grace

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 

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.

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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. 

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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.

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!

How to Stay Sane During Cold and Flu Season

/ Kayleen Terrell / Leave a comment

Fall is my favorite time of year. I love how the landscape changes its palette of colors, the crispness that settles in the air, the new routines, and excitement of the unknown as school and other activities begin. There is one thing about fall however, that I one hundred percent despise, and that is the start of the cold and flu season

I hate during fall and winter when my kids are sick. When they have constant runny noses or a cough that lasts for what seems like weeks, I loathe that whatever they end up catching, I will likely end up catching. The sickness season always seems to hit my family pretty hard initially. Last year, we all caught a cold that came with a side of viral eye infections. My son and husband couldn’t even make Thanksgiving dinner at my parents house. 

This year, it was a stomach bug. Within a span of about two weeks, this nasty stomach virus circulated through everyone in our family mid-October. This was shortly followed by a cold virus. A shot of stomach virus quickly followed by a chaser of cold virus was not an easy combination to take. 

My husband and I joke that my daughter is always patient zero. She comes home from school with all sorts of germs and invisible nastiness. No matter how hard I try, I can never keep all the sickness away. 

Over the past couple years as we have survived cold and flu season, I have learned some useful tips that have helped keep me sane. 

Don’t Blame Yourself 

This is a big one. Every year when our first round of sickness hits, I ask myself, “Is it me? Am I doing something wrong?  Why my kids always get sick? Other friends’ kids seem healthy and mine are already battling the invisible germs and viruses.”

My mind is a continual feed of questions and self-doubt. “My kids probably don’t eat enough spinach or kale. That has to be it. Maybe we were overly aware of germs and hand washing/sanitizing when they were babies and now we are paying the price? Maybe I didn’t teach my daughter how to wash her hands well enough? Maybe our house is too clean? Maybe it isn’t clean enough-we must have too much dust or maybe…we have mold!?!”

Each year, I go through this cycle of guilt, that it is somehow my fault and I always come to the realization that it is not. Sickness just happens. It always will happen. Are there certain things we can do to help with the amount of sickness? Sure. But do I need to bang my head against the wall, wondering if it was because we didn’t wash our hands well enough after coming home from the park? No. All we can do as parents is try our best to teach good cleanliness habits to our kids and even with all that in place, sickness can still happen. 

So to sum up: don’t blame yourself, sickness just happens. 

Do Have a Basket of Remedies 

This leads me to my next tip. When sickness happens in your household and despite your best efforts, it will, I find it is best to be prepared with the necessary medicines and comforts. 

I have a hard time with daily living when I have a cluttered kitchen counter but when someone or multiple people are sick in the household, it seems not only necessary but convenient to have medicines, teas, rubs, and oils out where we can access them easily. 

Two years ago, I just grabbed an extra basket and started sticking in the essentials as I used them. I ended up with this collection of remedies in a basket on my kitchen counter. Our basket includes items such as Tylenol, chest rub, eucalyptus essential oil, honey lollipops and so on.  I also have some things stocked in there for my husband and I as well such as Nuun tablets and Emergen-C packets. 

Jordan and I tend to feel bad and buy kids gifts each time they are sick (especially if they are really sick). This can add up though, so I’d like to try creating a basket or container tucked away with small toys or activities for when they are sick.  This is something I am still working on. 

I am not a big fan of slime, but it provided some good hours of entertainment for the kids while we were all under the weather in October. Since, they don’t usually play with it, this was something special that kept them occupied for a long time. Then I tossed it, never to be seen again. Nonetheless, I was glad I had something new to bring out that kept them occupied. 

Don’t Go Overkill With Cleaning and Sanitizing

Guilty. With the stomach virus earlier this season, I bleached, wiped, washed my hands until they were cracked and bleeding, washed bedding with hot water, and we all still got sick, save for Grandma and Grandpa who just stayed away (Thank God)!

This circulates back to my first idea that sickness just happens and despite your best efforts, there is sometimes nothing you can do to prevent it from happening. 

I guess what I really want to say is you can clean and try your best to sanitize but don’t be a crazy maniac about it. It might be better to just take the restful moments you have (if any) and sit. Cuddle up with the kids and watch the movie. Make that cup of tea. Take the nap. I am the worst at this, but I am trying. 

Take Advantage of When Your Family is Healthy

I’m a pretty hardcore introvert. I have to be cooped up in my house a long time before it really starts to wear on me. Even as a homebody at heart, dealing with sickness, yours or your spouse or kids, day in and day out for a while, can be hard. I am one of those people where I am fine, until I am totally not fine and I burst. 

So I have to say to myself and now I am saying to you, introvert or not, take advantage of when you are healthy. Say yes to those playdates, those get togethers, or when your husband suggests the whole family go out and do something. Take your daughter to her friend’s pool party and go down the waterslide with her as many times as she wants. Say yes to getting together with other couples, even though you might have the strong urge to take a raincheck and stay in. Say yes because there might be a day in about three weeks when you are neck deep in vomit and you just want the hell out. 

Stay healthy friends. It is likely though that you won’t, so I hope these little tips are encouraging. 

___________________________________

Here are a few of my favorite countertop basket items:

–Zarbees baby soothing chest rub: made with eucalyptus, lavender and beeswax

–Nuun hydration tablets: these were a lifesaver for me after the stomach virus. Very little sugar unlike other electrolyte drinks. 

–Oilogic Stuffy Nose and Cough Vapor Bath: bubbles that help kids breath (yes, please). If you can’t find the bath bubbles, I like the epsom salt too. 

-PRI Manuka Honey Lemon Honey Lollipops: I don’t know if these really help a sore throat, but my kids love them and they are special treat when they are sick. 

The Fury of Fall

/ Kayleen Terrell / Leave a comment

Early fall can be a confusing time in the Pacific Northwest. Hail has been known to pelt down on my car as I drive home from work, while the sun simultaneously shines in my face and glistens the wet road.

I’m cozily wrapped in a sweater to fight the morning chill, yet by afternoon, I’m peeling off layers as the sticky sweat of summer seems to linger on my skin. 

This time of year is a majestic paradox of stormy and beautiful, cold and hot, fast and slow,  all mixed together. Patches of green, yellow, brown and hints of red, paint the landscape. The lawn’s grass still grows wildly as the trees begin to lazily litter their leaves upon it. 

My family and I begin to find our rhythm again that we lost in the blur of summer. Back to school routines, shorter days, and the thought of a warm home-cooked meal, offer a welcomed permission to curl up in a blanket and crack open a good book. 

Yet, the beginning of fall is hectic. Mornings are a repeated reel of breakfast, getting dressed, brushing teeth, packing lunch, and heading out the door to catch the bus. 

It’s a constant ebb and flow of keeping up our urgent, fast-paced schedules, while also finding the time to drink that cup of tea and bake fresh banana bread. I often figure out dinner on my way home from work and it’s all I can do to just get the kids in the bath before piling into bed, Yet, there are those afternoons where the clouds roll in beckoning us indoors for games and hot drinks. There are those mornings where a candle is lit,  the sweatshirt stays on, and the second cup of coffee is sipped. 

I find myself lost in the variety that early fall offers us. Stressed one minute, totally calm and relaxed the next, I’m as unsettled and undecided as the weather. One thing, however, remains constant among the changing seasons and that is God’s longing for us. 

I heard a song recently called, “Reckless Love,” by I AM THEY. The lyrics of this song struck a chord with me so vividly, I’ve had it playing on repeat in the car for days. As the chorus echoes in my car speakers, I’m relieved at the reminder the song has provided me: 

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God

Oh, it chases me down, fights ’til I’m found, leaves the ninety-nine

And I couldn’t earn it, I don’t deserve it, still, You give Yourself away

Oh, the overwhelming, never-ending, reckless love of God, yeah

The message in these lyrics that resonated with me is that the Father’s love is never-ending. It is not something we can earn or deserve and there is something extraordinarily peaceful about that thought. No matter the mistakes we make, how selfish we are, or how tired we might feel, God’s love chases us down and is given freely, without a second thought. 

<<<

My husband and I sometimes get into this routine at night where we watch a show together but we are sitting in different places in the room. He’ll take the comfortable recliner and I always gravitate towards the end of the couch where I can put my drink, snacks, or whatever I am working on, on the table next to me. The other night, I looked up at him and realized that I really wanted him on the couch with me. I didn’t need him to come rub my feet or share my snack, I just wanted him near. 

 “Come sit by me.” I told him. 

“Why, what do you want?” He replied jokingly. He came over and sat by me bringing his Costco-sized extra soft blanket with him. Nothing else had changed much except we were now in closer proximity, but It felt good. It felt better just to be by him. 

Sometimes I feel that’s all the Father wants is for me to just come and be near Him. “Come sit next to me,” He beckons. “I want to share this space with you. I want to be near to you. I don’t need anything other than your presence here with Me.”

<<<

With the start of the school year, I cherish the times my kids and I share before bed (the sweet times, not the I’m throwing a tantrum because kindergarten is so overly exhausting and I just need to sleep ASAP times). 

There’s a favorite story of ours, Muncha! Muncha! Muncha! by Candace Fleming. In the book, the main character Mr. McGreely has a lovely vegetable garden that he has worked really hard to grow. But of course, there are rabbits that keep sneaking in and eating all his vegetables. The story has a very Peter Rabbit vibe to it. 

So in attempts to solve his problem, Mr. McGreely builds all sorts of obstacles to block the rabbits from reaching the vegetables. 

However, the determined “flop ears,” keep getting in to the garden. During this whole debacle, one part in the story describes Mr. McGreely as furious. 

My 3-year-old son asked me one night, “Mom. what does furious mean?” 

“Really angry.”  I told him. “Mr. McGreely has worked really hard on growing his vegetables and no matter how much he tries, the rabbits keep getting in his garden and eating them.” I summarized.

“Oh.” John replied, his voice dropping an octave mid-word. 

My dad and I share a passion for reading. He and I have passed books back and forth to one another for many years. He recently passed a book on to me called The Furious Longing of God, by Brennan Manning. In this book, Brennan describes God’s relentless and intense love for us and uses the term, furious. 

Up until reading this book, I always thought of anger as the best synonym for furious, like I described to my son.  But now, when think of fury, I think of the intense and powerful longing love of God the Father. Brennan says, “God is sheer Being-in-Love and there was never a time when God was not love. The foundation of the furious longing of God is the Father who is originating Lover, the Son who is full self-expression of that Love, and the Spirit is the original and inexhaustible activity of that Love.” 

As I think of God in this way, it has transformed how I view this new season. Cold, frosty mornings with crispy yellow leaves hanging off tree branches and pink cotton candy sunrises are just skim off the surface of God’s beautiful love and longing. 

After school the other day, my daughter Hadley pulled out four fall leaves from her backpack. They were small and a vibrant red color with beautiful scalloped edges. 

“Hadley, these are beautiful!” I exclaimed. “Did you get these at school?”

“Yup.” She nodded with a grin. “Out on the playground. I thought you’d like them. “And look,” she pointed out, “ no rips, no holes, no tears. They are perfect.”

I’m not perfect. I’ve got lots of rips, holes and tears, but I’ve also got Jesus and his perfectly scalloped love and the Father’s vibrant, endless longing. 

<<<

We have had a couple thunderstorms this season already, which seems a bit unusual in the Pacific Northwest. My son is deathly afraid of thunder. He has many three-year-old fears, which he would gladly rattle off to you, but this one tops the list. Not only do we need to lay with him during the night when there is thunder, he also needs to be held by us. He needs one arm around him or our body up against his. Sometimes, he squeals or whimpers when the sky booms and other times, he is completely still, too frightened to even move or make a sound. 

I, on the other hand, love thunder. Thunder has always reminded me of the power of God and how mighty He is. It comforts me and reassures me of His magnificence. When the clouds roll in and the sky darkens, His fury, like that of the gathering storm, begin to reveal His greatness and bring me to a place of reverential awe. I’m reminded again of those lyrics and that He longs for us: 

There’s no shadow You won’t light up

Mountain You won’t climb up

Coming after me

There’s no wall You won’t kick down

Lie You won’t tear down

Coming after me

So let the end of September and the start of the fall continue to be a time of mixed up chaos and peace. Let it be a song about God’s never-ending love and longing for us.

When Things Get Hard

/ Kayleen Terrell / Leave a comment

“It looks great!”  I tried to reassure you. “Your, “a,” is touching the belt line and the foot line and it’s a complete circle! I’m going to draw a star next to this one because it’s my favorite.”

I swear I saw your eyes roll as I drew a star next to a little “a” in your handwriting book.  

“I don’t like it. I’m done with this stinky book!” you snapped. 

I sighed. So much for my “summer school” attempt. 

My sweet Hadley, I have had many conversations with you about what to do when things get hard. I always tell you, “when things get hard, that’s when our brain grows and that’s when we learn. If we aren’t ever challenged, we won’t ever learn. Things would just be easy and boring.”

I tried to explain to you that day that your ability to persevere is the important thing, even more so than a perfect, “a.” I’m not sure you wanted to hear it at the time or any of the other times we’ve talked about, “trying your best,” but my hope is that it will eventually stick. 

>>>

“I want Mama to do it,”  your two-and-half-year old brother irrecoverably yelled. His face was flushed and his red curls matted. A tired tear fell down one chubby cheek while both his hands clutched the hem of my shirt. 

“Okay. I’ll brush your teeth buddy, but you have to listen and do exactly as I say or Daddy will do it.” I wiped the tear off his cheek with my thumb. 

Brushing you and your brother’s teeth has always been one of my least favorite things to do, I fully admit to this. It has been a task your daddy sort of unknowingly assigned to himself, along with filing your fingernails, and washing your hair. He has a sort of tenderness and care for these necessary jobs that I just don’t seem to possess. 

Yet lately, John has only wanted me to brush his teeth. Why?!?!?  I brush too vigorously, I’m impatient, and I’m not as thorough. Yet, “I want Mama to do it!” has been a nightly chorus line chimed repeatedly at bedtime for the past several weeks. 

Brushing your teeth is hard! I don’t like it. But I do it (at least I do it when your dad can’t or he argues it’s my night to do so), otherwise you might end up with “green pirate teeth.” 

>>>

“I don’t ever want to be a mom!” you declared.

Your cheeks were pink and stained with tears as you lay on your bed, clutching your blankets, curled up in a fetal position. 

“It’s not fun!” you continued. “You never have any fun.” The sobbing persisted and I sat there on the edge of your bed. 

“Of course it’s fun!” I reassured you. “But being a mom can also can be hard. Sometimes that doesn’t look like fun, but it doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy it.” 

I wanted to tell you so many things that night, but sleep was definitely high on the priority list for you. You are also starting kindergarten next week and I have some additional thoughts on that I’d like to share.

Being a mother is the hardest thing I have ever done. It doesn’t stop being hard, I am beginning to gather. But I think the rewards and benefits of parenting begin to reveal themselves little by little. It’s as if life doesn’t want to give you too much sweetness at one time, so it rations it for you, making it last, helping you avoid a stomach ache. 

I must confess something to you. I don’t like when things are hard. I’ve never thought of myself as much of a “go getter.” I like to be comfortable. But motherhood is the singular thing that continues to be hard and it is the one thing I feel I have shown the most grit and perseverance for in my entire life.

I continue to get up each and every day and be a mother. Some days are hard, but it is a commitment I made and I am never giving up. I can never give up. This seems to me to be the very definition of having grit, perseverance, or “to keep going when the going gets tough.” So you see Hadley, if someone like me, can do one of the hardest tasks I’ve blessed with undertaking. I know, you can do hard things as well. 

Being a mom might not seem like its fun to you. That’s because I’m putting in a lot of hard work right now developing your character and helping build your sense of “what’s right,” in the world. I lay boundaries. I say no. I am not here so you can just have fun. I am here to raise you. I am here to help shape and mold who you are, this doesn’t always come out as fun, but believe me, it is rewarding. Being a mom is not easy, but it can be fun, despite what it may look like.

You are about to start kindergarten next week and so you’ll embark upon a long journey in school and education. I wanted to share some additional thoughts with you that I hope you’ll someday find helpful. 

It’s going to get hard. There are going to be some things you don’t know. There will be some people who aren’t entirely kind. 

You have some extraordinary gifts. You’re an encourager, you are empathetic. You tell your friends, “believe in yourself.”  You must tell yourself this as well. 

When your brother recently fell out of bed one night, you were quick to comfort and remind him, “It’s okay John. One time I rolled out of bed and my sheets came with me!” You chuckled and turned to your side, falling quickly asleep. 

My hope for you as you start your kindergarten year and things get hard (and I hope they do) is to remember this: Be the best you. There is no one else like you, Hadley. You’re it. You are the only you. God made you with care, paying attention to every detail. You are wonderfully made. 

Persevere,  just keep trying. You might not have the hang of something yet, but you will. Dory had it so right when she kept saying, “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.”

Be kind. Be patient. Continue to be the encouraging classmate who looks for someone who needs a friend. 

Most of all, try the hard thing. It might be saying “hi” to someone new, or taking the time to add details to your work. It might be to practice writing your lowercase letter “a.” But I promise you, the reward is worth the risk. Even if you fail. Because succeeding was never the reward in the first place, it was the effort put forth and that fact that you gave your all.

I hope you see when you are older, even though I wasn’t a big fan of brushing you and your brother’s teeth, that I did my best to raise you and I love you. I have grit when it comes to being your mom. I will keep coming back. I will wake up day after day, I will fight, I will not give up on you. Being a mom is my hard thing. You are the sweetest gift life has rationed to me.

Take the risk kid, write the lowercase “a.” Write it a million times, because soon it will become easy, it will become rote, and it will be shaped the way you’d always hoped it would be. 

 

Flawless, Youthful and Free

/ Kayleen Terrell / 1 Comment

My eyes open slowly. As I roll from my side onto my back, I let out a long cat-like stretch. I feel a slight afternoon breeze blow in from the window as I wipe the remaining drool off my cheek. I guess I fell asleep while the kids were napping again. Peeking at the monitor, I see they are both still asleep. Thank God. Maybe I still have some time to get a couple things done or just sit. Some glorious sitting sounds nice.  I sigh as I pick up my phone and start to scroll through my Instagram feed. Another flawless Instagram photo. She’s got on the perfect shade of lipstick, sun-kissed skin, smooth hair, and a seemingly effortlessly boho-chic outfit on. How does she take such perfect Instagram photos everytime? I swear to God she has a professional photographer following her around snapping pictures of her and her friends. Flawless, youthful and free.

I slide off the bed and adjust the stretchy waistband on my leggings, pick off a sock that clung to my leg, and toss it back into the clean laundry pile. I stop to look in the mirror as I walk by.  Inspired by the Instagram photo, I grab a lipstick and apply it lightly to my lips. Smack. There, much better.

I shuffle to the pantry and grab a pack of fruit snacks and then continue on to the kitchen counter pressing the Keurig power button. I lean against the counter as I wait for the water to warm and shove the fruit snacks into my mouth. I do not feel flawless, youthful or free. I feel very much flawed, tired and constrained.

***

Sometimes when my husband and I are driving anywhere close to the airport, I like to fantasize about going on a trip somewhere. In this fantasy, someone, a family member or friend, tell us that they will watch our kids for us starting right now for an extended number of days. But the kicker is we have to leave and go to the airport right then and there without packing or anything. So, naturally, with this offer of guilt-free childcare for several days with no strings attached, we head to the airport with nothing but the clothes we are wearing and our purse and wallet of course.

We can buy everything we need on the trip. We pick a tropical, warm destination like Hawaii or even So Cal will due. All I will need there is sunscreen, a swimsuit and a few sundresses. Easy. I’ll also be able to get a wax at the spa in the resort we stay at. I’ll even throw in a massage. We’ll be able to get our necessary toiletry items there as well.

At the airport, as we await our flight, I’ll pick up book and a few trashy magazines. Hours on a flight, with no one else to take care of, nothing else to do, I can just nap and read or chat with my husband.

This fantasy is so silly, but I find myself thinking about it from time to time (in detail- as you can clearly see). I know why. I miss the spontaneity that life before kids held. I miss the freedom. I miss me time or special time with my husband. There are obviously many things in the way of making this trip a reality. But this daydream drifts into my mind often.

***

I am beyond blessed with what’s been provided in my life.  But sometimes, even with the best of circumstances and best of what life has to offer, I find myself wanting more or wanting different. Whenever this happens for me, I seriously need to get myself in check. This can be a slippery slope that leads me to believe that what I have is not enough or not fulfilling. The lies and deceit start to scroll through my mind like an Instagram feed.

Social media is not truthful. I have to remind myself of that. However seemingly perfect a photo or life may appear, it absolutely is not. The same way that I find I’m envious of another’s situation, I am sure people may be of mine.

If I find myself in a dangerous zone of fantasizing too much or feeling sorrowful over the fact that I can’t hang out carefree poolside all day, I have to get out of it. It can affect my attitude, my outlook, and therefore possibly impacting my marriage and my children. There are some steps I can take in order to curb this downward spiral of self-pity.

Scripture. If I find myself in this place, I have to look back to what God’s word says. I love my Write the Word journal. The first thing each entry has me do is write what I am grateful for. This automatically causes me to shift over to positivity and reflection on the blessings God has placed in my life. It often only takes a few minutes of scripture reading and personal reflection to put things back in perspective or at least get my thoughts moving back in the right direction.

Self-care. I sometimes find that if I haven’t taken some action or essential steps to care for myself, it impacts me greatly. I tend to get lazy at self-care as a mom. For example, I have been out of my face moisturizer for days and I just keep putting on sunscreen in the morning instead. My face feels greasy and parched at the same time. I need to set aside a few minutes and order my face moisturizer! It’s the small things.

Yesterday, about three quarters through the day I realized my underwear was on inside out and I just left it that way for the rest of the day. I didn’t even take the time to turn them right side out or even just change my underwear! These are not big things. Wearing clothes properly and nourishing my skin.

Today I am wearing something I feel cute and comfortable in. I have showered, shaved my legs, and curled my hair. I made yummy turkey lettuce wraps for myself at lunch instead of eating my kids’ leftovers. It feels good. Self-care is essential.

Friends. Getting together with my friends or a friend (not just checking their Instagram feed or Facebook status) in-person either with kids or without,  refreshes me like you wouldn’t believe. Most of my friends are mothers and therefore totally understand this stage of life. We get to laugh, cry, talk, drink wine, and bask in understanding and grace from one another. My friends encourage, sympathize and smile. They help keep me grounded and sain.

I could go on with the things that get me back on track. Time away with my husband, even for an hour or two. A special activity with my kids. Giving myself time to write and reflect. Unplug from social media, even for a day. There are many things that help. I just need to be aware of when I am slipping into this place of discontentment and get started on something positive.

Flawed, tired and constrained? Should not be so. If I am ever feeling flawed-I must seek Jesus. He looks at my flaws or my own perceived flaws and sees beauty. He sees opportunity for grace and growth. If I am ever feeling tired-I shouldn’t feel guilty to take time for myself. If I don’t feel rested, clean or put-together, how will that transfer over to quality time with my kids or husband? If I am ever feeling constrained, I need to think about the blessings these little lives bring to our family and others. My kids aren’t here on earth just for me, but are here for His greater calling and purpose. I have been tasked with teaching them, nurturing them, and loving them.

Flawless, youthful, and free? Maybe not, but flawed, tired, constrained? How about no. I’m still reflecting about what my three words are or what I want to strive for them to be. What are your three words?