Author: Kayleen Terrell

The Space Between: A Farewell to 2022

/ Kayleen Terrell / 1 Comment

Ending the year with COVID is not how I pictured the finish line for 2022. Without a sense of smell and very little taste, I am surrounding myself with the known and steadfast certainties. I know my lavender lotion smells good and it calms me as it absorbs into my skin, even if I can’t smell it right now. I light the candle in our bedroom, because the familiar, fresh scent brings me joy even if I can’t detect its presence.

With the Christmas decorations still up, new toys sprawled out across the house, I found myself the day after Christmas wanting it all down. I was ready for that clean, fresh start feeling you get once all the Christmas decor is put away. Plus, I get my kitchen side table space back again. 

Then, as the week progressed, I fell into a sort of peace with everything still up. Maybe getting sick will do that to you, everything just comes to a halt anyway. I settled upon throwing away the gingerbread houses and recycling Buddy, our elf’s playground that Hadley had made out of cardboard. I left up everything else.

I remembered the sacred space between Christmas and the New Year when all is possible ahead on the horizon and yet being still is permitted. The fresh slate is coming, plans can be made, but there’s consent to relax. No one will fault you for wearing your pajamas until noon and eating chocolate covered gummy bears immediately following breakfast. 

A couple weeks ago after dinner one night, I got the sudden urge to take small videos of how things were around the house. It was a peaceful night with Christmas music playing, decorations up, kids playing and getting along, but with little messes everywhere. Really, it was just our life everywhere and I felt I wanted to somehow capture it and keep it forever. 

 “What are you doing?” Jordan asked me curiously. 

“I feel an overwhelming desire to film our house as it is right now. I want to remember this.” I said as I proceeded to record a small video of the kitchen sink. 

“You know they recommend taking video and pictures of your house and belongings in case it burns down.” he suggested with a teasing grin. 

“I did that as a kid.” I  turned to him, setting the phone down on the kitchen counter.  “I did. I took pictures of all my possessions in my bedroom. I took pictures of all my Beanie Babies.”  I flashed a smile back at him. “But that’s not what this is. I just felt like I wanted to capture things now as they are.” I let out a sigh of nostalgia as I picked up my phone and walked towards the entryway where our snow boots and pile of wet snow clothes sat.

I haven’t done much writing this year except little snippets of ideas or things I want to remember or could perhaps use later for some great masterpiece essay. Some years are like that, a collection of memories not yet formed into a finished product, but a necessary part of the process. 

I wrote a few ideas on what I like to call, “the space between.” It was what I was trying to capture when I recorded videos of my home, it’s what I feel between Christmas and New Years. It’s the feeling of the unknown paired with what is certain. The space between has defined the most memorable moments of this past year, because perhaps that is where subtly, the most occurs. 

My favorite memory of 2022 is on the Gamble Sands putting course at sunset with Jordan. We witnessed the transition from the end of the day to the beginning of night.  With the Cascade mountains and Columbia river as a backdrop, we putted and laughed along the course as the colors in the sky melted into purple, pink and orange. Following a FaceTime phone call with the kids, who were happily with Nana and Papa, Jordan and I felt the weightless effects of being in a moment of carefree joy and fun. Or, the space between.

When pressing onward and thinking about the year ahead, I plan to look for the moments in the space between. I’ll try to recognize when I’m in that place and take it for what it is. It’s a place to grow and thrive in unison with peace and stillness, a place of transition, a place of creativity and time. 

I know eventually my sense of smell will return. This COVID space between is not as fun as Gamble Sands at sunset, but it’s a space between nevertheless. It’s a time I recognize I am in. In the space between 2022 and 2023, the possibilities are at their peak and contentment with what has been is crucial. 

Here’s to finding the space between in 2023. 

“The space between,

In your heart and mine,

Is the space we’ll fill with time.” 

-Dave Matthews Band 

Creativity and Harry Potter

/ Kayleen Terrell / 1 Comment

These last couple weeks, I have been in a whole other world. The wizarding world of Harry Potter! We celebrated Hadley’s ninth birthday this past week and she wanted a Harry Potter themed birthday. Given that I’m a huge fan myself, I offered zero objections.

We have been working our way through the book series together. Currently we are on book six. Things are getting serious. Not only has Harry Potter helped grow Hadley’s love for reading, it has created a fictional world of magic for her to creatively immerse herself in. A creative world I also entered this week. 

We all have the need to be creative. Our souls crave creativity especially during a time when things seem uncertain or boring, scary, or mundane. We might feel like we have nothing we can do, but we can always create.

Things might seem meaningless at times, but Brene Brown said it best, “as long as we are creating, we are cultivating meaning.”  Creativity in our day to day life gives us meaning. 

I took a leave of absence from work this year. The number one reason being I wanted to be more present for my kids. Both of them are now in the elementary school realm. I wanted to be involved in their classrooms, enjoy all the school events, and be there for them when they get home from school. 

While I am completely enjoying this time as a SAHM (stay-at-home-mom) and I can’t even begin to express how thankful I feel for being able to be present for all the fun school things, I have found that during these past several weeks sometimes I have felt a bit like a wanderer. Sort of adrift with all the potential there, but difficult pinpointing what exactly to do. I’m okay with it, but I feel the need to make meaning and be creative.

So this past week. I created. With the help of some amazing neighbors who loaned me some Harry Potter decorations and party ideas, I hit the ground running. I was all in. I was DEEP in HP land with all its glory.

One of my favorite activities was creating wand descriptions for each friend attending Hadley’s party. Using the Wizarding World of Harry Potter website and the talented insights of Ollivander himself (aka the great J.K. Rowling). I wrote each wand wood type, length, and core along with a description for the perfect witch or wizard pairing. Of course, like many great ideas, this spawned from someone else’s. The wand descriptions however, was my chance to write creatively.

Another item I wrote was four riddles for prizes given during the festivities. Four golden eggs were scattered around the house. The way to win a prize was to simply notice one and ask why it was there. Each egg held a clue inside about the prize. The prizes included a pair of socks, a golden snitch, “Liquid Luck,” and the infamous Marauder’s Map.

The party was a huge success! One friend’s mom texted me the next morning to tell me that her fifth-grade daughter said this was the first “legit,” birthday party (Harry Potter themed?) that she had been to. Coming from a fifth grader, I don’t think there is a higher compliment. 

As a little Halloween treat for you all, I’ve included the PDF of the Ollivander Wand Descriptions and Golden Egg Riddles. If you’re not a huge HP fan, it might not mean a lot, but if you are I know you’ll fully enjoy reading them. For the rest of you Muggles, I will leave you with a quote from Brene Brown on creating. It’s one of my favorites. 

“If we want to make meaning, we need to make art. Cook, write, draw, doodle, paint, scrapbook, take pictures, collage, knit, rebuild an engine, sculpt, dance, decorate, act, sing – it doesn’t matter. As long as we’re creating, we’re cultivating meaning.”

harry-potter-golden-egg-riddles-2Download
ollivander-fine-wands-descriptions-1Download

When Failure is Not an Option

/ Kayleen Terrell / Leave a comment

You know the story.

A family gets their first dog. Initially, having the dog is tough and a lot harder than anyone thought, but then the family goes through some kind of hardship and the dog is there to help them through. 

The family has moments of joy with the puppy. There is music playing in the background with all kinds of cheerful and funny scenes; from giving the puppy a bath to it sneaking a lick off the kid’s ice cream cone. 

There are “cute,” little scenes where the puppy causes mischief. It pees where it shouldn’t, digs up the yard, and tears up the furniture in the house. So funny and adorable, right?!? (Cue exaggerated eye roll). 

There’s that moment where the dad in the family almost gives up the dog and drives it angrily to the pound, but the kids and wife convince him not to. 

You know the story. The family keeps the dog. They live happily ever after. 

This is not that story. 

Before she was Summer, our puppy was identified in her litter as “Miss Orange.” I thought it so fitting that we bring home a puppy with an orange collar to a house with an orange door. It’s like she was meant for us. 

I could go over the details of what happened and someday I will. I could write a book about this summer with Summer and it would certainly be entertaining. But to make a long story short for now and to get to the point, let’s just say that Jordan and I came to the decision that having a dog (specifically a puppy) was not the right fit for our family at this time. 

Hadley is the dog lover in the family. She’s the one that wants to be a vet, dog walker, dog trainer etc. She really is the one Jordan and I got Summer for. We thought that would be enough of a reason to trudge on when things got really difficult. Turns out, it wasn’t enough.  Turns out that while Hadley did have a puppy, she also had a mom who felt stressed, angry, tired, and was suffering from emotional breakdowns. She had a dad who didn’t look forward to coming home from a long day at work and having to take care of the dog. 

There was immense relief when we made the decision to take Summer back to the breeder to find her a new home.  Both Jordan and I felt a weight lift off us. We all shed tears, an outrageous amount of tears for a puppy that caused so much chaos in our lives. Even John, who insisted the whole time we had Summer that he didn’t like her, cried much more than we anticipated after she was gone. Jordan and I are confident we made the right decision and did what was best for our family, but there is that small part of me that still hears a whisper saying, “You failed. You couldn’t do it for your daughter. You failed her.”

This is not the first time failure loomed its ugly head into my life as a mom.

>>>

I don’t remember breastfeeding Hadley for the first time. I don’t remember the last time either, but I remember some of the times in between.

One time in particular, around nine months of age, as Hadley was getting to know her newly sprouted teeth and human bite force, she bit me. Hard. 

I screamed in panic and pain. Hadley’s jaw immediately unclenched, letting my nipple free from her toothy grasp. She recoiled in horror and curved her lips down into a deep frown. With a wrinkled chin and her eyebrows scrunched, she let out a wail of regret. 

I tried again to breastfeed after the crying had stopped. I sat back down with Hadley and tried to get her back in position. She turned her head away so fiercely and with such utter disgust, I thought she’d never look at me the same again. She refused me. 

I couldn’t even get her near my breast without her starting to whimper and pull away with Hulk-like strength. I thought we might be done breastfeeding at that point. 

“Okay, well we got nine solid months in.” I said to myself. “Nine months with no biting and no tears.” Then, I did get bit, screamed horrifically, and traumatized my daughter beyond repair. “Maybe we call it. Maybe that’s it for breastfeeding.” 

I looked down at Hadley who had cried herself to sleep, exhausted and laying against me with her chin tucked down and eyelids closed. I noticed her wispy brown hair had started to fill in on more parts of her head. Another thing about her that was changing. The change was constant. 

“No.” I said firmly. “I’m not done. We are not done breastfeeding.” I nodded at her as if this would convince her, and myself.  

I called the lactation nurse and I’m glad I did because she said, “Just keep trying. Don’t give up. She’ll come back around.” 

I was pretty sure I had traumatized Hadley to the point of no return, but she did eventually come back to nursing. It took 24-48 hours, I don’t recall completely. But I kept trying. I didn’t give up on her or myself.  I did it. We got back in sync. I am so grateful we did because I was able to breastfeed Hadley for the first two years of her life and those were very precious moments to me. 

If I hadn’t continued to try to breastfeed, would that have been failure? 

No. It wouldn’t have been a failure. However,  breastfeeding Hadley was important enough to me that I refused to quit. I wanted it to end on my terms and I wasn’t ready for it to end.  Granted, it was only a couple days before Hadley was back to breastfeeding, but a trial can be any length of time, it doesn’t have to be weeks on end in order for it to have significance. 

>>>

Summer bit me too. I had bites and scratches all up my arms and mainly my left hand. But Summer is not my daughter. There was no connection, no innate desire to continue to provide or care for her like the desire I have for my children. I knew this puppy phase would not last forever, and yet, I didn’t feel the strong pull to keep working at it or push through like I did with breastfeeding. 

Summer did bring us some small amounts of joy. For example: her excitement in the morning when she’d see us, taking her for walks, petting her, and feeling her soft ears. The way she would follow the “sit,” command and look up at you with those adorable puppy eyes. Although Jordan still  insists she had “dead eyes.” 

You could get a puppy hug anytime you wanted with Summer around, until she started biting you which was about three seconds into the hug. She also was super cute. However, there comes a time when the puppy being cute, is simply not enough. 

We could have done it. We could have kept Summer knowing the hardest parts might end eventually. I could have lived as a stressed, exhausted, short-tempered mother, but I chose not to. I chose to live my life with more purpose than just “getting through a tough phase”. 

This whole ordeal got me thinking about the hard decisions we have to make as parents. Initially, I felt that in giving Summer back to the breeder, I was giving up on Hadley. That I had somehow failed her. But the more I’ve had time to process, the more I realize that is not so. In finding Summer a new home, I chose to not give up on Hadley. I chose her. Just like when I made the choice to keep trying to breastfeed. I chose to be the mom I want to be. It wasn’t a failure. It was a learning experience to be sure, that I know one thing from and that is:

 I will always choose my daughter.

I will always choose my family. Over anything. Sometimes this means to not give up and keep trying, like in the breastfeeding strike of 2014. Sometimes this means knowing when to quit, when to make the change, when to do the hard thing. 

I still get sad when I see a puppy. I look at Hadley and wonder what she’s feeling and if she feels sad too. When I see an adult golden retriever, I often think, “ I wonder if that’s what Summer will look like?”

I see other moms doing it. They have the dog, the kids, everything. It’s as if they are on a whole other level, which I can only dream of ever attaining. I still feel a sense of failure lurking near me, like that spider who sits in that super hard spot on the wall making it almost impossible to kill. But I kill it. I squash that thought as best I can. Even if I have to slam the shoe ten times, just to make sure I got it. 

As a mom, failure is a constant threat. This is something I am working on. Because, turns out, I fail all the time. Thank the Lord for his grace and mercy because I can’t be the perfect mom, even in this season of being a SAHM (stay-at-home mom). There is a reason my blog reads, “motherhood requires grace,” because it does. 

You know the story. 

The family gives up the dog and finds it a new home. The family lives happily together without the dog but instead with one another, knowing they picked sanity over the stressful, chaos that would maybe, one day subside (but maybe not). They chose not to wait for that day, they chose their story, now. 

You know the story, or maybe you don’t. But either way, it’s ours.

Room on the Edge

/ Kayleen Terrell / Leave a comment

At eight years old, Hadley still loves to cuddle at night. Although her bed is piled high with stuffed animals, she has an affection and story for each one of them. She remembers the details of how they were acquired, their special traits, and their place among her stuffed animal kingdom.

“White Fang is my favorite. She’s a husky. Grandma got her for me when we were in Leavenworth. This is Jadoor, an owl from Santa. He gave her to me because I helped him with a very important job. Jadoor is Hedwig’s little sister.”

Even though she loves her stuffed animals dearly, she’ll shove them aside on her bed as a soft barrier between her and the wall to make more room for me during story and cuddle time. Larry the lion, a huge stuffed lion we inherited from grandma, also rules her queen-sized bed in which he regally sprawls out, acting as yet another buffer between the wall and Hadley. She’s got about four regular pillows, a giant Squishy Mellow, and stuffed Pikachu type pillow. She’s got a spot for those too. With all this on her bed, she still manages to make room for me. As I lay next to her on the edge of her bed she starts to share with me details of her day that were earlier forgotten, but now have seemed to crop up just in time for bedtime.

I notice how her two adult front teeth no longer look too big for her mouth as she grins thinking about her day. Her cheeks and nose are spotted with light freckles. As she begins talking I noticed her lips are pink and slightly chapped giving them a nice rosy color. Her green eyes twinkle while she describes a game they played in her classroom at school. As I brush a stray piece of her brown hair back over her head, she quickly moves her hair back where it was with a slight pause in her story that you’d really have to be paying attention to notice, then she continues on with the details of her day and tells me about recess. 

“First recess I played with Jocelyn. Second recess I was with Rose. Then, at the third recess it was Kendall and Verah.”

I can almost see her planning her play schedule at school with her friends each morning, trying to coordinate quality time throughout the day so each of them gets a chance to spend time with her and feel included.  She wouldn’t want anyone to feel left out. An organized Hadley friend rotation if you will, so everyone gets their time with her. She comes home with notes from her friends that spill praises of kindness and “bff” status. I get the feeling that Hadley is well-liked and other kids want to be around her. Not that this surprises me, she’s got a kind heart and a special way to make you feel included. For example, moving aside her prized stuffies on her bed to make room for you. 

This past fall was the first official soccer season for our family. We managed to get Hadley on a team with two of her friends. Once her new jersey arrived and it donned the number ten, we had high hopes for our girl. My husband tells me typically number ten is the best player on a soccer team. We’ve had our share of soccer practice in the yard with Hadley and her younger brother John, including but not limited to, passing, scoring goals and keep away. 

Hadley is sure-footed and coordinated as she kicks the ball precisely toward me. This must be a trait from my husband, who played soccer growing up. As for myself, coming from zero soccer experience and a real fear of the ball hitting my face, I tended to avoid this sport. But I’d pass the ball with Hadley anyday knowing she can keep it away from my face, for the most part. She gives the ball a swift kick with her left foot (one thing I do share with her is my left-footed favoritism) a smile sprouted on her face as soon as her foot made contact with the ball and shot toward me. A small giggle escapes from her mouth as I try my best to stop it. 

Passing the ball as a family of four was one thing, but going out onto the soccer field with a whole team of 2nd and 3rd grade girls was quite another. I don’t think Hadley expected a throng of girls to follow the ball wherever it went during the game. When the ball came to her, so did several people running behind it, she’d give it a quiet, quick tap away when I knew she had much more in her. She’d give a half-hearted run up and down the field after the ball along with the other girls, but she never made much contact with it.

“I just don’t like crowds.” she explained in the car taking a bite of her post-game granola bar. “I want to be a goalie. There are no crowds near the goalie.” 

Next game, Hadley went right up to her coach and asked to be goalie. Suddenly, she was pinny adorned and gloved at the goal. She was alone, nowhere near a crowd. She seemed to love it. She asked to play goalie many games following. 

If it were me, I’d crack under the sheer pressure of the ball coming my way, but not Hadley. These girls are still learning defense and positions. As mentioned before, they just run back and forth after the ball. It seemed that rarely Hadley would have help as goalie from a defender or other team mate. They almost always weren’t near enough or ready. So Hadley had many times where it was completely up to her to stop the other team from scoring a goal. Sometimes she did, sometimes she didn’t. 

She also enjoyed playing defender, although she didn’t give as much power in her kicks to clear the ball away as one might hope to see. She enjoyed not being in the midst of the chaos or the middle of the pack, she preferred to linger back to help the goalie. 

I wonder if this is why she divides up her time with friends? Maybe all of them at once seem too much like “I don’t like crowds.”  Yet, they all want to be with her. She craves meaningful connection, conversation, laughter and jokes. Sometimes that’s hard to share among a big group, but much easier one-on-one or with a couple of friends. 

She doesn’t mind being on the perimeter or staying back. I don’t mind her being there either, because I know she won’t be alone for long. As far as her soccer skills and confidence,  these are things that will only get better and build with time. She’s up for playing again next year as long as she’s on a team with some friends again. She has settled on defender as her favorite position. 

“I help out the goalie because I know what it feels like to be the goalie and not get help. I’m good at helping.” 


I sneak back into her bedroom to turn off her lamp. Now asleep, she clutches three different kinds of owl stuffies and her blankets. I look closely at her closed eyelids, long lashes hover over the tops of her cheeks. For a second I see a glimpse of her face as a baby before it morphs back into one of a young girl’s. 

“I don’t like crowds.” 

I’m afraid, sweet girl, that you might have a crowd following you wherever you go. It’s a good thing you can schedule, coordinate, and make each person feel included, because as much as you might want to be a goalie alone or watch from the sides, I’m not sure that’s what God has in mind for you. I’m not sure that’s where you’ll shine. It might be. But it just might be that you were meant to be right in the middle of it all, able to make room on the edge for a friend and recall the details about what makes them special.

Blank Black Canvas

/ Kayleen Terrell / 1 Comment

I’m staring at my blank TV screen this evening as I write this reflection. The black rectangular wall-hanging sits there increasingly intrusive in my living room with every click of my keys, but I don’t mind. It has been three weeks since no TV and things are going well! I’ve been able to use this time in the evenings in a variety of ways. There have been some observations of my own behavior during these first three weeks of 2022, in which I’ll share now. 

Some nights, I feel super productive. Examples of productive activities have included but aren’t limited to: going through my kids’ art and also re-categorizing our books.

Other nights, I am not so productive in the organizing or decluttering realm, but at least I am being unproductive while not watching TV. 

I downloaded an Audiobook app and have yet to start listening to any books. What do I do while I listen?

My husband and I have had some great discussions in the evenings. We’ve even traded back rubs and listened to a podcast for a couple nights in a row. 

My daughter created a homework packet for me to complete, which I am very much looking forward to. 

News Flash!!!! Avoidance of hard tasks still exists even without TV. Ugh, I was really hoping this wasn’t the case.  I have progress letters for work due in a little over a week that I have yet to start and I’ve only worked on my personal writing a couple nights this month. I’m finding it’s easy to replace one bad habit with another. 

For example, I find myself scrolling my phone and checking Instagram a lot more often. There have been some nights where I have just spent time on my phone instead of doing anything. But, at least I’m not watching TV, right?

Even in spite of avoidance tactics getting the best of me many nights, I have been Inspired by books I’ve been reading and podcasts I’ve listened to. I’ve listened to some writers, creatives, and entrepreneurs on podcasts who all started out in their journey by doing something consistently.  For many, it was writing. 

Ruth Chou Simons shared on her new podcast that before establishing GraceLaced, she had started out writing in her blog every single night. She said she missed shows like, The Office and Parenthood completely because she was writing. This of course reminded me of the TV shows I might be missing, but this also reminded me of what a gift this time in the evening is to write or create content. Being consistent with writing can lead to more opportunities for creative growth and work.  

These first several weeks are all about feeling out this evening time. I have created this space in my life by taking out TV, which is wonderful! However, I need to be careful. I need to be careful to not let new bad habits replace the old. I need to be careful to not let so-called productive tasks, such as organizing my spice cabinet, turn out to be another avoidance “activity,” keeping me from difficult, creative work. 

I am going to continue looking for what inspires, ignites, and fills me with joy in these forgotten evening hours. Some nights probably will be wasted. Some nights that I might think were a waste, could turn out to be a stepping stone for something greater. 

My husband mentioned to me the other night with the sweetest of intentions, “You can watch TV, you know. You don’t have to do this.” This was a night where I didn’t quite know what to do with myself and was in bed scrolling absentmindedly on my phone. I’m pretty sure I kept interrupting his reading with small talk and sighs of bored discontent. 

“I want to.” I replied assuredly. “I really do.”  I know there’s more. More out there waiting to fill this gift of space and time. I’m trying to figure it out. I’m working on it. 

In the meantime, the TV screen stays off. This blank black canvas hanging on my wall craves to be filled or covered with something meaningful. This new, empty space craves to be used with purpose. 

The question is, what?

2022: The Year of No TV?

/ Kayleen Terrell / 1 Comment

I settled on the couch with my favorite blanket and fresh cup of tea, exhaling a sigh of relief knowing the kids were in bed (for the moment at least). After searching for a good minute, I found the remote in it’s failed attempt to hide behind the back cushion. I clicked on the TV and stretched my legs, resting my feet up on the ottoman. 

“Where do I start?” I thought to myself. Netflix, Hulu, Disney+, Amazon Prime, HBO Max, regular TV (Ha! Yeah right). There were so many choices, almost too many. I settled upon Netflix. Scroll down, down, down. Scroll across, across, across. Seen it, nope, seen it, nope, kid show, kid show, nope, seen it…and on it went. 

“What if we watch no TV in 2022?”

“Huh?!” I stopped my incessant scrolling, and looked bewildered at my husband who was laying with his back up against the corner of our L-shaped couch. “No TV?” I restated bleakly. “You mean like limit the number of days a week or maybe only watch it when something really good is on?”

“No. No TV, period. For the whole year.”

As my mind processed the meaning of this, I quickly jumped to putting a stop to the madness by any means necessary. “What about movies? Sports? Seahawks? Sounders? You know you love the Sounders!” I took a sip of my tea triumphantly. I knew I had him there.

“I’ll listen to them on the radio.” He continued on, “think about how much time we waste every single night. We hardly ever find anything good. I feel dumber just sitting here.” He gestured his hands out and gave a shrug, his shoulders slouching as a representation of how he felt. 

“I’ll think about it.” I responded casually, lifting my blanket higher to cover my shoulders and reconvened the mindless scrolling for something to watch. 

My husband and I love New Year’s goals. We sit down at the end of each year and write a list of goals and what we want to accomplish for the next. “Read 10 books, run 400 miles, eat leftovers instead of throwing them out…” to name a few. Most of them don’t happen or fully come to fruition. But some do. Sometimes they alter throughout the year as our perspective or situation changes. We have a lot of conversations about these goals and why we want to do them. 

Admittedly at first, I was not fully on board with this no TV in 2022 proposal,  but I was very intrigued by the suggestion. I liked the idea of us having a goal together. 

The more I’ve thought about this, no TV goal, the more exhilarated I’ve become. This is a goal in itself that will lead to more likely success of other goals.

I guess it really just comes down to the fact that at the end of the day, most of the time, both Jordan and I feel we have so much more to give. At thirty-seven years old, we don’t feel like calling it in, sitting like a stump in front of the television every night. Most of the time, we can’t find anything to watch anyway, and we end up watching reruns of our favorite shows. 

It used to be that we were so exhausted by the end of the day, it was all we could do to just sit there. It was a different time, the kids were younger, work was harder. But now, honestly most nights I feel I could do more. My mind is still going and my body still has a little steam, but it sometimes feels wasted on the couch. I try to multitask in front of the TV but then I just suck at both things and am not really present in either one.

 If there are nights when we are super exhausted and I know there is and will be, then it’s probably a good night to just go to bed instead of checking out in front of the TV anyway.  

Something you might be wondering, will our kids also have no TV in 2022? The answer is, no. We will not make them participate in this goal with us. We try to limit their TV anyway and we don’t feel it’s right to make them do a goal with us when it’s us who really want to change. This seems like one of those times where leading by example might be more effective than making them give up something because we said so. We will still enjoy our family movie night on Fridays together too! 

Every night though, our kids see us watching TV and I think they’ve grown up thinking that this is what adults do. I really want them to see that this doesn’t have to be the case. There are better ways to spend time in the evenings. If they see us reading, writing, working in the yard (as the summer months lend us more evening light) taking a walk, doing a puzzle, etc., they will realize there is more to life than watching TV each night. I hope they see as human beings, we were created for more. We are meant for more. 

It’s not about what we need to add to our plates this year. It’s about cutting out what is not important. Cutting out what is holding us back from becoming the best version of ourselves. One of my favorite quotes from this past year has been by James Clear, “In many cases, improvement is not about doing more things right, but about doing less things wrong. Don’t look for things to add. Look for things to eliminate.”

I’m so proud of my husband. He has gone a full year without a single drink of alcohol. He did not slip once in 2021.  He did not do it because he had a problem with alcohol, but he did it for many reasons. He wanted to be healthier, more present, more aware, and more engaged. He eliminated something that was a hindrance in his ability to improve and be the best version of himself. 

We are eliminating TV in 2022. We are taking advantage of the time we’ve been given and using it to create something beautiful and find better versions of ourselves. 

I’ll still have my softest blanket and cup of tea with me at the end of the night, but instead of searching for that remote, I’ll have spent my time reading something or learning something. I’ll have moved or done something, I’ll have created something. I’ll have discovered something else that was hiding behind the cushion begging to be found. 

Happy New Year!!!~May you find what lights you up and eliminate what tries to snuff you out.~ 

When Pinecones are Life

/ Kayleen Terrell / 1 Comment

Dear John,

You turned five this past week. You are super pumped to be able to hold up one hand when asked how old you are. We measured your height today and you’ve had a little growth spurt the past six months. Your body is starting to catch up with your head… a little. 

A couple of weeks ago we went hiking in the Shelton View Forest with your buddy Luke and his mom Nicole. Nicole is my longest known and dearest friend. I’ve told you and Hadley the story of how Nicole and I met in kindergarten at Shelton View Elementary. 

After our exploration around the woods, and everyone’s imminent tumble or slip as we made our way down the ravine trail, we decided to check out the playground at Shelton View Elementary right next to the forest. 

You played a little at one of the play areas on the school’s campus and then we decided to walk around and find another one. Along the way, you slipped me a pinecone you had found. In a secret whisper you said to me, “this one is special because it’s green.” I wrapped my fingers around it and held it in my hand as we made our way to the other play area. 

As you, Luke, and Hadley played on the second playground, Nicole and I sat on the bench talking about what we remember from kindergarten. Was this the same playground? Did we run around in the wooded area over there? Was that our classroom just situated in the front corner with the view of the playground?

Coincidentally, I was your age when I started kindergarten at this very school where you were now playing. Also an August baby, I had just turned five. Thirty-ish years ago, I ran around that same playground and I was the same age you were now.  Your dad and I have decided to wait another year for you to start kindergarten for a myriad of reasons, which I can explain another time. 

As I flipped the pinecone round and round in my hand, I thought about how I am watching you play at an age that I once was. An age that I can actually remember some things from. I turned the green pinecone over and over in my palm more quickly as if replicating the rapid succession in which the years seem to have flown by since that time. Then I placed it on the bench in an attempt to make time stand still as I watched you play, even if for just a minute

On our trek back toward our car I realized that I had forgotten the green pinecone back on the bench.  

“Shoot, I forgot his pinecone on the bench,” I whispered to Nicole. “Hopefully, he won’t remember.”

Seconds later you pipe up, “Mom, where’s the green pinecone I gave you?” 

“I’m so sorry buddy. I left it on the bench. Let’s find you another one here.” Dozens of pinecones lay at our feet as we passed under a huge pine tree. 

“No!!!!! That one was special for you. It was green!!” you protested.  There were plenty of pinecones to go around under the tree where we stood. Lots of different shapes and sizes. But all brown. None of them are green like the one you had found before. 

Hadley, being the best big sister there is, immediately starts searching for the best pinecone. She found a huge one for you! You smiled and laughed at the size. All is forgiven regarding the green pinecone once the big one was in your hands. One problem though, Luke liked the giant pinecone too. Unfortunately, that is the only big one we see. 

Suddenly, tears ensue as he wants the big pinecone. Hadley fiercely reiterates the fact that she found it for you. You end up getting to keep your huge pinecone, but Luke is crushed. Meanwhile, the green pinecone sits lonely on the bench and I feel terrible for the pinecone grief I’ve created. 

I put the huge pinecone in the back of the car, since it likely has bugs hidden inside. Our goodbye is short and quick as we were never able to find a huge pinecone for Luke. He is still crying and pining away for a huge pinecone as Nicole tries to convince him that the pinecones belong in the forest. Later, we found out it took Luke quite a while to forget about the pinecone. 

Hours later, back at home I realize that the huge pinecone is still in the back of the car far from it’s forest home, forgotten by all except me (and maybe still Luke). I go out to retrieve it with visions of bugs escaping and lodging between the seats of our car or throwing themselves a beach party in the bits of sand left behind from our previous beach adventures. I get it and leave it on our porch. 

Weeks later and brittled by the sun, it is still there, untouched. Yet somehow, in that moment at the school playground, that pinecone was absolutely everything. I wonder if the green pinecone is still on the bench?

We’ve enjoyed our family bike rides this summer. You zip around pedaling on your two-wheeled bike like it’s not a big deal. You’ve acquired killer scrapes and scabs to prove you can handle anything the bike path throws your way. You are so tough and fast. You are amazing on your bike and you love it. We are getting you a new bike for your birthday as you already seem to be outgrowing this one. 

One night, only a few days after our Shelton View Forest pinecone ordeal, we were speeding along the sidewalk, our family of four with eight wheels, when suddenly you spot a pinecone on the sidewalk. Instantly, your love of pinecones was revived. Almost just as quickly as it was spotted, I heard and felt the crushing wood scales of the pinecone under my front tire. “Oh no!” I realized before it was too late. Just like that, your pinecone dreams were crushed and left there on the sidewalk. 

“Noooooo!” you screamed to a halt on your bike. “That was my pinecone! You ran over it!” as you flung your head and upper body over the front of your bike in complete despair like a sack of flour. 

Unlike the playground, there weren’t tons of pine cones around. We were on a sidewalk near a busy road.  Suddenly, one is spotted across the street. Your dad, makes note that the street is currently clear of cars and quickly pedals over to retrieve the loner pinecone. “Oh great,”  I think. “Getting hit by a car is totally worth this and again… it’s all my fault.” Instead of leaving behind the precious pinecone, this time like all your hopes and dreams, I had crushed it.

The new pinecone was retrieved and brought over to you. Immediately you are relieved and composed enough to be able to ride again. Of course, you don’t have a free hand, pocket or bike basket to put the precious pinecone in so your dad hands it to me. Again, I am left with a pinecone. In my pocket it goes. 

I can’t even tell you what happened to that pinecone. I think it made it home but it was totally forgotten about the minute your helmet was off your still-larger-than-average head. But it doesn’t matter. In those moments, as an almost five-year-old, those pinecones are life. 

John, you are a like a green pinecone. Special and uniquely made beyond comparison. There may be others that come along: big ones, cute little ones, ones filled with bugs, but none quite like you. I left the green pinecone there on the bench on the playground where my world as a five-year-old expanded and bloomed as I know yours will too. I pray you realize your importance and place in this world. I know things will get tougher than a lost or crushed pinecone. I will be here for you.

A few days ago, we came across some mini pinecones on our vacation. You picked up four and gifted one to each of us. It is then that I realized, I don’t need to keep the pinecones. There are endless amounts of them. They are like moments with you, sweet and gifted to me from the Father above. They pass quickly by and yet, there are so many more to come. So many more to find and treasure. Happy Birthday, John!

The Ultimate Act of Bravery

/ Kayleen Terrell / 2 Comments

We didn’t even know she was on the swing. It wasn’t until she made the walk from the tree swing up the stairs to the top of the deck and burst into tears, that we learned she had fallen off of it. She held in the pain and emotion the  whole walk up to us. It was only when she saw us that she quickly sputtered out the words, “Mom, Dad, I fell off the swing. I hurt my back and my wrist!” Hadley’s face reddened, lips quivered, and huge crocodile tears filled her sweet eyes as soon as she knew she had reached the safe place with us where we could help. 

Jordan scooped her up and held her on the outdoor couch. I immediately wanted to see her wrist and get some ice. Her little brother John, along the same lines as me, wanted to “take action,” and brought her blankets for her to hold. 

It made me grateful for my daughter. Her bravery, her vulnerability, and how she was surrounded by people who love her more than anything. 

I was five months pregnant with Hadley and teaching second grade, when an excited student ran up to the front of the classroom to tell me something at the end of the day. “Mrs. Terrell, Mrs. Terrell!” Right before she reached me, she tripped and fell right into my stomach. Hard.  

Panic rushed over me and my eyes widened but I quickly assured her, “it’s okay!” Although I wasn’t sure that it was. How hard of a hit is too hard on a pregnant belly? Had the baby felt anything? Should I go to the doctor?  I didn’t have much time to think about it because dismissal had come. I hurried kids to their buses and the parent pick-up area. 

I felt the tears stinging my eyes as I quickly rushed back to the safety and solitude of my after-school classroom. “Not at work, not at work. I will not cry at work.” I repeated to myself. Weakly, I forced myself to smile as I walked by parents, coworkers, other teachers hoping they wouldn’t notice. I was scared something was wrong and that the baby got hurt. I was also fearful that this may seem irrational or silly to some people, so I wanted to just be alone. 

Once I made it back to my room, I allowed the tears to come. One coworker had followed me back and came after me. “Kayleen, are you okay? I saw you walking back to your room. You looked upset.”

I had tried to walk bravely, to save face, but she knew. She noticed the facade. I was only trying to be brave to save face but I did not truly feel courageous.  Not only had my coworker noticed, but she then turned around, followed me back and spoke words of comfort and gave an encouraging hug. I hadn’t walked as bravely back to my classroom as I had wanted, although I tried. But my coworker did. She bravely turned around knowing all was not well, and came to check on me. 

After a call to my doctor and an explanation of the situation, all was okay. I didn’t need to come into the office. Hadley was born four months later, healthy as could be. Then almost seven years after that, she made that brave walk up to our deck and into our arms. 

Walking brave can look different for each person. Hadley walked to get to a safe place where she knew she’d be taken care of and loved. My coworker walked bravely following a hunch that I wasn’t okay and came to see me. Even though I couldn’t keep the tears away or keep a poker face down the school hall, I had walked bravely too or at least tried to. Walking brave doesn’t mean you don’t show emotion, but maybe it’s more about finding that place you can be vulnerable and let it out. Even if that place is simply inside you.

My Dad recently wrote regarding a writing prompt on bravery no less, about his battle with depression. He said, “Perhaps the most courageous thing I’ve ever done was come to face to face with my depression.” Although he had equated bravery with heroism, noting his ideal image of bravery was his father, my grandfather, who fought in WWII. However, he then came to the realization that bravery can take many forms and is experienced or traveled through varying ways in a person’s life. And while my grandfather had exuded bravery at what seems like it’s finest, and the men and women who daily put themselves on the line to protect our country are indeed courageous, what makes someone else’s battle or overcoming fear less so? 

I started reading The Lion, The Witch, and the Wardrobe by C.S. Lewis, to Hadley. I had found the book rummaging through a box of books in the garage and remembered how much I loved the story. I got excited to reread it and thought Hadley might like the story too. 

I remember the part where Aslan, the mighty lion walks bravely knowing he must die and sacrifice himself to save Edmund and ultimately everyone else. Parallels have been drawn between Aslan and Jesus. Jesus walked bravely to his death. He absolutely showed emotion. He showed vulnerability. Arguable, his walk to the cross was the ultimate example of “walking brave.”

I’ve thought a lot about how we’ve had to walk bravely these past several months. How brave Hadley has been embracing distance learning, not seeing her friends as often, not experiencing the typical back to school excitement. How I’ve tried to walk bravely for my kids and family, even though I face fears and anxiety planted by the uncertainty of the times we are in. 

I find a deep sense of relief and praise in knowing that Jesus was and is brave, and that is one less thing that I have to strive for or yearn to be. Because He is, I am.  

John will be the first to admit, more admittedly so at bedtime, “I am not brave.” 

He says this because he wants to sleep in our bed with us. Even after he is surrounded by stuffed animals, his blankie, and hallway light, he tells us,” I am not brave,” because we try to tell him he is. The other night, Jordan was having the same conversation with him that we tend to have most nights convincing him of his bravery. “Captain America is right here, Iron Man is right here…” Jordan lifts up each super hero stuffie and places them next to John. “Mom and Dad are right here, just in our room. Hadley is right here.”

“Jesus is right here.” John says pointing up to the ceiling. 

I think about the other times in our kids’ lives that they’ll need to be brave. C.S. Lewis said that, “Courage is not simply one of the virtues, but the form of every virtue at the testing point.” Hadley and John will have many testing points and many opportunities to walk bravely. I hope they will come to learn they can lean on Jesus in uncertainty. What was the testing point of God’s love? When Jesus died on the cross for us, the ultimate act of bravery. 

I Am There

/ Kayleen Terrell / 3 Comments

I was surprised at how well my husband and I handled our daughter’s first couple vomiting experiences. It was as if we each assumed our roles without needing to talk it through or practice the scenario. As if there is ever time in that type of situation, because you are almost never ready.

It is an unmistakable sound, the retching cough and gag, the acidic liquid chunks hitting the bottom of the bowl. The smell is unmistakable too. A rancid, partially broken down blended mix of the past day’s food and stomach acids. The putrid smelling liquid warms your hands though the bowl as you clutch it shakily. 

Vomit. An expected human bodily function to eliminate contaminated particles from our body. 

Expected, yet never ready, especially with young kids. Vomit isn’t the only thing that has come up without warning as my husband and I raise our kids. With the vomit at least we assumed our roles and we knew it would pass. After that first spew, we had somewhat of an idea of what would follow. But as we are neck deep in the throes of parenting young kids, sometimes we don’t have an idea of what is coming and we don’t really know what to expect next. 

It is an unmistakable feeling, wondering if you’ve handled a situation with your child correctly. Did I discipline correctly? Am I teaching them the way that’s best for them? The guilt is unmistakable too. I got too angry and yelled. My mouth spewed out commands and my face reddened. I didn’t follow through with what I said I would. My shoulders sink. Unsteadily, I sit down and ponder the best way to raise my children. 

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There are some great stories about my father-in-law that my husband has shared with me on multiple occasions. One story that my husband recalls is when he threw up over the side of his bunk bed when he was around eight (he was on the top bunk of course) and my father-in-law caught the vomit in his hands. That was just one of many vomit-catching moments of my father-in-law’s parenting life. Whenever one of his kids would vomit unexpectedly, he’d make a little cup with his hands together catching it all in one seemingly swift motion

I’ve always thought, “That’s it.” When I am a parent and I catch my kid’s vomit in my hands, I’ve arrived. I’ve become wise. I’ve reached the peak of all-knowing parental wisdom. 

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“Say bye to Grandma and Grandpa! Say goodbye to Nana and Papa!” I told Hadley as we quickly made our way off the ferry deck and down the stairs to our car.

 “Noooo!!” Hadley yelled, red-faced and cheeks wet with tears. The ferry ride back to Edmonds was short and as soon as the announcement was made, people quickly made their way back to the car deck below. Hadley had just spent the entire weekend with our extended family on Whidbey Island and she did not know the goodbye would be so quick. 

I buckled her in the car seat and decided to sit in the back with her to calm her down. She continued to scream and cry, just not quite ready for goodbye. Then suddenly, it came. I held out my hands cupping them together for the regurgitated Chex mix vomit. 

Catch. Shake. Wipe. 

Well, it’s safe to say, I’ve caught vomit in my hands at least a few times now and I’m here to tell you, I have not arrived. I am not the wise sagely mother I thought I would be. Instinctual perhaps, yes. One of my kids retches and I shoot out my hands and form a cup in front of their face and I remember my father-in-law with the story of his magical vomit-catching father hands. I instinctively hold out my hands. But this is not because I am wise, it’s because this is an impulse. Parenting seems to be more acting on impulse than wisdom lately. 

I came out of my daughter’s room after saying goodnight to find my husband sitting in the dark at the kitchen counter. 

“What are you doing?” I asked scrunching my brow. 

“Just thinking.” He paused and then continued, “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know if I’m doing any of this right. I think I came down too hard on her tonight.”

“I don’t know either.” I shrugged. I sat there next to him while my tea water boiled. We have caught the vomit with our hands and we still don’t know. 

The first few months after Hadley started kindergarten was admittedly a little rough at home. She’s been amazing at school and has no behavioral issues. She’s learning, forming friendships, and loves school. For that, we are grateful. She seems to be leveling out a little now that we are halfway through the year, but we’ve had our share of evening tantrums, which have included but are not limited to yelling, hitting, throwing, stomping, slamming, screaming and 6-year-old emotional logic. My husband calls it, “The Upside Down.” (Thank you, Stranger Things). 

We tell ourselves, “We’ve reached the point of no return, she’s in The Upside Down now and we can’t get her back.” 

We blame exhaustion, we blame her mind and body being on overload. I am glad she can let it out at home and she knows she’s safe and loved no matter what, but dealing with this behavior all too often has its wear. We aren’t ever really sure if we’ve handled the situation correctly, we try to use what we have in the moment, catching it with our hands if we have to. 

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Mom sat with me on the edge of my bed. Her hand rubbed my back and swept back strands of hair as I clutched the tin bowl in my hands. Hot dogs. We had eaten hot dogs for dinner that night. I hadn’t imagined I would see the same hot dog I ate for a second time. 

After throwing up hot dogs, it took me a while to ever eat them again. The smell was terrible. Mom didn’t let on and never even flinched, but I knew it was horrid. 

Sometimes you are ready. You know the vomit is coming and you are prepared for the purging of your child’s stomach. My mom was prepared for what came that night. She had the tin bowl ready to catch my mighty spew.

My father-in-law had no clue what was coming and he caught the vomit with his bare hands. 

Sometimes, we are prepared for what’s coming as parents and sometimes we aren’t. 

I’ve come to the realization that parenting is one part tin bowl- prepared, calm, ready, and one part cupping your hands together- instinctive, resourceful, and brave. We use one or the other sometimes alternating between both.  But whatever we use, we catch that damn vomit. 

However, what about the vomit that comes at night and ends up all over the bedding and rug? What then? No hands, no bowl, no preparedness or resourcefulness, just a disgusting mess to clean up without trying to vomit yourself as you gag from the stench. 

Well, I don’t know. I don’t have my tin bowl. I don’t have my hands ready. I don’t have anything. Except, I am there. I am there to clean up the mess, to draw the bath, change their clothes, stroke their hair, and say “It’s alright.” 

I am there. 

 

Boldness in 2020

/ Kayleen Terrell / Leave a comment

I always like to think of one word for the new year as a “theme,” going forward. One year it was present, because I wanted to be present and in the moment with my kids. Another year it was joy, because I wanted to find the joy in the everyday things of life. For 2020, there has been a word that has been on my mind the past couple weeks and that is, boldness.

 I recently read about the word boldness in my current favorite read, Brennan Manning’s, The Furious Longing of God, (I cannot get enough of this book and I have referenced it several times). 

He has a chapter on boldness in which he urges us to come to Jesus with boldness and state clearly what you need in prayer. It got me thinking about being bold in other aspects of life as well, not just in prayer. Admittedly, when I first read this chapter on boldness, I didn’t think it applied to me as much as it maybe did to someone else in my life. “Wow, they could really use some boldness,” I thought. And so maybe they could, but the more I thought about it, the more I began to realize, so could I.

There is a story in the gospel about Jesus restoring a blind man’s sight. Bartimaeus comes across Jesus along the roadside and calls out, “Jesus, Son of David, have mercy on me!”

Jesus stops and asks Bartimaeus to come to him. When the blind man comes closer, Jesus asks him, “What do you want me to do for you?”

Bartimaeus responds, “Lord, let me receive my sight” (Luke 18:35-43, Revised Standard Version). Brennan uses this as an example of boldness in his book. Bartimaeus at first doesn’t directly ask Jesus what he really wants. But after being prompted by Jesus, he boldly asks for his sight.

I loved my Synopsis of the Gospels class in college. I thoroughly enjoyed comparing the gospels and learning how the accounts of Jesus’ works were written differently. I kept my text book that we used in class to compare different accounts of the same story. I looked up the Bartimaeus’ story in my text and the healing of the blind man is written in Matthew, Mark and Luke. In reading each account of this story, words or parts are slightly different. However, what Jesus says in response to Bartimaeus is exactly the same in each of these three accounts, “What do you want me to do for you?”

I am encouraged this next year to seek Jesus boldly. To make my needs clearly known to Him. I also plan to look for other ways to be bold in my day to day life. Talking to someone new or even just be the first to initiate an important conversation, continued work on my writing and submitting it to other outlets, are just a couple ways I can think of to be bold. Thinking about boldness and how it applies to motherhood is another challenge I gladly accept. 

So I am also encouraging you to be bold if you need that in this new year. If this is applicable to you in your walk with God, then let it be so.  Jesus is asking you, “What do you want me to do for you?” Don’t be afraid to really put it out there and state boldly what it is you need. Think of Bartimaeus and his bold request for sight. 

If this is applicable in your life to be bold where you haven’t been, then do so. It might be that what you are asking of Jesus requires you to in fact be bold and make some things happen in your own life. Take the risk, make the first step, and go boldly in 2020. Happy New Year!