that you’ll come back for the next episode.  Whether we know it or not, this can be a serious mood suppressor. 

Quiet is okay.  As a mostly stay-at-home mom, I have found the house to be overwhelming quiet at times.  Baby chatter is one thing, but being deprived of the sound of an adult human voice all day can be a bit maddening at times.  I’d gotten in a really bad habit of just turning on the tv as background noise during the day, nevermind the junk that is called “daytime television”.  When I suddenly didn’t have that option anymore, the quiet was at first almost deafening.  As the days went on, though, I learned to embrace the quiet.  I learned to focus on what my little guy was chattering about and trying to tell me, instead of just blowing off his babbling.  I learned that all the quiet can be a very good and refreshing thing, and I’ve come to embrace it. 

 

We’ve turned our television back on, but we don’t find ourselves craving and needing it like we did.  Many days I slip into bed realizing that I haven’t turned on the television the entire day.  What a freeing experience!

Have you ever turned off the television for a period of time?  What was it like?