When Parenting Feels Like You're in the Fire

I was born and raised here in rural Kansas. After college, God saw fit to bring me back here and it's where we have chosen to raise our family. Yes, it would be nice to have a Way-Mart closer than 45 minutes away but it's a trade off. I'm not afraid to let my teenagers roam through town with their friends and everything is literally within five minutes of my home. Bad traffic here usually means you've gotten behind a farmer in his combine on the way to or from the field. 

Every spring we watch as those farmers and ranchers burn their fields. Orange flames licking at the old grasses, gray smoke rising into the sky. While this can be a bit confusing for folks from the city or other parts of the country, small town Midwesterners know that these fields are set ablaze for their own good. The fire destroys the old, unnecessary, and unwanted while restoring the minerals and nutrients necessary for the land to thrive again. 

Parenting can sometimes feel like we have jumped right into the middle of the burning field. No fire-retardant suit, no fire extinguisher, without so much as a bucket of water. Just the horrible burning. And it's hard. It's hard to watch our babies, totally dependent on us, become teenagers, stretching and growing and *leaving* us. Needing us less. Becoming adults who are no longer dependent on us. How dare they? 

But looking at the long-term, we know that the fire is necessary. We must walk through it. Without the fire, the new life can't come. Without becoming less dependent on us, our kids can't grow into independent adults. If we allow their entire lives (and ours) to be fire-free, we will stifle their growth and nothing will grow as it should.

That doesn't mean that it's going to be easy. Being refined by the fire is never, ever painless. But just like Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego in Nebuchadnezzar's fiery furnace, we are not in the flames alone. God walks right with us through the hottest parts, protecting and teaching us as we go. And this fire that motherhood sometimes brings us to, this fire is NEVER, EVER out of His control. He has us right there, holding us as it rages. There is no better place to be. 

So, sweet momma who is going through the fire right now, know that the green is coming! The burn does not last forever and after it comes the beauty of new life! You - with God at your side and as your guide - can do this! 

The Thrill of Victory

Back in 2011, when E finished his second wrestling season, I wrote a blog post titled "The Agony of Defeat."  It had been a long, hard season for my little man, and even longer and harder for me. Truthfully, the years that followed brought much more of the same.

We invested in the sport. Practice, practice, practice. When he was nine, we spent a ton of money and time sending him to a Purler wrestling camp once a week for about four months. He watched videos and practiced with his dad as well as his teammates but he still just couldn't seem to end up on the winning side of a bracket.

At age 10 he decided he didn't want to do it anymore. So we sat out a year. I'm not going to lie, it was kind of nice to have a season off. We spent a lot of time at home that winter and it was a good time for us.

When E was 11, his little brother decided he wanted to wrestle. I tried to talk him out of it. I had done my time as a wrestling mom and I didn't want to sit through the hard losses again. But just as I had almost talked the little one into not joining the team, E decided that he'd like to give it a try again. And this momma's heart sank. I did not want him to wrestle. It had been so much work; so hard on him and on me. But I didn't tell him that. I just asked him if he was sure. He said he was, so we signed up and once again E was a Mat Cat wrestler.

That year we went to five tournaments and a couple of scrambles. He didn't win a single match. Not one. But he had so many that were close. I mean, super close. Like one point decisions close. It was heart breaking. When sub-districts came around, we asked if he wanted to participate. His answer was, "I haven't won a match all year. I don't think it's worth the time and money for me to go." We made it clear that if he wanted to go and try, we would happily do so, but in the end he opted not to continue the season. It was the right choice.

The next year, he wanted to wrestle again. He was bigger, stronger and faster than he was the year before. He was more coachable than ever and continued to work hard. At his first tournament, he won. Not just one match, but the whole stinking thing! For the very first time, my son, who had been doing this since he was six years old, was taking home the bracket!

The rest of the season he continued to do well, earning second, first, second and first at the next four tournaments. When districts came around, he was ready. So ready, in fact, that he walked away with the bracket again. He was a state qualifier!

At the big tournament, he ended up one match away from making the podium, but was in the top eight in the entire state. It was amazing to watch him. When he lost the final match, in what ended up being a very close bout, my heart just about broke in two. I'd wanted it so badly, because I knew he had wanted it so very much. But once again, E showed his true colors. He held his head high and returned to the stands to greet his many fans. He hugged us all and thanked everyone for coming. He was pure class. To this day, thinking of that moment brings proud tears to my eyes.

This year he was a 13 year-old seventh grader who wrestled in a 14 and under bracket. Again, this made him one of the youngest kids in his division. Even harder, for the post-season, he had to face 14 year-old high school freshmen. Those boys had a entirely different practice experience than E did. They worked two hours a day, five days a week, with other high schoolers. E had practice a couple times a week and often didn't have a practice partner close to his size. But that didn't stop him. He worked hard and made the best of what he could. He won a lot of matches this year against kids in his weigh class. He ended up wrestling a lot of combined brackets that put him up against kids who were five, ten, or even fifteen pounds heavier than him. He came up short there a few times. He earned a couple of first place brackets but ended up with the silver or bronze medals more times than not.

When districts came along, he faced tough competition. In fact, there were several high school freshmen in his bracket. He persevered and ended up fourth there. It was enough to get him to the next level. He was once again a state qualifier.

He really wanted to make the podium at state. But as the fourth place finisher from District 1, he matched up against the first place finisher from District 3; a freshman who was tough enough that E got pinned. His next opponent was also a high schooler and although E went the distance in that bout, he didn't have enough points to win. Two matches and he was done. State wrestling didn't go quite like we'd hoped, but I'm still so proud of this kid. He didn't walk away with any wins but he walked tall.


When you wrestle, it's all you. You either did enough to win or you didn't. You can't blame someone else. You work your booty off and leave everything you have on the mat. It's by far the toughest four and a half minutes in sports.

One of my favorite things about watching Eli wrestle, since he was very little, is how he leaves the mat. In a sport where tears and tantrums aren't all that uncommon, Eli has consistently impressed me with the way he acts when the bout is over. Win or lose, he walks off with grace, humility and high character. The few times this hasn't been the case were moments we used to reflect with him on what it means to honor Christ in your day to day life. He's taken those moments and turned them into something beautiful. At state, after a really hard loss, he again displayed great sportsmanship as he walked off the mat. I couldn't be more proud. 

This weekend we're heading to Iowa for Middle School Nationals. The very next day after districts, E qualified as an alternate for Team Kansas. I'm looking forward to watching him wrestle one more time this season. He's looking forward to getting to eat whatever he wants after this one last weigh in. I'm sure neither of us will be disappointed. 

Unsolicited Advice: School Supplies

It's August. That means BACK TO SCHOOL for many of us.

I taught public school for nine years and am about to start year eight with my kids at home. Add the 18 plus years I was a student (kindergarten through college!) and I've been in a classroom for most of my life. Basically, I'm an expert on this stuff.  Sadly, I'm not really cool enough to get endorsements from any of these companies, so these are my honest, unbiased, real-as-real-can-be opinions. Take 'em or leave 'em, but I really think you're going to want to take 'em.

1. Crayola trumps EVERYTHING. Don't cheap out and get the store brand. Crayola costs more because they make a better product. You will regret it if you don't get the name brand for crayons, markers, colored pencils and water colors. Trust me. Your kid's art will look cheap and dull next to their friends who take my advice. You don't want the kindergarten masterpiece to be second rate because of a few cents difference, do you?

Do you like my handy-dandy little storage box? That's a baby wipes container. Throw a little fancy looking duct tape around the sides and bam! You've got a perfect size container, with a lid, for free. 

Unless the teacher asks for the regular, get washable. Yes, they cost more. But they cost less than replacing the new school clothes you just bought.

*NOTE: Sometimes washable doesn't work. For example, I used to do an art project where kids used crayons to draw a picture and then water colored over that. Washable crayons result in big puddles of muck and sometimes crying kids. The teacher knows how your kids will be using these things. Get what she asks for.

2. Ticonderoga is the ONLY pencil we buy in our house any more. I wish I had known about these when I was a classroom teacher. They sharpen correctly the first time, every time! No more having to sharpen the pencils for hours every week. Classroom teachers, you know the sound the pencil sharpener makes that lasts forever? Well, with these, it lasts a lot less time. They last forever and write amazingly. Those cheap ones you get a thousand of for a dollar? Well, those are horrible. STOP BUYING THOSE! You can get 144 Ticonderogas for under 14 bucks on Amazon. That will last you your lifetime! You can also get a lot less of them for less money if you're not ready to stash them away forever. They even come in pretty neon colors if you want to splurge a little. Aren't they pretty?

Obviously, these have been hanging around my house for a while. But look! Even though they've been chewed on, beaten up and used for constant drumming, they're still all pretty long! They last forever! 

3. Elmer's glue is really the only kind you should buy. Amazon has 30 sticks for under $10. Those will last you a while. The younger your kid is, the more of these they will need. I bought the 30 pack three years ago and we've still got a jar full.

I'm a big believer in repurposing containers. These glue sticks fit perfectly in this glass jar that was originally a candle.

4. If an item on the supply list is almost impossible to find at a decent price (in my town, it's a yellow folder they use at the middle school), let the teacher know. Usually, they can have an idea of where to get it or they can easily swap it out for something else. But they don't know how hard it is to find if you don't tell them. My first year teaching I asked kids to bring a certain color of notecard because it matched the cover of that book. One of the parents let me know it was really tough to find and I made the change to something more readily available. No big deal for me and I saved the parents the hassle of trying to find something that didn't exist!

5. Last year's scissors will work just fine. Really. Unless your kid is heading into 4th grade, where he's probably making the transition into an adult size pair, just use what you've got.  There's no need to go buy shiny new ones.

6. Skip the fancy stuff. Really. Your kid doesn't need shiny, light-up writing utensils. Or sparkly glue. In fact, those things are just distractions at best, or at worst, waiting to be stolen right out of your kid's desk.  Keep the swanky stuff at home for special projects or writing in your diary. Do your kid's teachers a favor and don't send it to school.


7. Okay, maybe not ALL of the fancy stuff. I do love me some Frixion erasable pens. They come in all kinds of pretty colors and they actually erase smoothly. I've found that they're a bit finicky and a few that we've ordered haven't worked at all. But the ones that do are awesome! I use them for lesson planning. These pens erase when heat is applied, so they may fade or disappear completely if you put a cup of hot coffee on them. They also make erasable markers, which I have yet to try, but are on my list. How fun is that?

Keep these things in mind as you head out to spend your kids' college funds on their new school supplies and you should do okay. Godspeed on the new school year! Make it a fabulous one!

Give me shout out for your favorite school supplies in the comments!

How to Have a Spy Party

When my baby turned six he wanted to have a SPY birthday. With only a week to plan, I jumped on Pinterest and looked for ideas. Using several I found there and a little of my own creativity, I managed to pull off a pretty great secret agent event!

Invitations: 

Normally, I just text or Facebook the other moms but this time I found a really cute way to do the invites with minimal effort, so I went for it. This blogger over at birthday blueprint had a cute idea. I tweaked her idea and came up with this. I used free fonts called Top Secret and Special Elite that I picked up from here.  It's just a regular piece of scrapbooking paper (a little on the thick side, so it's probably card stock, but not too heavy) that I ran through my printer. Then I freehand cut the edges to look like a file folder. The final result is small enough to now fit in a 5"x7" manila envelope. I wrote the kid's names on the tabs at the top, last name followed by first initial. 

Inside, I copied pretty much directly from the birthday blueprint idea. I changed the seal a little bit. We wanted our spy school to be named Advanced Spy Academy, so I tweaked that, too, using the seal she provided as a start.

Because the party guests were mostly 4, 5, and 6 year olds, I didn't use the cypher. I used a simple picture code instead. I didn't want it to be too hard for the little guys. If your guests are older, there are lots of cyphers and codes which you could create or find on Pinterest pretty quickly.

Getting people to RSVP to an event is a task, so I added my own twist. Parents would need to text me the secret code to reveal the mystery location of the A.S.A.  Once they did, I replied with this:

Congratulations, recruit. You have used your spy skills and decoded the message. The secret A.S.A. training facility is located in (town), in the building known as (our church name). Remember to keep this location top secret and be sure you're not followed. 

The kids seemed to enjoy the extra bit of cloak and dagger. I think the picture clues were just about right for this age group.

As an extra bit of fun, the kids dressed in their "agent gear" and took an invite to the neighbors.

Arrival:

Upon arrival, I had my husband and oldest son stand guard at the door. They asked each kid for the password before admitting them.

Once inside, I met the kids at the Code Name Generation Station. Here they choose two slips of paper, one with a color and one with an animal. Together, they formed the code name. I glued the strips onto name tags and told the kids to use them, instead of their real names, for the party. It was fun to call out things like "Pink Platypus" and "Gold Unicorn" all afternoon. I just used regular paper for the name tags and stuck them to the kids' shirts with masking tape.

Recruits were given a stick on mustache by my eight year old son. He was very enthusiastic about helping the kids put on their "disguises." Several opted for eyebrows over mustaches. I picked up several packs of these at our local Dollar General. They were $1. I got two sizes, larger ones for wearing and smaller ones for a game that I'll tell you about if you keep reading.  The big ones were one to a package and the smaller ones came in sets of three.

The kids liked putting these on but they really didn't like wearing them for very long. Most lasted only a few minutes and several kids had red, irritated skin when they took them off. They were perfect for the game, though.

Once they were properly disguised, my daughter got a foil footprint from each guest. We found that this worked much better on the carpet than on tile. Later, we numbered and hung the prints. We used them for a game that I'll explain in a bit.

Once everyone was foot printed, we brought them all into the larger room and gave the "new recruits" a welcome. I warned them about Doctor Baron Von Evilstein and his minions, then put them to the test to see if they had what it takes to become spies.

Games:

PASS THE TNT: This was basically hot potato with "dynamite." My daughter made this for us out of three paper towel rolls, some red construction paper, rubber bands, black electrical tape and a minute timer. We covered the display so the kids wouldn't know how much time was left when passing it. If it went off while they were holding it, they were out. This was a hit. We played several rounds without anyone getting out, then one round where we eliminated kids when it went off in their hands. I randomly changed the amour of time on the timer, but with little kids, it probably didn't matter. I would suggest 10-45 seconds each round, depending on how many kids you have. We had 13 kids playing. This game probably lasted about 10-12 minutes.

Next, we split into three groups for stations. I did this because I couldn't set up enough for all the kids to be busy at once. In smaller groups, there was less waiting, which led to less problems for me! Keeping the kids busy is a must for a party like this one.

SHOE PRINT ID: Using the prints we took when they came in, the kids had to try to figure out which print was from which party guest. I gave them magnifying glasses to make this more exciting. Those were also picked up at DG for $1 each. At first we just had the kids try to guess whose shoes they were. It didn't really work. But the station leaders quickly adapted it, having all the kids take off their shoes and bring them to that area. The kids then got to look at the shoes and compare them to the prints on the wall. This made it much more manageable and I think, fun for the kids.  I wasn't sure how this was going to go but the kids really got into it. I think the magnifying glasses really helped to play up the spy part. My 10 year old manned this station along with an adult friend who stayed to help. I didn't get a good picture of the wall but I think you can get the general idea from this one.                                                                                                                     

LASER BEAM AVOIDANCE: This was by far the most popular activity of the day. My husband set up the course using some red yarn, a chair, a support beam and an air hockey table. The kids had to get through it Mission Impossible style. It was super easy to set up and great to watch! Every single kid absolutely LOVED this one.

TARGET PRACTICE: We traced around bowls, plates and other round things to create two targets. We cut the circles out with a box knife. The circles were labeled with points based on their size. Smaller holes were worth more than the larger ones. We kept score but didn't give prizes. The kids were fine with that. We placed a futon about six feet from the table and had the kids shoot from the far side of it. That helped to keep them a reasonable distance away.

My 12 year old manned this station. It was hard for him to keep up with both guns because he had to reload them quickly. They also jammed several times. If I had to do it again, I would have had 4 guns loaded and ready to go, so that each kid in the group had his own and we only had to reload between groups. Despite the technical difficulty, the kids seemed to enjoy it.

MEMORY BOOSTING: I had one of my kids put on some random bits of costumes (He picked them out himself.) and come into the room with the recruits. He then left and took off one item. When he returned, the kids had to remember what was taken off. We repeated this a couple of times. The recruits got a kick out the costume and it was surprisingly hard to remember what was missing when he removed the Viking hat.

When that was over, I took out a tray full of items I had put together that might be used by spies. I covered the tray with a towel (Okay, it was actually a Superman cape, but I don't know if you have one of those, so you can use a towel if you need to!), then gave the kids a few seconds to memorize the tray. We actually named all the items together because I wasn't sure they would know what a flash drive is. Then I removed the tray from their sight, and took off a couple items. The kids had to tell me what was missing. Because the kids were too young to write, we just did this orally as a group. With older kids, you could have them write down as many of the items as they could remember.  *And yes, those are 3D glasses form the theater. I kept them just for this after we saw the new Star Wars movie last weekend.

PIN THE MUSTACHE ON THE SPY: Saving the best for almost last, we did a Pin the Mustache on the Spy game. To make this life size, I had my son lie down on huge piece of cardboard and traced his body. I printed off a black and white picture of his face and glued it to the paper. Using the sticky mustaches from DG, we played a modified pin-the-tail-on-the-donkey game. This was a big hit with the kids.

BOMB DIFFUSION: About the time we finished up with this and I was *going to* let the kids eat cake and ice cream, my cell phone rang. It was Major Monobrow, telling me that Doctor Baron Von Evilstein had somehow infiltrated the facility and needed our help. I put the phone on speaker so the kids could hear. (It was my husband, reading the script I had written out.) Lucky for us, DBVE had left a clue to where the bomb was hidden. The kids deciphered the clue, which led to a bomb shaped piñata. They had to "diffuse" the bomb and keep the candy safe. 

We didn't have a good plan for the piñata, so my husband decided that he and my oldest son could just hold it on a pole between them. This resulted in both of them ducking wildly several times while the moms all tried not to pee ourselves while laughing hysterically. I HIGHLY recommend you figure out a way to hang the piñata from something or at least have really good health insurance for your husband. I really wish I would have gotten some of this on video for you but my phone ran out of battery just before we started this. I'm sure we could have won America's Funniest Home Videos with that one!

After the piñata, we had cupcakes and ice cream. I used the A.S.A. seal from the invitations and some clip art I found in a Google search to make cupcake toppers. I mounted them on black scrapbooking paper and hot glued them to toothpicks. Easy peasy and cheap! My son then opened his gifts. When that was done, the kids got to play on the laser beam course until their parents picked them up.

Overall, I would say this was a very successful party. Most things were inexpensive and easy to make while remaining really, really fun. Every kid got to take home a bag of candy from the piñata and a magnifying glass as a souvenir. We scheduled the party for two and a half hours and it was probably 20 minutes too long. 

Unsolicited Advice for Sports Moms (Dads, too)

Dear sweet, loving soccer mom that I saw scream at her kid from the bleachers, "Come on, get in there! Geeze!" this one's for you. Over competitive volleyball dad who literally hung his head in shame when his fifth grade daughter missed a serve, it's for you, too. Baseball mom who finds it impossible not to argue with the ump when your son is "unfairly" called out at third, I'm looking at you, sweetheart. Tee ball mom who won't stop screaming at her five-year old because he's playing in the dirt, can we talk for just a minute?

Because I know you. I love you, momma. Girl, you are my friend, maybe even among my dearest. I know your heart is kind and your love for your kid couldn't be greater. Dad, I have watched you with your baby girl and seen the joy she brings your heart. It's obvious to me because I know you outside of sports. I know you day-to-day and I see more of you than just "sports parent."

I get it. I do. I have been you. Sometimes I still am. I have argued with umpires, talked about coaches behind their backs, and yelled at my kids from the stands. My grimace was obvious when an error was made. I've overstepped my bounds and made myself look like a fool. More than once. After all, dears, sports parenting ain't for the faint of heart. 

When our oldest started playing team sports, I found out that I'm a competitive sports mom. That wasn't a surprise, as I had found myself coaching our little guys at the kids' money hunt at the fair. Because, you know, that extra $1.27 was really going to be life changing for my two year old. Talk about embarrassing. When I realized that I was actually doing this, I made a sincere effort to just keep my mouth shut from then on.

If you know me at all, you might know just how hard it is for me to do so. I'm pretty sure that no one has ever accused me of being quiet. I'm opinionated and loud. So loud, in fact, that I became a distraction for my son on the wrestling mat. You see, he knows my voice. So he would hear me above all others, even the coach. And because he was young and used to my instruction, he would instinctively look for me when he heard my voice. This wasn't a good thing, because even after three years as a wrestling manager for my high school team and several years as a wrestler's mom, I'm not a wrestling coach. I'm a wrestling mom. There's a big difference. 

My husband called me on it. You see, he's both a dad and a coach. He's exceptionally good at both. But he was frustrated that E would search me out in the crowd and lose his focus while wrestling. It cost the boy more than one match. Vance let me know what a distraction I was and a lightbulb went off in my head. "I'm not helping. In fact, I'm HURTING my kid with this mouth of mine. Woah." 

So I backed off. Generally now, I'm quieter, sometimes even completely silent, while my kids are competing. Because I'm learning to play the role of "Sports Mom" a little better now. It's a work in progress.

A Kansas City area baseball complex (3&2) has the best signs on the fences as you enter the park. They say this:

Pick only one

1 - Coach

2 - Player

3 - Umpire

4 - Spectator

I'm trying so very hard to do this at all of our games. Easier said than done. 

But the sign is right. 

It's not my job to tell the kids where or how to play. That belongs to the coach. If I can't trust him to do that well, then maybe my kids shouldn't play for him. If I feel the need to advocate for my kid, the bottom of the ninth inning isn't the time or the place. Private, calm conversations can be had later, when adrenaline isn't pumping quite so hard and everyone can be rational. Or maybe not. Maybe my kid is old enough to advocate for himself and I should just stay out of it. 

I'm too old and too out of shape to play much anymore, so not choosing to be Number 2 is pretty easy for me. But we do encourage our kids to do their best. To try hard. To be good teammates. That no missed shot, strike out, or ace is worth their integrity. 

Number 3. Man, that's a tough one. Everybody wants to make the calls, but unless we're wearing the stripes or the blue shirt, that's not our job either. The ump gets paid to decide ball or strike, safe or out. If he sucks at it, and sometimes he does, then it's still not my place. It's up to the people who are paying him to decide if he keeps his job or not. More than once, I've had to remind not just myself of that, but my kid, too. Especially when the crowd gets all up in arms about a "bad call," my kid may deflect the blame from himself or the players involved and blame the ref. We've had to remind him that once the call is made, it's made. Officials are people, so they mess up. Sometimes a little and sometimes a lot. But no matter how wrong they are, yelling at someone over a little league game isn't worth my integrity. 

My job is spectator. That means I cheer for my kids and their teammates with all I have. I applaud the good stuff and when the bad plays come; when the ball hits the floor or their shoulders get pinned to the mat, I don't boo or audibly sigh or shake my head or mumble (or God-forbid, shout!) obscenities. My job is ONLY to encourage and to build up. It is NEVER to tear down. Not my own kid, her teammates or her coaches. Not the umpires, referees or line judges. And certainly not the kids on the other team. Because they're just kids, too, doing their best, messing up, and trying again. 

So fellow sports parents, can we just make a deal? Can we just agree to "pick only one" and to parent our children with love and integrity on and off the field? To act in ways that build up, not tear down? Can we remember that at the end of the day, it really is just a game and that the lessons we want to teach our kids through youth sports are so much more important that winning or losing? Because our kids deserve that, don't you think?

I am NOT Okay With THIS

My kids LOVE Legos. I mean, love! They have three GIANT tubs full of them and hardly a day goes by that they are not dumped out all over the floor. And they especially love the mini figures. For those of you not up to speed on your Lego terminology, that's the people. They love, love, love to play with the little guys. The line up the pirates to fight the Star Wars guys and the hobbits to invade the knights. I've found minifigs in the van, on the kitchen table, and even in the shower.

Given that my kids love them so much, it should come as no surprise that I thought about getting them some for Christmas. Since I have a Prime membership, Amazon.com was my first stop. I searched "Lego mini figures." Lego Movie guys. Super heroes. Star Wars. The Simpsons. The Simpsons? Really? Hmmm...and then there it was at the bottom of page 1: the "Lego Walter White Cooking Figure - Breaking Bad."

I honestly had to look twice to be sure I was actually seeing what I thought I was. You see, I don't watch Breaking Bad. I haven't seen one single episode. But I'm not a social pariah and I do have a general idea about concept of the show. It's about a high school chemistry teacher who becomes terminally ill and then, along with a former student, decides that making and selling methamphetamines is the way to secure his family's financial future. It's an interesting concept and millions of Americans watched the show. It was on cable and if grown adults wanted to pay money to watch that, I'm okay with it.

What I am NOT okay with is someone creating and marketing drug dealers as toys. The "cooking" figure is in a hazmat suit and holding a blue crystal. He's not baking a cake or grilling burgers. This dude is "cooking" crystal meth. You can also buy the companion figure, Jesse, also in hazmat gear and holding his own blue crystals. In fact, they have what appears to be the entire cast of the show available, right there in the sponsored section on Amazon. It wasn't hard to find, buried deep in pages and pages of other Legos or only when specifically searched. Nope, it was right there, on page one, under "Toys and Games."

Yes, I know, these are probably not created with little kids in mind. The target audience is adult collectors. I get that. I do. But I'm still NOT okay with it. Kids are drawn to Legos. They are toys. If Uncle Billy has one on his desk, a shelf or a keychain, the kids will notice. And they will think it's cool. Meth dealers are NOT cool.

I am NOT okay with this. I have seen what meth can do people. I have seen little girls watch their daddies arrested and taken from them. I've watched the effects of fatherless boys growing up while their dads were in prison. I've seen beautiful women become toothless, wrinkled messes and seen addicts neglect their kids to the point of losing them to foster care. Glorifying drug dealers, even fictional ones like Walt and Jesse, through kids' toys is just sick. It's sick.

As far as I can tell, these figures are not produced by Lego but rather by a company called Henchman's Bricks using real Lego parts.

Amazon.com and Henchman's bricks, I am NOT okay with this.

The Haircut

There are times in parenting when all you can really do is laugh or cry. This was one of them.
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My daughter was three years old and my oldest son had just turned five. The baby was sleeping and the back yard really needed mowed. It was almost 5:00, time for the boy I was babysitting to go home. We had tee ball that night. I was coaching the team and needed to be there by 5:45. But still, there was just enough time for me to get the back yard mowed. Half way through, the mom came to pick up her son. We said, "See you at the ball game in a little while," and I left the kids inside while I finished. Ten minutes later I came back into the house. 

Both kids are standing in the living room, with the light of the evening sun coming in the picture window behind them. I'm hot, sweating and in a hurry to get cleaned up and ready for the game. My son, is his most helpful voice says to me, "I put it all in the trash for you, Mom." What? What did he put in the trash? Then I see them. He's holding my scissors. 

I shift my gaze a foot to the left and I see her. My beautiful, curly haired daughter is standing with a wide grin on her face. I gasp. Half of her hair is gone. Gone. In its place is a mini-bang mullet that not even a mother could love. And bless her, my little darling looks up at me and says, "Don't I look beautiful, Momma?"

Now, I know that the right thing to say there would have been "Yes," but I just couldn't make myself. The words, "No. You look horrible!" came flying out of my mouth. Her little face fell and I quickly recovered and added, "I mean you are beautiful. But your hair looks horrible!" 

Eli immediately knew that his plan had gone south. Without hesitation he leaned his head forward and said, "She cut some of mine, too." When I looked really hard, I could almost make out one patch where he was missing a few strands. Not enough to notice and certainly not the equivalent of what he had done to hers!

At that point, I took the scissors, sent them to their room and called my mom. She laughed. She ALWAYS laughs. It's her number one coping mechanism. And she made me laugh and reminded me that hair will grow back. And she said not to kill anyone and not to scream and that she would be there to get Abby in a few minutes so I could get Eli ready for his ballgame. And she told me to grab my camera because I would want the pictures later. 

And because my mom gives the best advice, I took pictures. These pictures. 

And then I made her brother bring the scissors and get in the pictures, too. (He had had a bike wreck the week before, thus the beat up face. I promise, it was not haircut related.) He almost managed to look guilty in this one.

By the time we took this one, I was able to laugh a little. Obviously, Abby was not traumatized by the event. Shortly after this, her Nana came and picked her up. She brought her to the ballgame rocking the side ponytail. I was mortified but she just enjoyed the attention. 

The next day, I was able to get her in at the local salon. This is where the poor stylist had to start from. 

And this is where she ended up. Abby loved it. 

And by Christmas it had turned into quite the cute little bob. 

None of my kids have ever cut their own or each other's hair again. I think it was the threat of 100 spankings that prevented further escapades. And the constant reminders that you have to have a license to cut other people's hair. And the hearing of this story about a million times in the seven years since it happened. 

That day, Haircut Day, I had only a few seconds to decide if I would laugh or cry. I'm glad I chose laughter that day and I'm glad I took my mom's advice and took pictures. I don't ever want to forget these little stinkers!

Kelsy Crutchfield's Busy Busy Life

I just read an advice blog that said, "Stay home as much as possible.  Not having to be running all the time is a gift you can give your children."  Sounds like good advice.

And you know what?  It probably is.  For some people.  For some seasons.  But right now, my life is pretty busy.  And by pretty busy, I mean it's full to bursting!  We have baseball, VBS, church, scouts, friends, family, parties, sleepovers, dance class, summer camp, swimming pools, and a million other things.  And you know what?  I LOVE IT. There are days when we all just need a break from it.  And we take those.  We stay at home and in our pajamas for entire weekends when it's necessary.  But for the most part, we are a family of goers.  We leave the house and we live our lives in this crazy, messed-up, lovely world.

I love this busy life.  It's crazy but I have no doubt that it's right where we need to be.

It's hours in the van, countless dollars in gas, and a lot of time away from home.  It's breakfast at McDonald's and supper at Pizza Hut.  It's hard to get the laundry done and impossible to even think about meal planning.  It's exhausting.

But it's also hours in the van with my family.  Conversations we might not have otherwise.  Time when we can't get away from each other and life gets real.

It's hot days on hard bleachers building relationships with people we have come to love.  It's being a part of our community and supporting each other.  It's carpooling and helping each other out.  It's sharing sunflower seeds and taking pictures together. It's building friendships that will last well past this season.

It's 90 degrees out and kids on a slip and slide.  It's moms drinking Pepsi in the shade and sharing their lives together.  Water gun fights and learning how to deal with people. Greeting the new neighbors with smiles and chatting with the ones who have lived close for years.

It's life lessons and disappointments.  Winning, losing, not getting to play, making the great catch.  They're all important things to experience, both for our kids and for us as parents.  Scraped knees and kisses on boo-boos. Not getting the water gun you wanted and having to wait your turn to run down the slide.

It's teaching kids, my own and those in my community, to live life in a way that reflects the love of Jesus.  It's showing that following Christ happens not just in a "church," but in our everyday lives as well.

It's serving others.  Staying an extra 15 minutes so that someone else doesn't have to stay an extra two hours. It's dropping by with a casserole and sending a card to friend who is struggling.

My life?  It's busy.  It's crazy.  It's exhausting.  And I wouldn't change a thing.

Sometimes It's Hard to Remember

Oh, Pinterest.  A place to make you laugh, cry and be hungry all in the first 10 seconds.   A while back I came across a pin that was something along the lines of "Someone else would gladly have what you are complaining about."  It was pretty much a thought for mothers who are having bad days with their kids.

And it's true.  I know it's true.  I know that there are people out there who struggle every single day with infertility.  I realize that there are mommas out there who have lost their babies and would give anything, anything at all, to simply hold them one more time.  I know this to be true, and for those mommas, I am so sorry for your hurt.  I know that it is real and it is heavy and it can be all consuming.  I have myself mourned for a child I never got to hold.  I have watched people I love mourn the loss of their children.  It is the worst thing.  The very worst.

But just knowing that other people wish for the happy, healthy children that I have sometimes isn't enough to make the crazy go away.  Sometimes, dealing with the every day reality of having and homeschooling four kids is just hard.

Hearing the little man with whom you have just had a 20 minute struggle to put on his shoes and get his butt in the van call you the "worst mom in the whole wide world" sucks.  On a long day, it might be enough to push you over the edge.  It might cause you tell him to look for another mom because you are resigning from the position.  It may not be your best parenting moment.

When your Tigger is extra tired and extra bouncy and backtalks you in public and then bursts into tears in the buffet line, the last thing on your mind is gratitude.  The first thing might be wanting to burst into tears yourself or to go crawl in a hole and hide.

When your boys act like boys and your furniture looks like it belongs in a frat house, it's easy to forget that these little men are gifts from God.  Holes in the dry wall and rips in the couch cushions can be enough to make me wallow in a "woe is me" kind of pity party.  "Poor me.  I'll never have nice things. If I do, they'll just ruin them!"

In that moment when your daughter first rolls her eyes at you and you realize you are now raising a pre-teen girl and it's not all going to be sunshine and roses, it's easy to forget the blessing that children are.  It's easier to remember the mess of hormones that come with growing up and all the mess that entails.  And the funk.  Oh, the funk.  The funky attitudes and the funky smells are enough to make this mother question her own sanity.

It's easy to forget when I'm tired, hungry, stressed, and/or single-parenting because my hard working husband is on the night shift.

But it's easy to remember when the little man looks up at you and says in his sweetest voice, with his cutest face, "Hold me, Mom."  When Tigger wraps his arms around you and cries into your shoulder and says that he's sorry and he just wants his mommy to hold him for a minute, then you remember.  When your not-so-little girl willingly shares a secret with you, trusting you to keep her confidence, you know why you do this parenting thing every day. When your growing-up-way-too-fast tween looks at you and out of the blue says, "I just love you so much, Mom," you wonder how you ever thought furniture was important.  In those moments, you remember.

Unsolicited Advice for Weary Moms

This NLT says it this way,

Without oxen a stable stays clean,
    but you need a strong ox for a large harvest.

Hold on to this verse, dear mommas.  When you look around all you see is the horrible mess of the "stalls" in your life.  Those little mess makers are the power behind your abundant harvest.

This picture is of my actual laundry pile . . . errrr . . . part of it, anyway.  There was more than would even fit in the frame, so I cropped it a little.  The laundry "stall" is almost always overflowing.  With three little boys, the bathroom "stall" doesn't always smell so good.  The kitchen sink "stall" is a mess, and you certainly wouldn't want to eat off my floors.

But these "oxen" that we're raising, there is power in them.  They are world changers.  By the grace of God, we will raise them to be strong and we will see the abundance of the large harvest.  

Off to the Vet

So, the other day I decided that I needed to take my dog to the vet to get his shots.  They were, after all, due in December.  It was February 28 and I thought I would bite the bullet and take him in.  Why the delay, you ask?

Well, you see . . . Flash has this thing about getting in the car.  Once upon a time he used to like it but now that I won't let him sit in the front seat and hang his head out the window it's a different story.  Don't think I'm awful, but when he was a puppy he jumped out of my arms and out the window of our moving car.  Since then, I've never trusted him to be smart enough not to fall out and I just don't think I could handle it if I ran him over.  So I don't let him hang out the car window.  And he hates that.

So....Friday we have an appointment with the vet.  It's just short of a 20 minute drive.  And the dog howls the entire time.  I am not even exaggerating.  The. entire. time.  Even better, my four year old decided to "sing along," so we got the full stereo effect.  Big E and I could not stop laughing.

My daughter, however, who had her ears closest to the canine symphony, was less than impressed, as you can see by the photographic evidence I captured that day.

As horrible as this excursion was, this still wasn't as bad as when we had to take him in last summer.  He'd slipped a disc in his back and I thought he was dying.  He wouldn't move and the howling started at home.  I hauled his 50 plus pound beagle butt into the van and he continued to serenade us with the music of his people as I pulled out of the driveway.  Lucky us, there was summertime road construction on the highway and no way to evade it.  Even luckier, we managed to be first in line for the wait for the pilot car.  Yep.  We had to sit, looking at the highway worker holding the stop sign, for 15 entire minutes.  Like that's not awkward enough without Flash baying like he's on the scent of the world's largest rabbit.  The poor guy didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  Honestly, neither did I.  About ten minutes in, or maybe it was only two, either way, it felt like we had been sitting there for hours, I let my then nine year old son walk the dog along the side of the highway in a construction zone.  Because, you know, at the time it seemed safer than leaving me in the car with that insane beagle.

Like my sister says, "that dog is a mess."  And oh, my goodness, he is.  He is a mess.  A giant food stealing, stinky eared, gets up on the furniture when he's not supposed to and drives my mother crazy mess. But he's almost 14 years old and I think his days are numbered.  He's totally deaf and mostly blind already.  But he still follows me from room to room and sits at my feet.  He whimpers until I pet him and if he gets out, I'm worried out of my mind until he comes home.  He's my dog and even though I hate to admit it, I love the smelly, bratty beast that he is.

One day, long from now, my kids will recall their childhoods and tell my grandchildren of that crazy mess of a dog that howled the entire way to the vet.  Every. single. time.  And they will laugh and they will smile and they will know that they share something that only their mother and their siblings can fully understand.  And they'll laugh again and tell their children that "Flash was a good dog. . ." most of the time.

My Miscarriage Story

A while back a blog post was circulating on Facebook.  It's an incredibly personal story that challenges pro-life people to reevaluate the way they handle women (and men) who experience loss through miscarriage differently than they do the loss of life from an abortion.  It's worth the read.  In fact, go read it now, then come back and read the rest of this post.  

I didn't click the link the first couple of times I saw this because I didn't think it would apply to me.  I am pro-life and I've had a miscarriage but I didn't know the direction the author was going to take with this post.  I just thought...I don't know what I thought, really, but I didn't feel compelled to read it.  And then today, I did.  And whoa.  I should have better prepared myself for the mental onslaught that ensued.  

After reading this blog from Mrs. Lewis, I sat in front of my computer just bawling my eyes out, filled with the pain of my own experience with miscarriage. 

Just a few days after Christmas 2008, we lost a baby, or at least the hope of a baby.  The doctor told me that I probably wasn't really pregnant, but body thought I was...there's some medical term for that happening that I don't remember. I've never known how to deal with that part of my experience. I was 12 weeks along. 

Because of some incredibly serious complications, I ended up in the ICU and nearly died. The single scariest moment of my life was when my heart rate dropped down into the 30-50 range for the fourth time in an hour and I knew I was going to have another seizure.  I remember looking at my husband and telling him to make sure the kids (we had three under age six at the time) knew that their mom had loved them.  I meant it and I really didn't think that I would get the chance to tell them myself. By the grace of God and the skills of the correct doctor that was finally called in, within a few very long days, I was able to come home and hold my babies in my own arms, to whisper my love to them in my own voice.

My parents were there.  My in-laws and my sister rushed to see me.  People from my church came.  In the days and weeks that followed, they brought us more food than we could even eat.  They loved on us and did all that they knew to do to make life easier for me as I recovered from a horrific ordeal.  They were amazing and wonderful and a blessing that I still treasure today.  So very many people prayed for me during that time and so many worked to meet our physical needs that I’m sure I don’t even know them all.  I have rarely felt so much love as I did during the weeks after my hospital stay.

People were taking care of and praying for ME, my 30 something self, but really most people barely acknowledged that we had lost a baby, a life, a person. There was one nurse in Topeka that I remember.  I was in over the New Year and the hospital was packed.  I'd been moved from the ICU to the PCU and she hadn't yet had time to read my chart.  When she asked me why I was there, I told her. She immediately stopped what she was doing and said, "I am so sorry.  Do you need anything?  Do you want me to get someone for you to talk to?"  She was the first and the last of the medical staff to do so.  That was my second day there.  No one else there spoke of the baby or my loss again.  The emotional aspects of the miscarriage didn't matter at all.  The only thing that mattered was my current physical condition.  And I understand why.  It was bad.  It was "I almost died" bad.  As horrible as that was, someone else did die.  Not just almost, but totally, even before drawing a first breath.  My baby died that day.

I had a dear friend who came to the hospital and brought with her a small statuette of an angel holding a baby. On the bottom she wrote, “Baby Crutchfield 2008.” 

At the time, I didn’t know what to do with it or how to respond.  I don’t remember what I did when she gave it to me.  But in the five years that have passed since then, I have more than once sat crying, holding that small figurine. It's the only tangible link I have to tie that pregnancy to the rest of my world.  Had I seen it in a store or at someone’s home, I wouldn’t have looked twice.  It isn’t the kind of thing I normally would go for but because of the circumstances surrounding my receiving it, it has become one of my most valued treasures.

There were others who acknowledged the loss, I'm sure, but I just don't remember. I was exhausted, not just physically but emotionally.  Overall, the extreme nature of my own medical problems allowed us to practically bypass the loss of our baby.

Even my husband and I grieved separately; alone. It was too hard to talk about and it was so busy, with three kids who were so little and me just trying to recover, that even I blocked out the thing that had landed me in the hospital to begin with. No one else talked about it, so I didn't either. If they tried, I just told them that I was fine and let myself believe that it was true.  I simply didn’t think about the baby we had lost. 

But every once in a while, when I read something like the story on The Lewis Note blog or hear someone's story of loss, it brings all of those suppressed feelings to the surface. And I sit and mourn the loss of a child I never held in my arms; a child whose face I never saw, a child to whom I never gave a name because that would have been too weird.

I never know how to count my children. Is my baby boy my fourth or fifth child?  When I talk about being pregnant, I know I was pregnant 5 times, but is it worth explaining to complete stranger or a new acquaintance why I only have four kids with me at the park? Is it horrible for me not to acknowledge that precious life that once dwelled in my womb simply because it is easier than explaining my loss? 

Adding another layer to those feelings is the fact that I honestly don't even know if my baby actually existed. The doctor told me that my body lied to itself and tricked me into thinking I was pregnant when I wasn’t.  This has always been a struggle for me to accept.  I don’t know if it is true. I know that I lost a lot of blood and tissue before I went to the hospital and that I was too afraid to look at it for fear of the worst.  I know that I felt sorry for the sonogram tech working the ER that cold December morning.  She didn’t want to tell me there was no baby but we both knew what we weren’t seeing on the screen.  I do know that the HOPE of that child was once very much ALIVE. And I know that the pain of losing that child, even if it was only the hope of a life, is real and long lasting.

Tonight as I watch my living children, I am reminded that if our miscarried baby had survived, our youngest child would not have been born.  He was conceived three months after our loss, over three months before our other baby would have been born.  There is no way that they could both exist.  But here he is, giggling with his big brothers, dancing with his big sister, snuggling with me in my chair and wrestling with his daddy.  He is here and he is loved.  No, he doesn’t make up for the child we lost and I don’t think of him as a replacement child.  He is an extra special blessing all his own.

As I write this, I know that there are hundreds, thousands of women who have felt the loss that I have.  Some of them once, some twice and some more times than I could probably handle.  To those women, I say this. I am so sorry, Sister.  I am sorry that you are going through this.  It is hard and it is painful and it is not, no matter what people tell you, God’s will.  He does not hate you nor is He punishing you.  The wages of sin is death.  Because of the sins of humans, death became a part of our world. We can’t change that.  But we can know that there is hope in Jesus.  I know that I will one day rest in His arms and if there was a life growing inside me, he will introduce us.  On that day, I will hold my unborn child close and whisper to him or her, “Momma loves you.  Momma has always loved you.”