Heart

in the middle of the night

Filed Under: Every Day, Family, Motherhood

May12014

Last night around 11:00, Todd and I headed to bed. We had been watching Jimmy Fallon and Emma Stone’s lip syncing competition on You Tube and then watched Paul Rudd’s. We laughed and turned on the news and fell asleep.

At midnight, I woke up to the sound of Hayes crying on the monitor. We have a video monitor and I could tell that he was pretty upset just by looking at him. Todd went upstairs to cover him back up and tuck him in, and then he came back and went to sleep.

At 1:00, I heard him crying again. The same distraught cry. So I went upstairs and tucked him in this time.

At 1:45, it happened again, so Todd took him some Ibuprofen and held him for a while before tucking him back in.

At 3:00, Hayes was crying again. This time, I went up and help him and rocked him in my arms while standing up. I asked him if his throat hurt or his ears hurt, and he really didn’t respond. I tucked him back in and then at 3:30, it started again.

Todd went upstairs to get him and brought him back to our bed and put Hayes in the crook of my arm. He snoozed on and off in my arms for a while. All 40 pounds and three years old of him. I could feel his hot breath on my cheek. His legs stretched down almost as far as the tops of my knees. And while I lay there holding my baby, I flashed back to the last time we were up this many times in one night.

Hayes was just a few weeks old. I was getting up to feed him every couple of hours. I’d peel myself out of bed and feed him and sometimes struggle to feed him. I’d put him back to bed and he’d arch his back because the reflux hurt him so badly. And after a few minutes, I’d end up back in the bed, holding tiny 10-pound Hayes in the crook of my arm.

His little legs barely came down as far as my wrist and I was constantly waking myself up to make sure I didn’t roll over on him or to make sure he hadn’t spit up.

We went to the doctor this morning and Hayes has an ear infection, as we suspected. And I know that his cries were so important last night to tell us that something was wrong and something hurt.

How did three years fly by so quickly? How did all this time pass, but I still have that same feeling to comfort and protect while holding my youngest boy in my arms in such a sleepy haze. And it feels like no time has passed at all.

How is it possible that while holding this large preschooler, I could still feel that tiny boy that he once was, nestled in that same sweet spot?

All I wanted in that moment (aside from sleep and for Hayes to feel better) was to freeze time. It was a long night, but also such a sweet night as we approach his third birthday.

a sweet rhythm

Filed Under: Faith

Apr42014

I can’t believe that Hayes will be three in a month and Hudson will be five in two months. And that means that it has been three years since I’ve had a baby. Since I’ve carried a baby to term.

And, y’all. Life is in this super sweet spot. I don’t have tons of stories of meltdowns and tantrums. They cry and there are behavior issues, but the weary mom days are a thing of the past. (I’m almost laughing at myself for writing that. I’m absolutely going to regret writing that.)

They talk their heads off at the grocery store and I think people can hear Hayes from the other side of the store. They love to chase each other and push each other down. Hudson is in a phase where he doesn’t really ask for things, he just immediately jumps to whining and demanding things. But I feel like we’ve got a handle on this. I know that the seasons are fleeting.

Each season, I remind myself that I can fight a bear for a little while. So that bear may be the phase of grocery store parking lot meltdowns over fruit snacks. I’m fighting that bear. And I’m going to win. And I know that the end is near.

But right now, in this sweet spot, I’m loving all of our new freedoms.

We can travel as a family! We’ve always wanted to travel as a family.

We can go to the park on a moment’s notice without disrupting the schedule or sending someone into distress.

We can say “yes” to random requests like donuts for lunch or carriage rides in Charleston because the boys are old enough to handle change in routine.

We can go out to eat after church! I repeat… WE CAN GO OUT TO EAT AFTER CHURCH!

Hudson and Hayes will sit and entertain each other, and laugh and play while I cook dinner. I can cook dinner and stay relatively stress-free!

I should know better than to write something like this because Hayes is about to enter the “terrible threes” and we’ll potty train him in the next few weeks and move him to a big boy bed. The boat is going to be rocked and I’ll be kicking myself for ever admitting that things had actually gotten easy!

Hudson is about to start kindergarten and we’ll have a whole new adventure and set of issues that come from school work and routine and structure.

But here’s the truth. I want another baby. I want that boat to be rocked with sleepless nights and bottles and baby gear explosion. After last year’s miscarriage, though, I’ve been so afraid to try out of fear of rocking the boat. I want to rock it and I’m afraid to rock it. I’m afraid of disrupting the sweet spot and the tidy little rhythm we’ve established. And, of course, the fear of losing another baby is the most terrifying thing of all.

I know that as soon as I admit that it’s gotten easy and I’ve got this under control, I’ll quickly remember that I was never actually in control.

Motherhood is constantly changing and I’m just thankful that I can change and adapt with it, and enjoy the adventures in each new season. And every day I’m asking God for clear direction.

on pride and perfection

Filed Under: Faith

Jan152014

We all know that pride can be an ugly thing. But what I don’t always remember is that perfectionism can also be an ugly thing.

via Emily Ley

I’ve been feeling really good about being organized in 2014. We’ve been sticking to a budget. I’ve been planning meals and we’ve stuck to the meal plan. The laundry has been manageable and things are getting done.

And that feels good!

One of my favorite things is to sit down and map out the week. And this year Todd and I have been going on weekly breakfast dates to catch up and make sure we’re both up to speed when it comes to the family budget. We make sure we both know which nights we have a meeting at school or church, and which nights we’re eating at home. It gives us a good chance to sit and have uninterrupted conversations, too.

And I’ll admit, that I’ve been pretty proud of myself for getting it done.

Every week Hudson has a letter for the week, and on Fridays he brings in something that starts with that letter for Show and Tell. I picked him up on Friday after school and noticed a lot of things in the other kids’ cubbies that start with the letter P. We had spent all week talking about what he was going to bring that started with the letter P. And Friday morning came and I didn’t put his plane in his bag to take to school.

I felt awful about it. I apologized to him and he said, “it’s okay, Mommy. I found something in the classroom.” Oh that sweet boy.

We had a great weekend at home. We took it easy. We ate a crock pot meal. We watched Disney movies and played board games. On Saturday night, I laid out the boys’ clothes for church the next morning. And on Sunday morning, I took a shower, washed my hair, dried it and got dressed while Todd fed and dressed the boys for church.

We’re feeling pretty good. We’re on top of it. We’ve got it together. Until we walk into church and I immediately notice that the other kids are all wearing their pajamas. It’s Pajamas and Pancakes Sunday for the children’s ministry. And the sweet Carroll boys are in Sunday clothes.

My heart sank. Mostly for Hudson because Hayes really doesn’t know any better. But 4.5 year olds know these things. I wrapped him up and told him I was so sorry that we forgot, but I promised him that I would run home and get some jammies for him and bring them back to church.

I forgot pajama Sunday. I had everything written down for the week. But not show and tell. And not pajama Sunday. I had that feeling when I was driving home that I might cry. I was disappointed in myself for forgetting, and I was actually embarrassed that someone might think of me as the mom who let things fall through the cracks. The mom who didn’t have it together.

After rushing home and getting back to church, I helped Hudson change his clothes in the bathroom. I told him I was so sorry that we forgot. And he said, “Mommy, thank you for going to get my jammies. I’m so excited about pajama day.” I mean. Seriously.

I hugged him and apologized again, and he said, “It’s okay. It was Daddy’s fault. He dressed us.” And I just died laughing. (And couldn’t wait to tell Todd what Hudson said. Because we know it wasn’t Daddy’s fault.)

I may not always have the chance to fix my mistakes. I won’t always be able to run home to get the jammies. But that day I wanted him to know that it was important to me that he felt included.

I won’t always be able to make it right.

But I know two things to be true in this situation. My value and my worth are not found in how “together” my life is or may seem. And I need to check that pride at the door.

And I know that God’s grace covers me. Oh, and my little boy’s grace is pretty sweet, too.

a messy motherhood story for His glory

Filed Under: Faith, Motherhood

Nov202013

The other night I was standing in the kitchen trying to cook dinner while the boys were racing their Hot Wheels all around my feet. The dogs were barking, I was trying to listen to Christmas music (it’s never too early for Christmas music), and the boys were laughing. I was also doing my best not to drop food on them!

This happened to be one of the days that I decided to cook instead of having us eat leftovers. The laundry was done, but it certainly wasn’t folded or put away. Piles of mail and school “art projects” covered the kitchen counter tops.

And I heard my phone buzz.

It was a text from a sweet college friend who is the mom to a 2-year-old and an 11 week old. She asked me for a devotional recommendation, she said she was drowning, and she finally asked, “How do you keep it all together?”

And I just laughed. If only she could see the scene in my house.

I asked her what it was that she felt like wasn’t all together. She described the piles of laundry. The guest room had become a storage room for anything that they couldn’t get around to taking care of. There were piles of paper and there was the strong desire to get out and do one thing every day that was just for her.

And I decided to tell her what I should tell myself every day.

That anyone with an 11-week-old is excused from the piles. That those piles are not a reflection of what is in her heart. Things may look disheveled, but that doesn’t mean everything is falling apart. As long as the babies and mommy are healthy and happy, all the other things can wait.

I was telling her all of this while dinner was sizzling and Hudson drove a Hot Wheel over my foot while making car racing noises. And all I could do was laugh.

I can’t recall a day when I had all my ducks in a row. And I mean all the ducks. The laundry, the dishes, the breakfast, the dinner, the schedule, the baths. Every day I make a decision to let go of something. It is far, far from perfection.

If I only hold a toddler and play board games with my preschooler all day, the day was well spent.

Because I know with full confidence that everything is temporary. When I thought I’d never sleep again, my babies started sleeping. And when I thought we’d never be ready to potty train, he practically potty trained himself. When I thought that I’d never regain any semblance of normalcy and get those ducks in a row, my kids became a little more independent, and time was freed up for me to be me again.

But in the midst of the messes, my heart is full of gratitude and love. Those sweet boys are loud and they can push my patience. Sometimes I look around and think that my messy environment doesn’t look like me at all, with toys hidden in every nook in the house, and miniature masterpieces by my little artists covering the table. But it doesn’t reflect what’s in my heart. It’s just the reality of my beautiful blessings.

But I need the grace and unwavering love of Jesus to get me through each day. And that grace is a constant reminder that those things that I see as a mess aren’t the things He’s worried about. And they’re certainly not the things my boys are worried about.

My motherhood story is for His glory.

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