Just Right Temperature

 "Don't let popular opinion compromise your convictions."

The last time we traveled as a family was November of 2014. Peanut was a year and a half, and it was our second family trip with her.

It was a DISASTER.

All 3 kids, who were 1.5, 10 and 12 at the time, were in the backseat of the truck. Touching each other.

Peanut cried ALL THE WAY. Yes, 6 hours with numerous stops. There. And home.

The stress of the trip sent me on a gastro swirl that lasted six months.

There wasn't enough space on that trip, physically or emotionally, for all 5 of us.

I sometimes feel this twinge of guilt when I "have" to explain to someone that we don't vacation as a family.

Really - if you've traveled with kids, you are not vacationing anyway. You are parenting in a new zip code where the scenery changed and you've lost your routines.

I heard that quote above in a sermon this morning and realized I don't "have" to explain to anyone else why we don't vacation as a family.

I only HAVE to stick to my conviction that we make the choices that meet the needs of our kids AND us.

My kids need individual attention.

My kids need space to explore their interests and passions.

My kids need unique experiences.

Every single day my kids get to navigate life in a family - taking turns, making sacrifices, and navigating compromises. While they are each loved deeply, the world does not (and should not) revolve around them.

So, when we do travel - we don't ask them to do those things. We let the universe spin around them for just a moment.

We gift Xman a week at the beach with his cousins every year. He gets to play basketball in new recreation parks. He gets to toss a football on the beach. He gets to sleep until past lunchtime and stay up half the night. He gets to eat wings and play pool.

We gift the Princess a solo trip with her dad as often as we can make it happen. They've been to Wilmington to chase the path of One Tree Hill history. They spent some time in a cabin secluded just getting away. This week they are chasing dolphins and ghosts and good seafood. She gets to be the one who makes the choices.

Peanut, who gets severely car sick, wakes 3 to 7 hours before her other people, and only likes chicken nuggets and fruit, gets to do the things an 8 year old likes to do. She goes to VBS. She spends time at the park. There will be time for Peanut adventures when adventure is what Peanut needs.

This week a preacher challenged me - am I led by my thermometer or by my thermostat?

Your thermometer is your soul. What is deeply right for you. It's INSIDE.

Your thermostat is what is around you. What the world says you "must" do. It's OUTSIDE.

For some reason I often feel like I need to defend or justify my thermometer just because the thermostat says something different.

Mama Warriors, sometimes scrolling social media makes us think the thermostat has to be the thermometer.

It doesn't.

Something that is right and fabulous and fun for other families, may not be the right, fabulous, or fun thing for your own.

And that's okay.

Sitting and making messes with Peanut brings out the best in me. It relaxes me. It forces me to stop all the chaos and be still with her.

But my picture of painting cardboard castles is not your thermometer.

It's mine.

I challenge you to discern between YOUR thermometer and the world's thermostat as we embrace this last half of summer.

Your temperature is the perfect one.

Delight

 “Peace is joy at rest. Joy is peace on its feet.”

Peanut and I started this book four weeks ago. It has 22 chapters. We read one chapter every night before bed.

She had listened to the first book in this series on audio book and we were excited to see this option on the "new" shelf at the library.

I'll confess. I've been utterly BORED the last 16 nights I've read this aloud to her. The story alternates narrators between several characters and is slow moving with no plot.

Earlier this week, I grabbed our book for our nightly snuggle time and decided to ask her.

"Peanut, are you enjoying this book?"

She quickly replied "No - it's boring but I thought you liked it."

I shared that we could just put this book back in the library basket. We did not have to read the last 6 chapters.

She looked perplexed.

"Really?"

Really I tell her - and she races off to deposit the unfinished book in the return basket and choose something new. We read 3 chapters of the new choice, both engaged and excited to hear what happens.

In a homeschool planning series I'm watching in preparation for the new year, the author talks about finding time in your day for DELIGHT.

I've been thinking about this word "delight" this week.

Webster says that delight is "a high degree of gratification or pleasure : JOY."

Not just something that brings you joy, but something that provides a HIGH degree of pleasure.

Finishing this book does not count as delight for Peanut nor I.

In my homeschool planner for this next school year I made myself a note.

Delight in each day.

Often I think our days are full of things that we feel like we "have" to do.

But I would contend, that MANY of those things fall in the "finishing a book just because you read 16 of the 22 chapters category."

Not necessary.

Could be a good thing.

But it's not a necessary thing.

Mama Warriors I think we can create space in our day for true DELIGHT if we evaluate all of our daily activities and remove what is good but not best.

Delight yourself also in the Lord, And He shall give you the desires of your heart. Psalm 37:4

My devotion read this morning challenged that MANY people worry about finding that quiet time - the first 30 minutes of the day so they can begin their day in the word.

He argued that it's never those 30 minutes that are the problem - it's the fact that what we soak up in that quiet time, is not lived out the other 23.5 hours of the day.

To delight in Him means we make space for joy.

For true delight.

For books that are page turners.

Notice

 Your problem is how you are going to spend this one odd and precious life you have been issued. Whether you're going to spend it trying to look good and creating the illusion that you have power over people and circumstances, or whether you are going to taste it, enjoy it and find out the truth about who you are. Anne Lamott

Peanut has been asking to go to the park for a while now. I'm not against parks, I'm just not super great in the heat and for some reason my county built all their parks with no bathrooms.

Yesterday gifted us a cloudy morning so I loaded her up.

You see of my huge parenting goals with her is to say "Yes" enough times that she keeps asking. That she believes that there are enough "yes's" to warrant hope that yes will be the answer.

I think we learn too late when we get into the groove of the parent "no" that at some point they quit asking.

As a mother of an elementary child in my now late 40s , the park is sort of my mean girl nemesis.

Each time I take her, I make eye contact with other moms. I smile. I attempt general mom small talk. And almost every time (not always) I am met with dismissive "I'm too cool to talk to you" vibes.

I accept I'm not everyone's cup of sweet tea.

I also accept that I parent differently than a good bit of the park population.

I only have two concerns at the park - safety and character.

I let Peanut play and do just about anything on the equipment provided I don't find it a safety issue. And I'm talking a broken bones safety issue, not a scrape or scratch safety issue. There's a lot to be learned from falling off something a foot off the ground.

I let her play with anyone and navigate playground friendships and only intervene if I feel it's a character issue. There's a lot to be learned in navigating taking turns, creating rules for made up games, etc.

Yesterday Peanut was playing with a small group of children on this piece of equipment. Some younger children were riding, while she and a few other older children were running to power it.

I noticed a few feet from her a little girl intently watching.

While Peanut would never purposefully exclude someone, I want her to be the kid who NOTICES this kid.

I gently approached Peanut and shared "I think she'd really like to be invited to play. Remember how some times you aren't sure if others want you to play too? It's our job to make sure others KNOW they are welcome."

Peanut immediately went over, invited her, and included her in the group.

Peanut was not the "ring leader" of this little playground group of friends. There was definitely an "oldest sibling" little girl that had declared herself to be in charge.

I need Peanut to be able to be the leader when it's a character issue. I realize that her personality is one of a gentle, kind participant. She's imaginative with great ideas but she's not assertive. And that's okay.

I want Peanut to be a "you can sit at my table" kid - and not just one who won't be mean if you sit there, but if she sees you wandering the cafeteria , she will get up and invite you.

We have to teach that.

I want Peanut to not think twice about leaving the 99 to chase the one.

Because the ONE is worthy.

Mama Warriors, these "soft skills" are only taught in teachable moments. We have to be willing to put our book down (or phone or pause the conversation with friend) to get up and help our kids navigate these character playground issues.

I also have to be begrudgingly keep modeling for Peanut how we approach the one.

When the mom with the newborn and the 3 year old enter the park, I put my book down and I offer to push the swing for the 3 year old while mom nurses the new baby.

When the mom is yelling at her kid who is having a big fit, I gently support. I model gentle parenting "It's hard to parent with an audience. Being two years old can be overwhelming. It must be hard to have big feelings and no words to express them." I step into her mess with her.

I keep making small talk with the too cool crowd because some days they look up from their phones and they appreciate the conversation. Some days they were just waiting for someone to engage so they can tell you their hard story they are walking. Not for you to give advice, but for you to say "I'm sorry you are walking hard. It's brave of you to make those hard choices."

We have to NOTICE the one.

Trash Cans

 "every single thing we need to know about ourselves as humans happens in the space between urge and action and most of us are interested in collapsing that space to as small as possible. "

This recycling can has been sitting at the end of my driveway for almost a week now. It went down there (by me) last Tuesday and is still sitting there.

I have already carried up the large trash can like this, as well as the smaller outdoor trashcan we use in our basement.

This trash can has become my Everybody Loves Raymond suitcase (if you haven't seen that episode, look it up = it's called "Baggage.")

I've seen numerous people in my house walk past that trash can and not bring it up the driveway. Multiple times.

As I came in from my walk today, I begrudgingly dragged the third, and final, can up my long driveway all the way lamenting about how I'm the ONLY one who can see the trash can.

It's been there SEVEN days. SEVEN days people.

I was thinking on my walk this morning how people are either a "I'll get the can myself person" or a "Someone else will get the can person."

I have found motherhood insists you be the first. I'm the getter of the cans, the changer of the lightbulbs, the filler of the ice trays (even though I never use an ice cube. Ever.), the finder of the lost things.

Maybe because motherhood has made me observant of what needs to be done.

Maybe it was always my personality - the group work member who did all the work so I knew it would be done correctly.

Maybe I've created an environment where others know I will get the can so they don't bother.

Maybe it's all 3.

If I want someone else to get that can, I have to be willing to leave it there.

I was thinking this morning that part of mothering for me has become how to leave the can there.

As my big kids grow into their own people, I can see mistakes coming a mile away.

I have to be willing to leave the can.

Not fix it. Not be the one who carts it up the driveway. I have to be willing to let them walk the consequences of a can not gotten on their own.

I honestly don't find it as hard to allow them to make their own mistakes as I find it hard to not have an emotional response to it.

I've taught them better. I've modeled better. I've offered help they have not seeked. They often knew to choose differently.

Their journey is not mine.

I don't own their mistakes any more than I own their successes.

I don't define my existence in them.

I don't want to save them from learning life's lessons.

Mama Warriors, perhaps you too are in a season of life where you are being challenged to leave the cans at the end of the driveway.

You can do this.

If you leave the can, you have to be prepared to let the consequence occur.

It's in the consequence that we learn life's lessons.

One of the big struggles with this new generation is no one is getting the can AND no one is being held accountable for that. We're raising a generation of victims that can't accept responsibility and navigate natural consequences.

We aren't gifting our kids a "better life" when we shield them from life itself.

I'd argue that if we want our kids to have a "better life" we need to let them fall and learn how to get back up.

Otherwise how do they know they can do hard things?

And wouldn't we all agree that often the best parts of life are hard things?

Asking

 "We aren't responsible for the healing (or whatever seemingly impossible thing we are asking for); we are only responsible for the ASKING."

It's officially "Glitter day" (aka Happy Father's Day).

It's not lost on me that this year it falls on the LONGEST day of the year. I'm just saying. That never happens on glue day.

By 8 AM this morning, Peanut and I had made a pound cake (for the base of strawberry shortcakes later), dough for home made pizzas for lunch, and home made blueberry pancakes and bacon for a big breakfast. The glitter was still in bed. Did I mention we went to two separate farms this week and hand picked those blueberries and strawberries?

We go BIG on glitter day. The cards are made, the gifts are wrapped.

I saw one of those memes this week that challenged you to think of the phrase your dad is most known for.

I hope my kids think of his dad jokes (it's "nacho cheese"). Or his air guitar singing. Or maybe that he insists they be people of their word. Mostly I hope they think of how he laughed, how he played, how he loved them.

The phrase I remember my dad saying the most, and honestly the only one I can think of is "I'm not paying to air condition the whole GD neighborhood."

My dad worked nights and slept days. So the phrase I remember my mother saying the most was "Shh..don't wake your father."

Essentially until my mother packed us up and left in the middle of the night, I remember that we spent a lot of time tip toeing around my father. We didn't tell him much. We didn't wake him.

A year or so after the divorce my dad took us to the beach. He'd never traveled with us,and honestly had not even visited us that much. But off we went. We came back miserable with sun poisoning. Turned out he didn't know a whole lot about having kids. Like that you have to put sunscreen on them.

When the Princess was born I felt tugged to try to include him in our life. A life he had never chosen to be a part of.

As an adult, I decided I could rise. I could be the forgiver.

It was rocky and ultimately I could not maintain the conditional relationship he required. I wouldn't have people close to my children that taught them anything other than full blown unconditional love.

I received news that my dad had been given a terminal diagnosis. Not long to live. I immediately sat and wrote him a long letter. I searched for all the positive things I could say about my childhood with him. I told him only the good. And I said we'd love to see him.

No word from him.

A few months later, my sister called to tell me he was dying. And that if I wanted to say goodbye, I had to get in the car then.

I grabbed my keys, unshowered and all, and I went. I cried the whole way there. For what was lost. For what would never be.

He was unable to speak by the time I arrived, but I said goodbye.

It wasn't lost on me that even in the end, our relationship was very one sided.

My mother remarried in my teen years and he very much is an unconditional loving father. I married fantastically. Sweet Daddy is everything to our kids that I would wish for. And he came with my father in law who continues to amaze me with his devotion to loving us well.

I still wake up on Father's Day thinking I don't remember a moment where my father enjoyed fathering me.

He did at times in a very 1980's responsible dad way for sure.

But not with an overflowing joy.

It took me a LONG time to realize I wasn't responsible for healing that relationship.

I was only responsible for the forgiving and the asking.

Relationships are tough on a good day.

And just because someone is related to you, it doesn't make it an automatic comfy fit. In my experience, I'd argue it makes it harder. You didn't choose these people.

Mama Warriors, I share all that this morning to say, maybe Father's Day is hard for you.

Maybe you wake up missing an earthly father who did thoroughly enjoy you. You are sad to be without him.

Maybe you wake up with an earthly farther in which the relationship is strained.

Maybe you wake up without the father you wanted for your own children.

Whatever your situation is this morning, I promise you that you wake up with a heavenly father who does enjoy you. Who does value you. Who does want to unconditionally love you.

So do your kids.

You are worthy of being enjoyed, valued and unconditionally loved.

You are not responsible for the healing.

You are only responsible for the asking.

(Published June 2020)

Blueberry Pancakes

 "Buckman, you need a license to buy a dog, to drive a car - hell, you even need a license to catch a fish. But they'll let any butt-reaming asshole be a father."

A friend posted this weekend a little blurb asking people to share something funny, memorable, etc. that their own father says/said.

I went to type several times.

The only direct quote I can remember from my childhood is "Shut the GD door - I'm not paying to air condition the whole damn neighborhood. What do you think - money grows on trees?"

I don't have many other specific memories of my father, but mostly just a general feeling. Definitely nothing you type in a light hearted "remember how great your dad is/was" kind of post.

My own father worked 4 PM to 4 AM because that was the shift that paid the highest. He came in before we woke for the day and spent the day asleep. The schedule seemed to suit his approach to fatherhood - not present, uninvolved. It solidified his priorities - money over people, work over family.

I don't remember celebrating Father's Day with my dad when I was a kid. I read somewhere once that memories are kind of funny things. Your brain only lets you carry so much. I have a handful of traumatic memories and perhaps my brain only had that much space for him.

Peanut has been incredibly excited about celebrating Sweet Daddy for Father's Day ALL WEEK. The card has been hand crafted. The gift specially chosen. She awoke with tons of energy (unlike her mother who took two Benadryl before going to bed) ready to make the glitter blueberry pancakes for breakfast in bed.

As I type this, she and her Daddy are snuggled up on the couch. Eating pancakes. Watching wrestling - because it's Father Day and Peanut has decided Daddy gets to pick the show.

I'm thankful this morning that my kids can answer that something funny, memorable, or insightful question about their dad.

They can share dad jokes ("It's nacho cheese"). They can share daddy date days to boy band movies, Braves games, or pet stores and donut eating. They'll have memories of him playing the guitar on our couch and singing, often making up his own words. They'll be able to picture him at all the things - the drama productions, the countless baseball games, the VBS family night. He doesn't miss a thing.

While Sweet Daddy is the hardest working employee ever, we all know we come first.

Growing up in a house where I didn't come first, not in action or in theory, was challenging.

Growing up in a conditional father daughter relationship made me struggle with boundaries and being able to declare that I am worthy, fearfully and wonderfully made, and knowing I deserve better.

Mama Warriors, maybe you too, wake up on these holidays and struggle with hard relationships.

Maybe you wake up without the earthly father you deserve, or maybe your earthly father was fabulous but is no longer with us. Or maybe like me your earthly father wasn't fabulous and is no longer with us and that carries it's own struggle.

Maybe your kids wake up without the earthly father they deserve, or their earthly father is no longer with us. Or maybe they struggle with the relationship with their father.

Holidays carry their own burden.

I firmly believe our village doesn't have to be blood related. God gifted me a stepfather who filled shoes that came with anger, distrust and general teenage madness. God gifted me a father in law who calls every time it storms just to make sure we are okay.

But before all that, I had to learn that Jesus was ENOUGH of a father for me.

Maybe all you, or your kids , have this morning is Jesus.

And that's ENOUGH.