I know things have been a little dark around these parts lately. I want to be a truth teller, and sometimes my truth is dark. Lately life has been coming at my little family wave after wave until even the frantic breathing between the waves feels overwhelming. Amidst all this crashing the Rooster turned 6 months old. How did that happen?

The Peanut is doing fancier tricks with the walking and the talking and the asserting her own will. So sometimes Rooster takes a back seat. But she is so amazing and for sure deserves her own update every once in a while.

Dear Rooster-Head,

There are so many things I never want to forget about these months. When you see me for the first time at the end of the day you reach up and touch my face, sometimes you grab it with both hands and pull me in for a baby open-mouthed kiss. When you meet someone new you like to hold their face in your hands and really study it with those huge eyes. It is as if you are letting that person know that they matter, that you see them.

You have such a gentle soul. I am attracted to soft patterns and old-fashioned shapes when I get a chance to pick out your clothes. With your sister it was bold and bright. Lions and tigers. With you I love soft plaids, elephants and giraffes. Teeny tiny polka dots. It is your way to quietly go about the business of being you, and it is such a privilege to watch.

Lately you have been reaching for things you want, like our food or someone else to hold you. Your daddy, me, your Aunt Jill and Uncle Calvin, none of us can resist those reaches. You make us feel so special.

I love the way you love your sister, how you love it when she holds you even when you are clearly uncomfortable. Or the way you giggle when she climbs on top of you to “hug.” I can’t believe you don’t get upset, but you think those moments are glorious.

You are still such a very good baby. So good that people sometimes feel the need to tell me just how very lucky I am. But I do know just how very lucky I am Rilla-Roo. I get to watch you grow into yourself. This is just the beginning and I am very, very blessed.

Love,

Mom

Much to the chagrin of my father,  I don’t listen to the conservative talk radio guys I grew up listening to, instead I am an avid NPR listener. I also get my news from liberal leaning websites. So sometimes I am confronted with some information that makes me really think because I don’t agree with it. And one of those things was this. I read (in Slate I am almost sure, but now of course I can’t find it) that the abortion rate would actually increase if abortions were legal. I am well aware that many, many people would disagree with this study and I don’t even know if I agree with it. I am weary to even write the abortion word on here at all because it is so fraught with issues. But it made me think about the abortion conflict in a new light.

Do I want the law on my side? Or do I want there to be fewer and fewer abortions? Do I really want anything when it comes to abortion, or do I just want to be right? If there were a way to almost completely illiminate abortions without a public policy that says they are wrong, would that be a victory? It was a good soul search for me.

The merits of being married to a communication scholar, when you yourself were raised by two communication majors is that half the time the fight you are having ends up getting dissected. Let me tell you how not annoying that is when you are ticked and you just want to yell…..But the interesting thing about it is this, if Christian and I can both get over being the one on the right side of the argument, there is almost always enough middle ground for us to be okay with whatever is decided. Our worst fights are the ones where we are both camped out in our corners willing to defend and protect and on and on and on because we are sure we are right.

I have just agreed to disagree in a situation in my life. I don’t like leaving it there. But it is where we are both at. We both think that we have heard from God…just opposite things. There really isn’t anything else to be said or done. Right now I am just praying for the Lord to align our hearts with His. And in order to be praying this honestly I need to make sure that I am not clinging to my right-ness.

We serve a righteous God, and he calls us to be a righteous people. But that righteousness isn’t because we are smarter, or braver, or more careful than others. It is God’s gift to us. We are righteous because we are His and not the other way around.

There are times when it gets all twisted around in my heart. I think that I have to somehow defend my righteousness, or even more ridiculous defend the righteousness of God. God doesn’t need defending. If the only reason I have even a sliver of righteousness is because of His goodness to me. I don’t need to remind people of it.

Because I am an English teacher I looked up the definition of righteous and got this: 1. (of a person or conduct) Morally right or justifiable; virtuous. 2. Perfectly wonderful; fine and genuine.

I do want to be morally right and I want my actions to be justifiable. But more than that I want to trust the Lord to make me perfectly wonderful and genuine. And if I get caught up in the “right” of righteous, unwilling to let the Lord move my heart. I will miss out on the virtuous, the wonderful, the genuine.

Note- I cleared the sentiments in this post with Elizabeth before I wrote it. I will be referring to her kids using their first initial. I don’t want their future prom date to google them…only to find a story from when they were five!

I talk about sitter swapping, and the kids who we watch two days a week, and are with my kids multiple times a week a lot. And usually, I am gushing. The Lord put my family and the Grimes together very clearly, and I feel very lucky that I can have a full-time job and have my kids watched by their dad, and one of my closest friends.

But sometimes, it is hard. Sometimes the very last thing I want to do after I have dealt with teenagers all day, is wrangle the combined Griman clan of 5 children 6 and under. And lately, having S and the Peanut in the same vicinity results in some serious love/hate shrieking. Peanut talks about S every day, even if she doesn’t see him that day. And a couple of times she has told me from the back seat “S hit me!” …..when S is not riding in my car. No one can tell me those two aren’t siblings.

Sometimes we get our wires crossed and I get to Elizabeth’s and surprise, I am babysitting, or surprise she is. Whoops. Sometimes in the rush to get out of either house I don’t know what to feed the kids, or we don’t leave enough diapers, outfits, formula. Sometimes I would just rather not be at any house but mine.

It happens, and I think there are days that only the fact that either, or both parties are in a rush to get out the door keeps the harsh words from flowing. But one of the things that I love about our relationship, and one of the things that makes it work is that we always give each other the benefit of the doubt, and we try to say yes as much as possible.

It is a good thing that these rules are in place, because sometimes the selfish part of me wants to say NO just like the Peanut. Just because I want to. I felt like that on Monday. I just wanted to go home. Or even less mature (spiritually or otherwise) there are days when I decide I am keeping score and things are not fair. I conveniently forget the fact that she has mine 2.5 days a week while I only do two. Or the fact that because we are at her house we eat her food. It is an ugly little corner of my heart.

But this is the amazing thing about community when it isn’t convenient. God honors those commitments, He meets you there, right where you don’t want to be. If you can get over yourself long enough to stop griping, there are treasures just lying around on the floor for you to pick up.

I started singing with the kids, when they go to bed. Just All Night All Day or the Goodnight song on the Laurie Berkner CD we have. It has been about a month and on Monday, J asked me to leave the door open so he could hear me better. I could tell he felt loved by this. It was nice. And earlier that night, when I picked up the Rooster, M cried out “can I hold her?” and all the kids got in a line to hold my baby. They wanted to love on her too, and she loved it. And I loved it. I’ll tell you this right now, the first time Rooster gets picked on there will be multiple rescuers available. She is adored over there. And I am thankful the Peanut learned how to be a sibling with that bunch. Thick as thieves at the Griman house.

Sometimes it is as simple as this. I come home from a hard day only to have to babysit. It is hard and I threaten the spankin’ spoon no less than three times per child (including mine). They finally go to bed only to have each kid get up to go to the bathroom. When Christian gets home I am frazzled, plus I know I haven’t been the best parental figure that day. We don’t have our computers over there so the first time in a week we have nothing better to do but talk to each other. And I feel better. Or Elizabeth comes home and says thank you and means it.

The more people you have in your life, really truly in your life, the more people there are to bump in to each other and bruise egos. It isn’t all rainbows and butterflies, and singing kumbaya together. But the more my ego gets bumped around, the smaller it gets. The easier it is for me to get it out-of-the-way.

I am learning that this is how the Lord works. He doesn’t put me where I am most comfortable. He puts me where I need to be and molds my heart until I am comfortable there.

Dear Loves,

This semester mommy went back to work. You noticed but do not seem to mind. Rooster, you are with Elizabeth now two and a half days a week. You are the baby over there in a way your sister never was. You were anticipated not just by me and your dad, but by the whole hybrid Griman family. And while Peanut came over there wanting to play even-steven with Sean, you are happy to sit in whatever baby holder we plop you in and be coo-d at. You are the baby and everyone wants to take care of you.

Even when the other kids squeeze or pat you too long or too hard you don’t seem to mind.  When I am sure they are about to squeeze your last breath right out of you, you are looking at them patiently, “Are you done yet? Oh, not quite, that’s okay too. Keep squeezing.” When the kid who has begged to give you your bottle gets bored, and you end up with a bottle up your nose, nine times out of ten, you think the whole situation is hilarious and smile until an adult comes to rescue you. You never doubt that we will.

You sleep through the night sometimes now, and even when you don’t, no one is more annoyed than you that you are awake. We weaned this month. I don’t know if you were ready or not, but I was. I was having some guilt about the whole thing, but it is wonderful to get to look into your eyes when you eat.

When I look into your eyes, I see everything that already was. Me, my mother, her mother, and the many mothers before that. You hold all of them in those cloud grey eyes of yours. You know inherently, and your presence reminds me, that right here right now is exactly where we are supposed to be. It is you who best teach me how to simply be in this moment. The one God put us in together. I was once disappointed that your eyes did not turn brown quickly. Now I know I will be wistful when they finally do. My old soul, my ancient of days baby. There is a prophecy over your life that you bring change. I used to worry that this was too big a mantle to shoulder someone, especially my baby girl. But I know now that God designed you in a way that this change will not bother you. You already knew it was coming.

Peanut, every day when I get home from work, more of the baby has melted away and in its place is a little girl. You are so big, and so very independent. I look at you and realize how silly how much of my first time mom worrying was. You have grown hair (a mullet, but it is hair) that you like to wear in pigtails. Only Elizabeth knows how to put them in, but that does not stop you from handing rubber bands, turning around and pointing at your head. “This,” you say.

You walk and run just fine now, climb up and down the stairs. You are truly the funniest person I know. The other day you put on my red flats, your dad’s boxer like a sash, and stretched your sisters snowman hat over your head like a yarmulke. Just another day at the office I suppose. When we went to Target, you picked out your own shoes. You knew exactly which kicks were yours. Then later you brought me your socks and told me “shoes.” You howled with laughter. It was the best joke I had ever heard.

You have so many words that even strangers are starting to notice, and you pick so many up every day your dad cannot remember them all to tell me when I get home. You love songs and books and have opinions about when we should read and sing which ones. Last week I could not read the story to the other children at church because you insisted on attempting to read along with me.

When I look into your eyes, I see everything I could be, everything you could be, all the potential this world has to offer. It can overwhelm me until I realize it is right there, you are giving it to me, to everyone. You believe the best in us, me, your dad, Elizabeth. It is your gift, bringing light into this world.

You have come into your own as a big sister. You let us know when she is crying, and keep her entertained. You prefer doing life with a partner in crime. You like being your sisters favorite. And you are. I did not fully understand the hero-worship I had in my own heart toward my own big sisters until I saw the way Rooster looks at you.

I am so blessed to be your mom. My two peas in a pod, my yin-yang sisters. I am rich with the treasures you give me every day.

Love,

Mom

Today, I brought in cupcakes for my department. It is I Love My Neighbor month at church, and while I was a bit of a disaster on Wednesday, the lovely ladies in my bible study managed to pull it together for me and we (mostly they) decorated the 6 dozen cupcakes I managed to bake on Tuesday. We packaged them in sets of three and off they went to our co-workers and neighbors.

I sent off an email this morning telling the English department that they were there, and by 2….only a few have been eaten. It is making me crazy. And that craziness is uncovering a piece of my heart that is not cute: I want credit.

It is not enough for me to bring in cupcakes to my work because God called me to love people and food is a way I communicate my love. I want those cupcakes to be eaten and appeciated. I want an email that says they were delicious, for people to tell me that they were delicious and I am kind so that I can deflect that, “Oh it was nothing.”

I want whatever it is I do to be noticed, to be appreciated. To validate me. Often, it is where I find my worth. It is one of the reasons staying home with the girls first semester was so hard for me. There wasn’t anyone telling me I was doing a good job as often as  needed or thought I deserved. Christian did a good job encouraging me, but the Peanut and the Rooster just don’t have the words. (As though when they are 6 and 7 they would not take their mother for granted.)

I know this is not the heart of the Jesus Lover I so desperately want to be.

What is worse is this. I hesitate even to write it. I sometimes feel the same way about this space. I love writing, and feel strongly that God has called me to share my story as honestly as I can. But now, I want people to read it. More people. The crazy amount of encouragement I have gotten, especially since moving to this space, the fact that people choose to read what I write when there is so much else they could be reading or doing, I don’t take that for granted. I very much appreciate it. But if I am honest, I check my stats compulsively hoping to have another 100+ day.

I see the spiral this could lead to. If 100 hits becomes consistent I will strive for 200 and so on and so forth. I am not the first to notice that blogging is a little like middle school. Like me! Notice me! Tell me that I am clever! That I matter! That I mean something! I’ll follow you if you will follow me. I will share your stuff in the hopes that you will return the favor. It would never be enough, it would never leave me satisfied. I would always want more.

I suppose I could pretend that this wanting credit is righteous. After all, I write about Jesus. If I say “To God be the Glory” then the more glory I get the better off He is, right? I do sometimes, pretend that I want credit so that it can be deflected to Jesus. As though Jesus needs me to not just be obedient, but then showcase that obedience or else He will get missed in it all.

I know that it is important to be encouraged sometimes, that God often brings life giving words through our peers. I recieve them frequently, and I am grateful for the ways they fill my heart, or throw me a flotation device to cling to just when I am dried up or drowning. But there is a point when those words become more important than His words, than what I know to be true about me.

I have heard the critiscism often, that Christians cannot or do not just quietly go about the business of being the hands and feet of Jesus. We Christians don’t want Jesus to have the glory initially, we want that spotlight turned on us so that we can deflect it to him. I know how this turns stomaches and hearts from Jesus. And yet, I am having trouble controlling the desire to recieve the glory. But I want to control it. I am done having that desire rule my heart and actions.

Lord, I want to be a Jesus Lover, please get me out of the way!

I was directed through various blog rabbit holes, to the places in the Bible where God describes himself as a breast feeding mom. I do certainly feel like I have learned a lot more about the heart of my God since I have become a parent. (This is not to say others who are not parents cannot come to the same conclustions, it is simply the route I have taken to get there.)

Any way, yes, I am lactating. I don’t pump at work because frankly I hate it. (I was about to type something in here about how I am a selfish mom, then I heard the voice of a girl in my first period who told me I had to be nicer to myself. I love that God put her in my class. I hear her truth resonate in my head often. Look at me, giving myself grace. Way to go New Year’s Resolution!) I will scream like a banshee for a woman’s right to breast feed wherever and pump when needed. But personally, I don’t want to exercise that right. We have been doing the “when I am here we breastfeed, when I am not take a bottle thing,” but the Rooster and my body are getting confused which leads to an unhappy mommy and baby.

There are a number of other reasons but short story long, we are weaning at our house, which made me consider this verse. God does that for us. He weans. He doesn’t just cut us off, he gets us ready for the next thing (hello pureed carrots!), grows us up, prepares us for changes.

Sometimes we are reluctant to wean, we like it just the way it was thank you very much, but it needs to be done. Sometimes we are hungry, we have been followiing that fork for sometime and we just want it to go in our mouth! And eventually we become like the 4 and 6 year olds that we spend so much time with. We are doubtful that we ever needed breast milk in the first place, let alone miss it. What a silly concept.

The Lord is weaning me off of external validation. He weaned me off of identifying myself in my job this summer and fall. What about you, what are you being weaned off of? And can you see your next thing? I am hopeful that I can….hopeful about the big juicy steak God has for me….once I am ready. I just need to grow teeth first.