As I drove through the church parking lot tonight, tears streaming down my face, the lyrics of “Even If” by MercyMe ran through my mind.

“They say sometimes you win some
Sometimes you lose some
And right now, right now I’m losing bad”

Tonight was a ‘losing bad’ kind of night. Tim had met me at the church with the kids this evening on my way home from work. I had promised them last week that they could go to Awanas this week because of how well they had behaved. Since it was still early, we ate dinner at the church after Tim dropped them off. I should rephrase that, I ate dinner while they pushed the food around their plates. When it was time to go, C decided she didn’t want to, mainly because she didn’t want Big E hanging on her all night. Big E, however, was begging to go, saying he was going to be brave and that he couldn’t wait to be there with his friends and play games. Baby E started screaming because I threw away the plastic cup that he had crushed. He continued to scream for the next 30 minutes. (I’m not exaggerating, though I wish I was.) When I finally got Big E to his class and checked in, he sat with his cousins, while the other two were melting down. But when I looked back at Big E, I noticed he was crying as well. I pulled him aside and he said he was just too scared to be there without C, and she wouldn’t budge. So, I toyed with the idea of dropping Baby E in his class and sitting in Big E’s class so that he would be ok. I should have known this was a foolish plan based on how much Baby E was screaming, but I tried anyway… and failed. He threw an even bigger fit. So I made the decision to bring us all home and send everyone to bed.

This sent all three children into hysterics, and as I led them back to the car we vacillated between them screaming at me, refusing to move, and sulkily walking behind. When we got to the car, one of them refused to get in the car, screaming and screaming, so I grabbed them, and in my best mommy growl informed them in no uncertain terms that they needed to get in the car. This method worked, only for me to look up to see that the van next to me had their windows open and someone was sitting inside. Great, someone got to witness that whole exchange. Thankfully, yes thankfully, it was a friend of mine, and as I vented for a moment, my children continued to scream from inside the car. By the time we pulled away, I couldn’t hold it together any longer, I turned up the music, and I cried. I cried all the way home. I cried as the kids went inside. And I cried as Tim put them to bed.

When it was time for me to go into their room to say goodnight, C handed me the piece of paper she keeps taped to her wall. It’s the paper I drew for her long ago that says three things that I love about C. “C gives really good hugs,” “C loves Jesus,” and “C’s my best girl.” She handed it to me, and between tears she said that she couldn’t have it because it wasn’t made for her. I took her aside and asked her what she meant and she cried, “I’m not the best girl!!!!” My heart broke for her. I held her as she cried and explained that there was nothing in the world that she could do that would change the fact that she is MY best girl. That I love her so much, and she is so important to me. I held her for a little while as she cried, and when she was done I offered to put her drawing back on the wall. She wiped away her tears and we went back to her room.

That’s when Big E piped up that he felt very sad for me and he was afraid that I would move away from them and never see them again. Heart break number 2. I explained that could never happen, and that I loved him way too much to ever do anything like that.

Then Baby E got up and said, “Mommy, I have secret for you.” He then leaned toward me like he would whisper in my ear, but instead planted a small kiss on me.

Sin is messy guys. It’s messy when you are five and it’s mess when you are older too. It has no limitations. Not a day goes by that our thoughts and our actions do not damage someone, and usually it is the people closest to us that take the brunt. Sometimes I think about my own sin, my temper tantrums at God, and I secretly wonder if he’ll leave me and not return, or maybe I’m not as special as I thought I was, but ever so gently he holds me and he reminds me that there is nothing that I could do to make him run away, and that in his eyes, I am his best girl.

So while tonight was, ahem, a disaster and an embarrassment, I’m grateful my children went to bed reminded of how much they are loved, and hopefully will remember that choices have consequences and the tongue is a powerful weapon.

“I know You’re able and I know You can
Save through the fire with Your mighty hand
But even if You don’t
My hope is You alone”

These are the moments I hope they remember. 🙂

It’s 10:15 pm and I am exhausted. I want so desperately to be asleep. As I type I am dreaming about my nice, soft, comfy bed and my wonderful weighted blanket. But I’m not in my bed right now, and there’s a reason why.

The past few days Baby E has had a cold. With most kids, a cold isn’t much of a problem, but it doesn’t take long for a cold to settle into Baby E’s chest, and it can turn ugly pretty quickly. So the last few nights when I have heard him coughing, I have given him his inhaler just in case. This evening he sounded much better, but I gave him a pump to help him get to sleep, and we laid him down. When he finished the treatment he turned to me and said, “It’s spicy!” This is the first time he said that, so that makes me believe that before he was too congested to be able to smell or taste the albuterol. But not tonight, not only could he taste it, it went straight to his brain and heart. This child is WIDE awake. He’s running around like an Olympic sprinter, talking a mile a minute and laughing at everything. At the moment he is ‘helping’ Tim load and unload the van, and I can hear them through the window. I’m hoping he crashes soon and we get a little sleep!

In other news, it was back to school night for the big kids and we got to see their classrooms and talk with their teachers. They are both doing very well, and enjoying school immensely. I’m going to draw this to a close, as I hear Baby E talking Tim’s ear off downstairs. It’s going to be a long night, wish us luck! 🙂

The children were helping me bring the groceries into the kitchen this afternoon when I heard a very large clatter. I rounded the corner to see Big E sprawled on the ground, a bag of groceries in each hand, with one of them almost entirely underneath him. He laid there for a moment, a bit shocked before getting up. That’s when I noticed the bag that was underneath him was none other than the bag with the bread and eggs. Two 18-count containers of eggs. I checked on him, and then took the bag from his hands to examine the damage. Sure enough, even though it is hard to tell from the photo, nearly every egg was cracked. I had plans for those eggs this week… hard boiled eggs for lunches, omelettes for breakfast, but alas, they were unsalvageable. So this week, we are down thirty six eggs.

Six months ago, I’m pretty sure this would have had me in tears, frustrated with the unfairness of this ridiculous setback, and frustrated with my child for being careless. But not tonight.  Sure, it was annoying, and I’ll have to stop again sometime this week for more eggs, but in the grand scheme of things, it was just eggs. Instead of shaming my child for being reckless, I assured him I wasn’t angry and that he didn’t do anything wrong.

I often fail as a parent… I yell when I promise myself I won’t. I get frustrated when my children aren’t paying attention. I’m not always consistent with my discipline, and often I expect too much from little minds and hearts that aren’t mature enough to understand. I think parenting is a series of starts and finishes, of making mistakes, of learning on the fly. What works for one kid doesn’t for another. Often there isn’t a correct answer. Sometimes you just make it up.

Today I took the two older children to the grocery store with me, an activity I usually do alone. As my children bickered, picked, and played with each other the entire time, I passed cart after cart of other women with small children, and none of them were causing a scene. None seemed to stand out. The voice inside that tells me I’m not enough whispered it’s ugly lies to me once again, as I wondered why those moms had it all together.

I’ve been watching the first season of Victoria (you know my love of British television), which centers around the rise of Queen Victoria in 1837 at the age of 18. Among the many characters we meet, we are introduced to a young woman who works as a dresser for the queen and often does her hair. One day this young woman is visiting her sister, who is lamenting about her own path in life, and obviously a bit jealous of her sister’s good fortune to have acquired a place in the royal household. She looks at her sister and wistfully says, “The queen must like you.”

“Like me? I don’t know about that,” the young lady responds. “But sometimes she notices me when I’m doing her hair, and she see we’re just two girls doing our best.”

This line really stuck with me when I heard it. Here were two young women who came from vastly different worlds, education, and socio-economic backgrounds, but when they looked at each other they recognized that which they had in common. In the challenges of each of their lives, in their struggles, temptations, failures and successes, they were just two girls doing their best, and that was enough.

So I’m choosing to ignore that voice in my head. Because I know that for as many days as I look at those moms and wonder how they have it all together, there are days that someone looks at me and wonders the same thing. But the truth we all know is that none of us have it together, some of us are better at hiding it and some of us have it on full display, but in the end we are just girls doing our best, and that’s ok.

I’m getting better at this!

I’ve been trying to make a habit of letting Tim sleep in during the weekend, because he tends to work late nights and still has to get up early to get the kids on the bus. So on Saturday mornings I usually get them up and take them to the beach. It gives Tim and hour or two more to sleep, and they get a little early morning exercise. This morning I decided not to take them to our regular beach, as we had been there the night before, but to another one a short distance from our house. They were excited to see a different shoreline, walk out into the water (there’s a pretty good sized sandbar at that one) and play on the fallen trees that dotted the waterfront. They used their imaginations and the branches and trees became horses, dinosaurs, praying mantises, or whatever else they came up with.

And then this evening we were invited to a cookout at the children’s daycare. It was princess and superhero themed, so I got to go with Princess Elena, Batman, and Spiderman. The party was really amazing, with great food, lots of activities, and games for the kids. There was face painting, lots of crafts, a station to make your own cape, and more. Big E ran and ran as he played tag with his friends from daycare and the new friends he met at the party. C hung out with many of the other little girls, also sporting their various princess dresses. And Baby E hung out with me or Tim, but seemed to really enjoy getting his face painted and kicking balls around the yard.

When we got home it was imperative that the kids got baths, and we scrubbed and scrubbed until we got as much of the paint and hair dye out as we could. The water was practically black by the time we were done! Such a mess, but totally worth it as the kids will remember this for a long time to come. 🙂

I was either feeling incredibly brave, or incredibly reckless when I agreed to take the kids to the beach and farmers market this evening. If we go on Friday evenings, we get there early, play on the beach, hit up the kettle corn stand and head straight to the car. But this evening I decided that I wanted to buy a dozen eggs, which meant herding my three tired, hungry children through large crowds at something that resembled the speed of a sloth. And after some grumbling, falling down, crying about staircases, and complaining about not getting candy and ice cream (ummm… you had kettle corn) I finally rallied the troops and got them into the van. By the time we got home Tim was there to help me unload.

As the big kids went upstairs to change, I started dinner (scrambled eggs) and Baby E asked to go to the bathroom. You got that right… he sat on the toilet! And he used it!!! Proud mommy moment, and since this is the closest thing I have to a baby book for these kids, I’m recording it here!!

Anyways, as I walked back into the kitchen after praising him for a job well done, I noticed that Molly was jumping and hitting at the kitchen window. When I got closer I noticed two frogs on the outside window pane (ten feet from the ground!) One was an adult, probably about three inches in length, and the other was a much smaller one, perhaps an inch. I called Tim to bring Baby E in quickly so that he wouldn’t miss the chance to see the frogs.

They rushed in and looked at the window. Tim decided to open it to see if he could catch the big frog for Baby E to take a closer look. As he reached out, the frog jumped to the side, and Tim spent a solid minute trying to grasp him. All of a sudden the frog leapt through the open window and landed square on Baby E’s naked chest. Naturally, confronted with a good sized frog on his belly, Baby E broke out into hysterics. The other kids ran in to see what was happening, as he stood there screaming with a frog stuck to his chest. . As Tim reached for the frog, it jumped off of Baby E and started leaping around the room, much to the delight and horror of the big kids. Baby E was pretty much traumatized, standing in place, with frog juice smeared across his chest. The next few minutes could have come straight from a three stooges episode as Tim followed the frog around the kitchen as it jumped from place to place, capturing him, watching him escape, and catching him again. Finally, after showing the big kids a close up view of the frog, he set him outside the opened window.

Poor Baby E was still very upset about the whole incident and kept talking about the mommy frog on his belly, so I’m pretty sure it’ll be a while before he is fine being near frogs again. But in all honesty, it was one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen and Tim and I couldn’t stop laughing. Tim took Baby E upstairs to scrub all the frog stuff off of him, and he returned a much calmer and happier child.

So if you see Baby E, and he is in a talkative mood, you should ask him about the mommy frog that paid him a visit! 🙂

Tonight I want to tell you about my friend. She’s been on my mind a lot lately, and I often think that if I can’t get something out of my head, then it does better for me to share it, so here goes.

I met her when I was 17. I had begged for a job at a local production company, and they took me on as an intern. Most of my early work there was pretty mundane… I assembled some furniture, took care of the tape library, and sat behind the video editor as she worked. It was back in the days when nonlinear editing was very new to the scene and production companies were getting their feet wet in a whole new world. The editor on staff was a woman about ten years older than me. She was from Egypt, spoke English, French, and Arabic, and had moved to the US to study filmmaking. She had landed in the job sometime after college, moved to a quiet part of our county, and spent most of her waking hours at the computer editing. She intimated me at first, as her personality was very bold and I was quite shy, but she humored me and let me sit behind her for hours. I’d ask her questions about what she was doing and she would answer them with patience. She never seemed to mind me being there. Inevitably our conversations would turn to more personal topics- religion, culture, etc.

Over the years I learned a lot about her. She grew up in a conservative muslim family, she was a disappointment to her father because she refused to conform to the typical female standards in her culture, and she insisted on riding horses. While she kept in touch with her mother, she never saw her again after she moved to the US. She was a vegetarian, and absolutely adored animals. She was the kind of person that would buy lobsters at the grocery store just to set them free. She owned a large number of dogs and cats, and they meant the world to her.  She smoked, and during her smoking breaks we would continue our conversations about life. She was the one that encouraged me to pursue film school and my work as an editor.

When I went away to college she gave me a small jewelry box she had painted and inside was a necklace. She told me that it was the first thing she had made when she came to America. The fact that she passed it on to me made it so much more important.

One of the last times I saw her in person was at my wedding. I had invited her, and she snuck in right before it started. After the ceremony I saw her briefly, gave her a hug, and we chatted for just a moment. She didn’t come to the reception.

I learned a couple of years later that she had been diagnosed with lung cancer. She fought a long battle, but in the end she couldn’t beat it. I heard about her death from a mutual friend, but didn’t find out about the funeral until after it happened. From what I understand, it was a traditional muslim funeral, with only a few of her friends, and a few strangers that were at the mosque. She is buried about 15 minutes from where I work.

Even though she has been gone for years, I’m still sad to have missed her funeral. But more than that, I was sad that our friendship had drifted. I’m sad she never met my children and I’m sad I can’t sit on the porch swing outside of that production company, listening to her advice as she smokes her cigarette.

I will always admire her fighting spirit and the passion she felt for the things dear to her heart. She challenged convention, spoke her mind, had a fiery spirit, and left a lasting impression on my life. Though few people have ever heard of her, I count myself lucky to have called her my friend.

This morning greeted us with gray skies and sprinkles. I don’t mind rain, other than the fact that it tends to add time to my commute, and this morning was no exception. After an hour and a half on the road, I finally pulled into my parking lot at work. A little while later I had a meeting in another building, and drove over. After the meeting I came out to find a $75 ticket on my windshield! Talk about a rough morning!!

But the rain stopped, and my ticket was voided (because they had entered my information in the computer wrong) and the day really started looking up. I got an unexpected phone call from my dad saying he was nearby and would like to meet for lunch, which is something we used to do every month or so, but hadn’t done in a year, so it was nice to get that time with him.

And tonight was Awanas at church, so the kids were very excited when I picked them up. We had a long conversation about what my expectations were with dropping them off, picking them up, and everyone getting to bed. I am always on the fence about letting them attend, (not because of the program, I love the program) but because it makes for a very late night for the kids, especially on a school night. But they understood the expectations, and much to my delight, they worked really hard and did a great job with everything. I was so proud of them. So, they earned another week at Awanas. At this point we are going to be taking at a week by week basis.

While I was at the church, I had the nice pleasure of staying in the nursery and became aware of a need in the church for workers in the nursery during Wednesday nights. If it is anything like tonight, there would be about a half dozen kids less than two years old. The kids are adorable, so if you can’t get enough of cuddling babies, there’s a job there for you!!

The temperature has started to drop, the really hot days seem to be over. And soon, our beach evenings will be over as well. I took the kids tonight, and despite the water being pretty chilly, they decided to ‘swim.’ The evenings are getting darker earlier, and with the start of school, the rush and bustle is well underway. So I’m relishing the quiet moments we can still enjoy outside with the sounds of the gentle waves lapping onto the sand.

School seems to be going very well for the two older kids. Big E tells me about his new friends and some of the things that they do in class. It’s a whole new world for him, but so far he is still excited to wake up and go each morning!

I got a splinter yesterday. I’m not exactly sure how it happened, but I walked into our utility closet and when I stepped back out, a shooting pain went through my foot. I sat on the floor examining my foot, and while I could tell where the splinter was, it was so small I couldn’t actually see it. But I continued to feel it and as I walked around, I began to adjust the way that my foot landed on the ground, careful not to add pressure to the injured area. When I woke up this morning the pain was mostly gone, replaced by a dull ache, mostly imperceptible except for the few instances I stepped down wrong on my foot. In those moments the pain would come rushing back and I would stand still waiting for it to subside, planning my way forward with the least amount of pain.

There are two dates in my life which I often use to measure my passage through time-  whether events happened before or after those days- October 29, 2016 and September 11, 2001.  While one date is still fresh in my memory, the other lingers in the background- no longer dominating each waking moment, but not content to be silent either. In many ways I am healed from that day, the constant flood of images and emotions has long dried up. But in other ways, much like my splinter, I recognize that I walk now with an injured area that requires special attention, a limp that I can’t completely ignore. And while the pain has lessened through the years, there are moments that come, usually unexpectedly, when the pain shoots through as fresh as the day it was first felt, and I stop, stand still, and wait for it to subside.

Today was one of those days, so tonight in the quietness of my home, I choose to remember that day, and the brave men and women who died, for the families that were shattered and the lives that were broken.

I choose to remember.

I choose not to relive.

And I choose to say, God is still good.