Blog Addict

Dear Mimi,
It's been a while. Not because there hasn't been time or I haven't anything to say. But becasue I got a little tangled in the web.

Oopsy Daisy.

It was nothing gray- just basic blog babysitting and social media consumption. Their place in my life had become a priority. I should be able to pass by my iPhone without need a fix.  But I wasn’t. I came to the realization that my friend-status with the web was being spelled A-D-D-I-C-T and confess that the whole social media and blogging business was starting to enslave me. So I cut my ties for a bit there.

It was bondage. God knows about bondage. You’ll remember that story when He parted the Red Sea, allowing His beloved children to leave slavery behind in Egypt. He rescued them – plucked them right out of peonage. You’d think they’d be grateful, right? Not so. They moaned. They bellyached. They actually wanted to go back.

Not saying my little hiatus from internet enthrallment was like that. Or maybe I am. The Israelites knew God was taking them to the Promise Land, the land of milk and honey. Problem was – they couldn’t see it. As God Himself nudged me to take a break from my connection – I surely couldn’t see what He had in store for me. But I knew that place in the wilderness, where I wondered around with a little time on my hands, left me emptied for God.

“Search me, O God, and know my heart; Try me and know my anxious thoughts; and see if there is any hurtful way in me, and lead me in the everlasting way” (Psalm 139: 23-24).

Be weary of things that suck you in like that. I had begun seeking the internet for my virtual approval and as a result, created a screen of affirmation. Nothing but a screen. The thing – and it is a thing- should not exist in my life to glorify me. Because if it's there to glorify me - can it glorify God too? I'm doubtful.

 

More about Larry

I can't leave my imaginary friend Larry behind with just one post. His mantra is central to finding joy and peace as an unshowered, average, goobered-on climbing gym -err- mother. Never seeking to be on a best-sellers list or even pitch his idea to an editor, the quiet monk shared how he practiced the presence of God with a friend in a humble hand written letter.

 “I do this simply by keeping my attention on God and by being generally and lovingly aware of Him.  This could be called practicing the presence of God moment by moment, or to put it better, a silent, secret and nearly unbroken conversation of the soul with God.” 

Brother Lawrence didn’t do anything great, per se. And it wasn’t what he did at all, but rather his frame of mind in doing tedious, mundane, dare-I-say boring work. In his words, “We must not grow weary of doing little things for the love of God, who looks not on the great size of the work, but on the love in it.”

It’s not the size of the task, but the love in it that matters. I just adore that he figured that out while doing the humdrum. If he practiced the presence of God while fighting war or under severe persecution, it would mean less to me - but he did it washing dishes and fixing shoes. I think it was what the Apostle Paul meant when he wrote "whatever you do, do it all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31).  It just becomes real to me written by a quiet monk. Paul was, well, Paul.  

God sees my heart. A heart that certainly does not glorify him every step of the way as Brother Lawrence honed his heart to. My attitude while parenting can’t possibly be pleasing to God some, well more than some, of the time. My daily mental conversations could be called colorful at best. In honesty, there are moments of drudgery. Don't misunderstand me, its easy to be thankful for the big picture. I have a deep deep joy (which I cannot even put into words) found in this journey of being a mom. But still, there are flashes of hair pulling hassle, and even the occasional over-dramatized pity party. How can it all be done for the glory of God?  Not just the important stuff, but all of it?  I think of my pal Larry and his example of practicing the presence of God, of love being poured into the minute tasks, when I’m changing diapers, cleaning dishes, and when I bend over for the millionth time to pick up whatever toy has just impaled the arch of my foot.

At a distance, the small tasks of being a mom seem palatable. Put baby to sleep. Clean gooey baby food and noodles off floor. Wipe boogers. Help brother in bathroom. Help sister do homework. Taken one at a time, they seem trivial.  But sometimes the baby won’t sleep and I’ve cleaned the floor 3 times already today. I struggle to disregard the size of the task and focus on the love I could pour into it for the glory of the Lord.

At some point, when your little brother was an infant, I had the following experience, all before 9 a.m., and scribbled it down on a piece of paper.

Today – for the record

·         The baby fussed all night

·         My hands smell like poop.

·         The computer crashed

·         I need a band-aid, possibly stitches, on my chest

For the preservation of your innocence, I've just deleted the full explanation of that last senario. Your welcome. I will say that nursing is not all bliss- and that if you don't take care of problems early, it can get rather gory and leave you making that infamous bitter-beer-face every time the babe latches. This would not have been a problem for your brother however, he could have successfully nursed a coconut. My point being- how can I possibly give glory when the small tasks get insurmountable?

It makes the challenge to “Render service with a good attitude, as to the Lord and not to men” (Ephesians 6:7 HCSB) unfathomable.

As moms, we serve.  If we serve for our children there is reward some of the time. But here is what I’m starting to realize, if we focus on serving Christ as parents rather than focus on serving kids, there is always eternal reward.  Perhaps the duties become mundane because, the skills required to change a blow-out aren’t highly esteemed. But that’s just what Brother Lawrence spoke against; he said it’s not the size of the task. It is the love in it.

Who knows- if you take your eyes off the diaper mess for a moment you might just notice the gummy smile of the babe staring up at you. Glory.

My Pal Larry

Sometimes I miss Portland Oregon, where you spent the first four years of your life. We enjoyed being an afternoon's drive away from the beach. I remember once such trip when you were two, maybe three years old. I spent much of the drive listening to you sing The Itsy Bitsy Spider over and over without tiring of your precious voice. It was nearly a flawless family outing, but you tumbled down the steps leading to the sand. As your face glowed red, and tears wet those tender cheeks, an expression of painful frustration erupted. Once the sobbing lessened, it was me you wanted.

"Hold you! Hold you!" you cried.

I was right there to offer hugs. As you clung to me, I said not a word about the fruit juice you squeezed all over my freshly laundered coat. Clean coats don't matter when I see my girl's tears. I love to be needed.

If only you needed me more.  Once on the beach, I saw the breeze in your ponytails, sand in your toes (and hair and diaper) and felt a twinge in my heart as you ran, giggled and played with your mama. As for me, I was stuffed into the yellow purse alongside the empty juice box.

I am your beloved Newman, the unconditional friend, the under-appreciated stuffed dog.

Oh the lengths I’ve gone for your beloved Newman. Pretend meals have been prepared. An embarrassing number of diapers have been donned complete with meager tail-hole. He’s been seen as the sole occupier of my stroller. The stories he’s told. The baths he’s endured. Frankly, I’m happy to oblige your imagination. At the peak of your friendship, Newman could get you to your place at the dinner table instantly and work a near miracle in cheering you up. As a mama-gone-ventriloquist, I have come to appreciate his squeaky little voice that always gets a smile, even in the worst of moods. 

An imaginary friend has the power to change perspective whether you are two or thirty-two. And so it is with Brother Lawrence. He’s my imaginary compadre of sorts. As a Parisian monk who lived in the 1600’s, he was a simple man.  He worked in the monastery kitchen, fixed shoes and ran errands for people. His uncomplicated motto for living has been recorded in his letters and conversations,  and so through reading, Brother Lawrence became my imaginary friend.  ‘Practice the presence of God’ – this was his mantra. 

 “I do this simply by keeping my attention on God and by being generally and lovingly aware of Him.  This could be called practicing the presence of God moment by moment, or to put it better, a silent, secret and nearly unbroken conversation of the soul with God.”¹ 

I envision him, my pal Larry, shuffling down a cobblestone lane, noticeable limp to his gait, head down, and elusive grin on his face, mumbling something about the Alpha and Omega.  

1. The Practice of the Presence of God. Brother Lawrence. 1895

Dragon Breath

Our family production of Saint George and the Dragon commenced at 8:30pm Sunday night.  On the corner of Strong and Five Mile Road the dragon appeared in the driver’s seat of our otherwise yuppy Jeep Wrangler. 

“…They heard a hideous roaring that filled the air with terror and seemed to shake the ground. The dreadful dragon…came eagerly to do battle… A cloud of smothering smoke and burning sulfur poured from his throat, filing the air with its stench. His blazing eyes, flaming with rage, glared out from deep in his head. So he came toward the knight, raising his speckled breast, clashing his scales, as he leaped to greet his newest victim.*”

Or victims rather. Ages 5, 3 and 9 months.

Let me paint the background.

Dad, because he is Dad, spent last week in an impoverished community tending to the poor, sharing God’s beautiful rescue plan, going on prayer walks and growing in Christ.

I, on the other hand, spent the previous 9 days 10 hrs and 30 minutes with you kids.

You did remarkably well. You played together beautifully, only drawing blood once. You made my birthday special by creating nearly one card for each year of my life. One of the three people that reads this blog suggested I swing wide the front door at your dad’s arrival and proclaim with pride, “Look! They’re alive!”

Yes, Dad served Christ in Ecuador, and I did my best to serve Him here at home.

But somewhere around 112,560 minutes into this 112,590 minute journey of single parenthood, I spewed fire all over the back seat of the Jeep. We were actually on the way to the airport. Pity me.

This dragon breath is best defined in James 3:6: “The tongue is a fire, the very world of iniquity;  the tongue is set among our parts as that which defiles the entire body, and sets on fire the course of our life, and is set on fire by hell.”  Well said. My words…your words…our words have the potential to bless the people around us, building them up with encouragement. They also, in a flash, can ruin breakfast. In a spark, wreck the ride to school. In a blaze, make a statement a child will remember for a lifetime.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone. I’m sharing this because we can do better. My mama always said, If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all. Good advice, which I had put to the test last week, when I was tasting embers in my mouth. I actually tried, for a full hour, maybe even two, to keep my words to these four statements:

AWESOME

THANK YOU

TELL ME MORE ABOUT THAT

YES

It was a bit awkward ordering a mocha at the drive-up window, but otherwise it went tremendously well. During that time span, no one killed themselves. People actually thrived under it.

Yes there is a place for right discipline, and in my defense, just prior to the Wrangler inferno, two of three back seat passengers had managed to be childish, defiant, and disrespectful all at once.  Not saying names, just saying. Even so, these offenses deserve calm consistent consequences, not the dragon lady.

Lord help us control our tongues. Help us use them to bless our children, to build them up, and to make them strong and courageous for you. Catch us in the moment Jesus. Remind us of your love, your patient and kind love.

Live it Like you Love it.

Mimi,

Here’s a tip that will help you avoid blowing lots of dragon breath.  It’s a little something I call steady-as-we-go.  It started when I couldn’t get the same-named Dave Matthews tune out of my head. Mr. Matthew’s wrote it as a love song, but to me it’s a mindset.

Several weeks ago we took a stellar vacation.  You kids traveled so well until your brother contracted food poisoning in the Portland Airport with one flight left. And even then he was fine, until a few minutes prior to our final touchdown. I knew it was bad when your daddy turned to me and mimed “He had an accident.” From across the isle, I winced and held up two fingers with raised eyebrow and got confirmation. Number two.

Within minutes I heard  the noise.  You know the one. The noise a child makes when their tummy is upset, the other way. I instinctively threw baby wipes across the aisle like a good hail Mary pass. Daddy pushed the flight attendant button and she threw, I-kid-you-not, three dry paper towels from her jump seat. Imagine if this happened at home. I think, quite possibly, that dry paper towels might just be the last thing I would give a sick child. A moist towel, yes. A bucket, yes. A cup of water, yes. Three industrial-style pieces of dry sandpaper, no.

After an eternity, we finally deboarded the puddle jumper. I carried him down the steep stairs and into the cold night air. I tried not to loose my own dinner when he nuzzled into me and I felt multiple types of secretions seep through my sweatshirt.

Instead, I smiled and sung into his ear, I’d walk halfway around the world just to sit down by your side.

These are my overwhelming circumstances. You have yours, and these are mine. Regardless, we can wallow if we want, or we can choose to live in the moment, to focus on “whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy (Phil 4:8). I’m thinking that Christ wants us to live it like we love it. To suck the marrow.

So how do I do that? Well, look at this story. Did you get the part where he nuzzled into me? Could you almost hear him affectionately whisper “Mama,” when I chose to hold him tighter? This child will no doubt have bigger problems. Perhaps only for a short time will my lingering embrace solve them. If you ask me, that’s pure. That’s lovely. That is excellent. That’s my focus. Steady as we go. You cannot worry about the next problem coming down the pipe. I knew I had no pull ups in my bag for this otherwise potty trained individual. I knew in a matter of minutes I’d be standing in a frigid airport bathroom trying to squeeze him into his baby sister’s diaper. Oh he’d fit.

But in that moment I didn’t worry. I chose to live in the snuggle of the most amazing three year old boy I’ve ever laid eyes on. 

P.S. David Matthews did not teach me this lesson on motherhood, my imaginary friend Larry did.

A Smidge about Prayer

"Jesus often went away to be by Himself and pray" -  Luke 5:16

I need to tell you a few things about memory verses and three year old boys, because it's hard to get them to sit for thirty seconds, to focus, and to memorize something, let alone do all this at once. First, anything that rhymes has a chance. Second, singing it to a snappy tune helps. I'm amazed at what can be sung to the melody of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Third, watching mom say it is boring. Watching a frog, or whatever other puppet you have, is better. Watching that frog try to memorize the verse and completely fail proves enchanting.


Jesus often went away to be by himself and pray. The three year old pirate- I mean dragon- I mean bat- I mean I forgot what character he is in today- got it. Froggy the puppet never did, for whatever reason he kept saying Jesus often went away to be by himself and PLAY. There's something hilarious about a naughty frog, and by the time it was over Matt was screaming at him to get it right, jugulars buldging and all. Now that's a smidge of the Word.

As for application, I thought the Lord would bring me some situation where the kids were struggling and I would gently help them go away and pray, just like Jesus did. But - as per usual- God has pointed out that I'm the one needing a little lesson. So this is how it went - the kids were drinking milk at the table. Correction - they were supposed to be drinking milk. What they were actually doing was errupting volcanos. The phenomenon of blowing bubbles out their straws instead of sucking their milk down had taken over. When I rounded the corner to investigate the giggling, there was at least two square feet of frothy bubbles on the table. As I write this it seems like such a funny thing. But in the moment I blew just a tad of smoke out my nose and instead of articulating I exhaled fire.

Just days prior, a friend had given me a three page article on parenting that went something like this: Kids can be childish and kids can be defiant. Correct the defiance and let the childish go. Phoey.

Just as the flames from my tounge were about to scald the milk, one word came to my mind. Childish.

I clenched my teeth and turned heel. "Mommy needs to go away and be by herself and pray."

Grammy

A few weeks ago I had the opportunity to write about your Grammy, on another blog, so I took it. I will take any chance I get to remember and cherish our time with your Daddy's mama.

"Grammy June used to make cookies with my daughter. And pies, crafts, and messy paintings.She let my children paint snow on her windows and spill flour on her floor." read more at Bread Babe

Ellen Girl

I met Jenna, of the Call Her Happy blog, just a few weeks ago. I knew we could be friends when she shared that she gets out the "good snacks" when her daughter takes a nap. With three , I rarely have a united nap time, thus I tarry in the pantry when looking for "something". Same difference. Jenna asked me to post on her blog, but I am even more excited that she was willing to post here. She's about to open a new chapter on motherhood...she's pregnant with her second. 

My Ellen Girl,

We've got a good little schedule going right now, don't we? You climb in my bed around 8am - for the love of everything holy, thank you!, and we "nuggle nuggle" (your words, not mine). You ask for an "awful waffle and milk" and we get our day started. You play well alone and always let me know when you need mommy playtime. We even have a great thing going when I shower: you watch me (we clearly need to work on modesty), and then hand me my towel when I'm done. Thanks for that. We sing, we wrestle, we color, we learn about not picking our nose. We've got it good here right now. And, in May, things are going to change...just a tiny bit.

Subscribe to Call Her Happy

I've got to be honest, kid; I'm a little scared. I want you to know what I'm thinking so someday, when you're a mommy, you will know all of these things are normal. And, since I am so ridiculously high anxiety and slightly to a lot hyper-organized, here's a little list:

Getting Out of the House: I admit, I have a hard time with this already. Just today, I wanted to go to Target to return an item. Just one item. So, I got all of our things together, put your shoes on, got you in the car, drove to Target, got out the stroller, put on your coat and hat, got all of our items, carried you and the stroller into the store, put you in the stroller while you yelled, organized all of our things, and THEN went up to the counter to return the ONE item. Then we did everything in reverse to go home. Phew. How am I going to do that with two of you? Especially when you are always trying to run away from me in the parking lot.

Being Too Lazy: I get this way sometimes. When I am overwhelmed or I feel like I can't get organized or focused, I start to do nothing. (Does anyone else do this? Say yes.) I pray about this a lot so I can get over it, but it's hard. It is so easy to not do anything when it isn't mandatory. But, you know what, just getting up and doing something, anything is good for the soul. I will work on this. At the very least I will make a thousand sticky note lists that make me feel productive...

Not Giving You Enough: You know I'm crazy about you. I try to find a balance between you playing on your own and me playing with you. Still, I go to bed most nights wishing I had even more time to be with you. You're such an easy kid...when you're sleeping.

Not Giving Your Brother Enough: I can't imagine loving someone else like I love you. But, the cool thing about love is that it doesn't divide; it multiplies. I know I will love your brother just as much. And, because of that, I know I will feel the same thing about giving him attention. Can you help me out and play with him too - gently.

Losing Me-Time: When you nap, I get out allll of the good snacks, watch tv and play on the computer. Sorry to tell you that, but I do. It is so fun to have time to myself while you sleep. When your brother gets here, who knows when he will nap? I doubt it will be at the same time as you. How am I going to find me-time without feeling like I am neglecting someone who is awake?

Does it sound like I am worried? I am. But I am also really excited for you to have a sibling. I think you're going to be a phenomenal big sister. So, with all of these worries out there in the open, I will tell you that I will be praying about them. I will be aware of them. And nothing will ever happen to our family, good or bad, that will change how much I love you. New things happen in life all the time, and we will tackle them together, admit and face our fears and pray, pray, pray.

So, let's take the exciting with the scary and do this, ok? Ok!

Jenna is a former high school English teacher turned stay-at-home mom and freelancer from the Midwest. She spends her days taking care of her daughter and her uterus child while creating content for her blog, Call Her Happy.

Smidge 3: Tools

It has occured to me that these "devotionals" are not worthy of such a name, as I can carry them out in about the time it takes to spell that word. So...I'm calling them smidges. A smidge of God's word here, a sprinkle there, and humbly asking the Lord to make do with it.

This is how well the memory verse from church (2Tim 3:16) went over in our house last week:

All Scripture is God-breathed and is useful for teaching, rebuking, correcting and training in righteousness.

I read it aloud, then paused and asked:

Do you know what God-breathed means?

No

Rebuking?

No

Righteousness?

No.

Okey-dokey-artichokey. On with Plan B:

I made a pile on the living room floor of the following items:

Paint Brush

Paper

Flat exercise ball (doesn’t get used much)
Air Pump

Screwdriver

Wood Screw

The Bible

I scattered them randomly and asked the kids to match them up. For example…what thing goes with the screw? And what goes with the air pump? They got right to work, lickety split, until they came to the Bible.

Everything on the floor had a tool. The ball has a pump. The paper has a brush. The screw has a screwdriver. What was the ball created to do? Bounce. Can the ball do it’s job very well without it’s tool? No.  Can the screw do a very good job of holding wood together without it’s screwdriver? No. 

But what goes with THIS?

The B-I-B-L-E. We go with the bible. It’s our tool. We can’t do our job very well without it.

I’m thinking this went so well.

They’re thinking – when can we play with this gigantic ball. It's - like - so - awesome.

The Shriveled Carrot

Mimi,

I pulled an old lunch box out from the black depths of my cupboard and found it. The shriveled carrot. Long forgotten, noodle-flimsy, and worthless. It was a perfect match to the one I'd been dangling in front of you all morning.

You wanted to play pretend. I said yes, of course, great, let's do it. Right after you clear your dish off the table and get dressed.

You returned, ready to go. Yes yes, let's hop to it. But did you remember to brush your teeth? Just brush them quick, and we might as well get your hair braided, and woops, there's the baby, I'll be right back. Not again...a blowout...she needs new clothes, I'll be there in a sec, can you just make your bed while you wait?

Again you return. This time confused, you thought I said we were going to play pretend. Yes, we are playing pretend, just get your shoes and socks on first so we're not late, and then we will be ready.

Mimi? Where'd you run off to? What are you doing? Mmi? I'm, um, ready to play now, what was it...pretend? Pel mel, let's go. Pronto pretend. We have two and half minutes before we need to load up. It's now or never baby.

The carrot. Hung out in front of you all morning to bait you into getting ready, getting set, getting totally disengaged. I hung the carrot out there so long the little thing shriveled right up.

My bad.

I have this friend, the kind every young mom needs. She's a grandma, but remembers her early childrearing years with fondness. When she talks about it, she glows, and each time I wonder if her eyes are actually welling up. I want that - I mean - I want to be that. I want to look back on this time with endearment.

I've inquired and best I can figure, this is how she got it: When they needed their room cleaned, she helped them clean it. When they wanted to play baseball, she learned to catch. She didn't dangle the prize of time-with-mama out in front of them.

Point taken. Forget making your bed, go find your glass slippers.

Lord help me invest my time well. You are the Master of relationships. I want to prioritize my relationships with my children. Thank you for being patient with me. I may never get this motherhood thing down but I will keep on trying as your work in progress. Thank You.

Twenty-six Seconds in Hindsight (the smidge that got smudged)

I had a friend in high school whose mom was totally weird. Nearly twenty years later, I’m that weird mom. Case in point:  Sometimes I make you yell at me, as I love to see your confidence. It’s a little game we play occasionally after breakfast on mornings when Dad leaves early for work, lest he think I am - well - weird.

I go stand in the pantry and dare you to sing the song “My God is So Big” loud enough that I can hear you. When you and your brother accomplish this, I go to the next challenge.  Can you sing it loud enough that I can hear you in the bathroom?  The bedroom down the hall?  Upstairs?  Outside?  Just how loud can you shout my God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do?

“Do not be afraid. Keep on speaking. Do not be silent.”

This was the memory verse last week at church - Acts 18:9. I knew it was going to be about teaching you to speak up for Christ. I just didn’t know how fitting it could have been. Turns out it’s not only about telling others about God, it’s about reminding ourselves and reminding you, sweet one, who He is.

One week ago we conquered something…I taught you to downhill ski. Now there was a time when I vowed I would not teach you this skill, after seeing how poorly it goes for the majority of parents on the bunny hill. I’d hire someone else. Leave it to the pros. But my nostalgia won over. I knew you’d remember this day, and I wanted you to remember it with me.

With that, I warned you it would be really hard. Then I proceeded to tap into a parenting skill that will save you innumerable tantrums.  IT’S A GAME CHANGER.  I played the goofball card.  I skied backward - a lot. I danced.  I sang lame songs. I jumped up and down. I made stupid comments like “This is incredible - you did it! You really did it! I never expected you to get this far on the first day! Look at you - you got one ski boot on!”

And then we dismounted the chairlift.  More accurately, I dismounted the chairlift, and when I realized you were still on, now up over my head, I yanked you off and we both tumbled down. You giggled at first, but I could see the tears welling up.

The second time, we boarded the lift flawlessly and up we went. At the halfway point, I could sense your tension. Fear was mounting in you like a shaken carbonated soda. You were going to explode. And this is where, in hindsight, I should have spoken God’s love over you.

Instead, I changed the topic.  I said that surely you couldn’t count to ten when you were so afraid. And you counted to ten. Then I asked how loud you could sing the alphabet. And you yelled the alphabet. And I felt proud that the more you recited the less you were thinking about your fear. With that, it was time to stand up, hold hands and dismount the chairlift, which you did beautifully.

In hindsight, this could have been the coolest twenty-six second devotional ever. What if I asked you to yell your song as loud as you could? You would have. I know you would have. And your mind still would have been directed away from your fear. Only difference is, in twenty-six seconds, you would have been speaking God’s power over your fear.

My God is so big, so strong and so mighty there’s nothing my God cannot do. The mountains are His. The rivers are His. The stars are His handiworks too. My God is so big, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.

Thirteen Minutes

I was sitting at a stoplight a few months ago and noticed another mom idiling next to me. Upon first glance, she looked like she was paying attention to the road. Only because my Jeep was taller than her sedan could I see that she was udderly distracted. She was sitting there, waiting for the light to turn green, with a hand-held breast pump shoved up her shirt.

Really. Udderly distracted.

Now Mimi, your mama knows about pumping breast milk in unpleasant places. Camping tents. Bathroom stalls. And yes, passenger seats. I’ve done it. But the driver's side? I wondered how busy her morning must have been in order to arrive at her current predicament. Lord help us.

We mamas have gotten so busy. No doubt by the time you’re on this adventure, you will be busy. I’m ashamed to admit that I have let a day go by without having a meaningful moment with you. I am conscience-stricken that on some days the most eye contact I've made with your baby sister may have been while she lay on the changing table. Do I really want her quality time to be associated with wiping poo?

Paster Joe once said something about this, and it's worth sharing. Not about changing diapers, but about relationships and time. The most important person in the world is the one we are with right now.  I’m with you everyday, but do I make you feel like our relationship matters?

That said, 2013 brings a resolution- thirteen minutes every day of twenty thirteen. I pretty sure it’s how long this computer takes to boot. It also happens to be how long it takes me to brush my teeth, shower, shave my legs, get dressed and put make-up on.  It’s about how long it takes me to recite the book of James…but that’s another blog. With intent, much can be accomplished in thirteen minutes.

With the dawn of twenty-thirteen breaking, I’ve resolved to spending at least thirteen minutes a day with you. We can do whatever you want, but homework doesn’t count. Neither brushing your teeth nor combing your hair.  Maybe we’ll draw a picture, just you and me. For Baby M, I’ll sing timeless nursery rhymes, without getting up ever thirty seconds. Maybe for Beau I’ll stomp my feet and chase him as he squeals in delight. It matters less what we are accomplishing, and more that you feel like in that moment, you are the most important person in the world.

Why? Because relationships matter. In our world of technological separation anxiety, relationships matter more than ever. Taking the time to be with you every single day, matters.

Lord help me never act like I am too busy, lest I end up pumping on the corner of Alberta and Francis.

Smidge 2: Be kind to everyone devotional

Dear Mimi,

There are several verses I plan to brand on your heart before you leave this home. One of them is 2Tim 2:24, so I chose it as our weekly memory verse. Someday I'll have these verses neatly outlined in a tidy folder with ideas on how to apply. Or, more likely, I'll just wing it when we miss church and I have no idea what verse they presented.

"Be kind to everyone." It gets a lot of air time. How could you not, it's my universal response to hitting, fighting, eye-ball-rolling, and most other offenses.

It's a bit of a stretch to call this a devotional- about the same stretch as is required for me to fit into pre-maternity clothing. Something that takes me one minute to prepare and thirty-five seconds for you to accomplish cannot possibly be a devotional. But alas, your getting some Word, so here it is.

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Using bright paper, write out the words to 2 Tim 2:24 "Be kind to everyone". Then chop it up at an age appropriate level. You Mimi, had to build it back letter by letter. Beau had to piece it word by word. Yes, that's a pile of M&Ms in the middle for reward.