Survival swim lessons. I haven’t always known they existed. But from the moment I did, I have always been an advocate for these lessons. ALWAYS. Even when my children were just twinkles in my eyes, I knew that I knew that I knew… one day these lessons would train them, empower them, rescue them. According to the USA Swimming Foundation, drowning is the leading cause of unintentional death in children ages 1-4 nationwide. Last summer, at least 163 children under the age of fifteen fatally drowned in swimming pools or spas. And the state with the highest number of drownings last year — Florida. Those statistics hurt my heart. The…
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All I Need to Know I Learned From a Child
The lessons we teach our children are loud and purposeful; the lessons children teach us are quiet and powerful. Little hearts, beating with simple joy. Little eyes, twinkling at the magical mundane. The smallest among us, imparting the biggest wisdom. Without any effort or expectation. Time and time again. They live and grow; we watch and grow. It’s a beautiful exchange. Our baby girl — she recently spent two nights in the local children’s hospital. Reactive airway disease (baby asthma) coupled with viral pneumonia generated the perfect storm inside her tiny body. It took all she had to gather precious oxygen. Wires entangled her. Machines beeped. Medical staff hustled. And…
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Bathroom Besties
Dear Mom Who Just Wants to Brush Her Teeth and Maybe Apply Some Wrinkle Cream, Your bathroom is fascinating. You are fascinating. You + your bathroom = so ridiculously fascinating. Plus there’s that mysterious magnetic force that yanks your children from Point A (any place inside your house) to Point B (your fascinating bathroom) at the faintest dripdripdrip of the faucet. BAM! There they are. Flush any hope of alone time down the john. Your wide-eyed audience awaits you. So grab them a couple step stools and a palette of washable face paint… and embrace the fact that a “kitty cat” and “monster truck” love you and won’t always find…
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Martha and Mary
I’m a Martha. A present-day, New Testament Martha. Here’s what I mean… As Jesus and his disciples were on their way, he came to a village where a woman named Martha opened her home to him. She had a sister called Mary, who sat at the Lord’s feet listening to what he said. But Martha was distracted by all the preparations that had to be made. She came to him and asked, “Lord, don’t you care that my sister has left me to do the work by myself? Tell her to help me!” “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered, “you are worried and upset about many things, but only one thing…
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It’s Okay If You’re Not Okay
“Please let me be the first to punch the next person who tells you everything happens for a reason.” I saw this recently and had to chuckle. Its adversary — “Everything happens for a reason”— has always been my jam. I mean, who doesn’t appreciate a glass half full mentality, right? I’m a gal who tries to throw optimism like confetti. Happy, happy, joy, joy. Lemons = lemonade. But apparently, there are highly-annoyed individuals ready to sock me in the nose. Ack! I get it, though. I do. No one wants to hear Miss Positive Pants celebrate every cloud’s silver lining… when some clouds are in fact dark and gray…
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The “Mother’s Kiss”
It was bound to happen, and this morning… it did. A foreign object up the nose. More specifically, a Cheerio — lodged in the right nostril of our “curious” three year old. First I heard an “ehhhhhhhh,” which left me more annoyed than alarmed, considering lil’ guy has recently become fluent in Whine. Then he informed me that a piece of cereal had found its way into one of his orifices. I felt a twinge of mommy guilt… and I leapt into action. I knew EXACTLY what to do. No really, I did! You see, just three days ago a friend shared a video claiming, “This Weird Parenting Hack Can…
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Betweeners
I was born in 1978 (BIG party this October). I grew up in the 80’s… officially became an adult in the 90’s… and continue to do adult(ish) things in the 2000’s. Gather ‘round fellow folks of this fine generation. I coined a name for us. “Betweeners.” Our time in history has positioned us between two very real realities — We were once kids in a world without oodles of technology… now raising kids in a world with OODLES of technology. It’s a tricky fence to straddle. Neither reality is necessarily better or more affording than the other. Just different. Very, very different. And I truly believe Betweeners do our darnedest…
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The Good Old Days
“Someday soon, your whole life’s gonna change. You’ll miss the magic of these good old days.” Thank you Macklemore and Kesha, for giving this heart something to ponder. The good old days. They become sentimentally vivid when we peer at them through hindsight. The word “old” inferring they happened once upon a lovely time. And what we wouldn’t give to be momentarily back there — fully present, fully aware. So we think about them. Our good old days. Yours. Mine. And with beautiful clarity, we remember how really, really GOOD they really, really were. But… what if? What if on this day, right here and right now, you are actually…
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Heaven
Heaven. It’s a beautiful mystery. Our finite minds — as hard as we may try — cannot comprehend its glorious infinity. “It would be like trying to describe the Internet to an ant,” Rick Warren says. So I will walk by faith — a faith susceptible to wavering, but a faith that is oh so strong. As though I’m crossing a balance beam, and I lose my footing. My arms flail, my body teeters, but my toes curl tight. And I hang on… knowing a mighty spotter is there if I fall. I lean not on my own understanding; I cling to amazing grace. How sweet the sound. A couple…
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Tomorrow – A New Year
Brad Paisley. Not only does he create incredible country music, but he also formulated a pretty rad quote for the New Year. “Tomorrow is the first blank page of a 365 page book. Write a good one.” A good one. A New York Times best seller. A year’s worth of jubilation; a really cool page 134; a string of well-written pages you can’t help but dog-ear and reread over and over again. That’s my wish for your 2018 story. But I know. Volume 2017 or 2015 or 1995 sits on the shelf as proof that sometimes, mid-sentence, life can snatch the pen from your hand and scribble on the pages…
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Who Are Your People?
Who are your people? In a world of seven billion — they are yours, and you are theirs. Aligned perfectly by space and time and design. Nothing, not one thing, more valuable. Who? Be near to them, in every way. Put down your phone; look at them. Laugh with them, be silly with them, wrap them in your arms. Give them YOU, every single drop. (They’re thirsty for that.) And while you’re at it… Savor your new people; miss your old people. Say “I love you.” Show “I love you.” Make each moment count, because that’s what life is — an accumulation of moments. And at the heart of it…
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It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas
Whelp. It’s officially Thanksgiving week, so it’s basically Christmas. Salvation Army bells are ringing. Homes are transforming into gingerbread houses. And holiday decor hit the shelves before our kids could even say “Trick or treat!” As I ran a few errands yesterday, I felt a ping of anxiety — actually more like a POW!WHAM!BOOM! — possibly triggered by the plethora of Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer nicknacks in Target’s Dollar Spot. I’m certain they were taunting me… “You’re not ready! You’re never gonna be ready! Nana Nana Boo Boo!” OMG. The abominable snow monster and Hermey-the-wannabe-dentist had me pegged! Don’t get me wrong, my heart is one hundred percent ready for…
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What Lifts You?
#whatliftsyou When you step into those 20-foot wings, you can’t help but contemplate the hashtag. What is it that lifts you? Inspires you? Moves you, warms you, takes hold? If we decelerate enough to ponder it, I bet the answer could guide the trajectory of our day… our week… maybe our life. If we let it. #whatliftsyou A myriad of things hoist my heart to the sky— small things, big things, and things that aren’t things. I’m lifted by a heckuva lot. For now, though, I will say GRATITUDE. Gratitude lifts me. It lifts me, and it simultaneously grounds me. I am so grateful. For people — how weird and…
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The Love is Equal
I’m guessing most parents do it. Probably teachers too. We call our children by every wrong name — our brains aimlessly flipping through the Rolodex — before landing on the child’s actual name. You know, the name they were given at birth, by which they have been addressed… I dunno… since always! “Stacy…… Keith….. Lesley….. Whoever You Are….. NATALIE!” Why does this happen? Are we THAT tired?!?! Once upon a time I heard a perfectly perfect explanation for this common slip of the tongue, and whether or not it’s supported by actual psychological research… who cares. I like it. We erroneously spew a string of incorrect names prior to [ding,…
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Three Under Five
A friend told me that writing is a lot like a time capsule — it provides tangible evidence of life’s accumulated moments. It enables the past to be present in the future. It helps us remember. So I write… because I want to remember. I want to remember THIS. Her, him, and her. At this age; at this time. I want to remember the enveloping fullness of having three children under the age of five. Three. Under five. Such hugeness in such littleness. Never in my life have I felt so bone-tired, so consumed, so stretched, so bonkers, so monotonous, and so daggone needed for… every… single… thing. It’s as…
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Birth Order – The Honest Truth
First child = Velvety soft highchair cover with an eye-popping chevron pattern; Sesame Street stick-on placemat with engaging educational designs; bright-colored toys that suction to the table and enhance hand-eye coordination; plant-based/hypoallergenic wipes; sippy cup connected to a no-drop leash, filled with purified nursery water; homemade puréed organic sweet potatoes; five extra bibs with catchy little phrases like “My cape is on backwards.” Second child = Placemat made of unfolded paper napkin; whatever Gerber baby food was on sale; hand-me-down teething toy that managed to survive the three-second rule. Third child = This.
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My Classroom of 3
Five years ago, I bid adieu to teaching. I instructed my last lesson, graded my last paper, and hugged my last student. A beautiful career of ten years under my belt — a beautiful growing baby under there too. It was time to be what I always wanted to be when I grew up. So I traded school for home and gratefully welcomed my new job title. Mommy. My classroom of 24 became a classroom of just one — with two new kiddos eventually added to the roster. My massive teacher salary (hardy har har) dwindled to a whopping $0.00. And my highly anticipated summers off… well, they were replaced…
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Row 7 Seat B
“The world’s greatest flyers fly American.” Umm, no — no they don’t. Not on July 5, 2017… and not in row 7 seat B. You see, we were THAT family with THAT kid. The “terrible 2’s” were in full effect… times one million trillion, and skydiving from 36,000 feet never sounded more appealing. I mean, who needs truck magnets, truck stickers, endless snacks, iPad games, or in-flight movies when it’s waaaaaaaay more fun to karate kick the TV monitor, clickclickclick the seatbelt buckle 924 times, say NO to ev–er–y–thing, open/close/open/close the tray table, refuse to remain seated, lose all vertebrae function when placed back in the seat, fall out of…
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Zuka-Zama!
Remember Timon and Pumbaa from The Lion King? Recall their problem-free philosophy? It was simple, really. No worries for the rest of your days. HAKUNA MATATA! A catchy phrase that probably got stuck in your head. A mantra I surely need tattooed on my arm or displayed on Post-it notes around my house… as a constant reminder to chill the *bleep* out. No worries? For the REST of my days?? Man am I thirsty for a tall glass of that. (And I betcha I have a buttload of drinking buddies out there.) Well did you know? This dynamic meerkat/warthog Disney duo has an adoptive nephew, and let’s just say —…
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Full Hands, Full Heart
Two lovely older ladies and I crossed paths during a neighborhood walk this morning. My preschooler and toddler were in the double stroller, and my infant was strapped to my chest. With loving-kindness (and perhaps a dose of pity) in their voices, the ladies remarked… “Gosh, you sure have your hands full.” It’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Actually, I’ve heard it on the regular lately. At the grocery store… on the soccer field… in the doctor’s office… at the park… and pretty much anywhere I’m spotted with my three kids in tow. [How disheveled do I look, y’all?!] Each time it’s the same observation, “You really have…