This post is brought to you by Sara Harless! We met in college working at the Writin’ Desk and I genuinely look forward to all Facebook updates about her work mothering Anne, aka “The Scarlet Tornado!”

“So what do you do for a living?”
Such an innocuous, friendly question that caused me to cringe every time it was asked.
For three years, I would proudly reply, “I teach preschool for Head Start” and tell funny anecdotes about my students. I loved teaching; I was passionate about my students and the care and education I provided for them. I prayed for my students. I cried for them (and myself after particularly trying days!). Much of my identity (more deeply,my pride) was wrapped up in my chosen career.
Then I saw the heartbeat flickering on the ultrasound screen. I had never had any intention of returning to work after my daughter was born. Primarily, I didn’t make enough money teaching to make paying for childcare feasible or worth it. Who wants to work more than 40 hours a week for what amounts to $2 an hour? More importantly, I wanted to stay home with my little one. I felt strongly that this was best for our family (with no judgement or condemnation for families that work differently). My husband agreed and so I put in my notice after the school year ended (I was due in July). I was nervous, but excited and ready to start my new career.
I didn’t think about teaching the first couple of weeks home from the hospital. It was a bleary-eyed time of nursing, rocking, napping, diapering, washing various bodily fluids from my clothes, nursing, nursing, nursing. I had no idea how many hours per day would be devoted to quietly rocking and feeding my Annie (and how few would be devoted to sleeping!). Then September rolled around, and I was getting groceries (considerably more difficult with an infant) when I saw Elmer’s glue was on sale for 10 cents a bottle. In my sleep-deprived state, I started putting several bottles in my cart for the classroom before I remembered that I no longer had a classroom. I was so unexpectedly sad. I didn’t realize how much I would miss the crazybusy schedule of school, miss helping kids compromise and use words instead of fists, miss leading a less-than-straight line of 16 three, four, and five year olds down the street to the park, miss finding random marbles/crayons/sorting bears in my pockets that I had confiscated from mouths.
The more I went places and met other moms, the more I dreaded the question, “So what do you do?” I felt strangely ashamed to admit that “all” I did was stay home with the baby. A baby whom I loved with an intensity that I didn’t know was possible. I never anticipated needing to mourn my life before her. That life was over and I grieved for all the wonderful parts of it. Then God gently showed me I was also grieving for my pride. I was clinging to a sense of self-worth derived from that pride of “Look what I have done with my college education! I am making a difference in the world!” Key words–“I, my, I” God called me to a new job with crappy hours, no pay, and no puffed-up pride in myself. It’s hard to feel proud when you’re the one in the restaurant with the screaming baby that everyone is staring at. It’s hard to feel proud when your baby managed to smear poop on her ear and you only notice it several hours (and a trip through the grocery store) later. Losing that source of pride, of sin, was a hard thing, but a good thing. I embrace this time with my daughter, and smile with (somewhat) good grace when another mom melodramatically tells me, “I don’t know how you do it! I would be so bored all day alone with a baby!”
“Humble yourself before the Lord, and He will lift you up.” James 4:10

I was probably four when my dad came home from the mediation conference practically drunk on the Holy Spirit. He had a new phrase too, one that would be spoken to us many many times. “Words of life, girls, words of life!” We joke about it now. Sometimes those words were not spoken in the most life-giving of tones. But the message stuck, your words hold power. Things live or die by the power of the tongue.

As a parent I see how true this is. We carry the story of our early years throughout our entire lives. Parents insist that their child has always been that smart, that talkative, that stubborn, that relaxed. When the child is thirty something and winning an award, we parents insist we knew all along. Even from the womb my child was this way, we say.

I do it with my own two girls, attribute innate characteristics to their lives yet mostly un-lived. The first one came just 7 hours after I started laboring. At not yet two she is always full speed ahead. My 4 month old had me in latent labor for three weeks. The contractions didn’t bother her and she has already earned the nickname “Chill-a, Priscilla.” Nothing fazes her, nothing.

This is where the words I speak matter. The way I frame the mantels my children will carry is important. My oldest daughter (as my friend put it) has “strong self advocacy.” She is not a fit thrower, or a brat. She is practicing advocating for those who cannot shout for themselves. I hope that one day she is a voice for those without one. This doesn’t mean that I give in to every “full body affect display” but it makes me a tad more willing to be patient as she tests my boundaries. She is learning what works and what does not. This is an important lesson.

It may be annoying that my daughter stops to laugh at all the things her little mind finds funny, but if she is “the funniest person I know” –And I promise you, the Peanut is hysterical– then it is easier to not rush. She is simply exercising her amazing sense of humor, not trying to purposely make us late.

I shouldn’t be surprised that this is the thing that has been pressing on my heart. My husband is getting his PhD in rhetoric. He studies how we shape words, how words shape us. He explained to me that there is no solid definition for words like patient, loving, kind. We just know them when we see them, and when we proclaim them, we notice them.

So, the more I tell my daughters they are children of God, the more they become them in action, but also in my mind. So what I say, is what I notice and reinforce and sure enough those beautiful things manifest. So much did this resonate with me that I wrote a series of rhymes to remind my daughters and I what exactly is true about us.

I want to cover my girls in those words of life. I want the mantels they carry to be blessings and not burdens. I want the truth of God to run through their lives, and the place that running starts….is out of their mother’s mouth.

This post was written for a Blog Carnival! Hit the button and check some other ones out!

So, we child-care share. Or co-op or whatever else you want to call it. Bottom line is we don’t pay for child care because God has lead us into this awesome relationship that we believe not only benefits our wallets, but also our kiddo(s). It is working, and all systems seem to be at go for next year as well. Christian has to get his schedule and then we will figure out the details, but both our and Elizabeth’s desire is to continue the arrangement next year. (I was a little nervous when I got pregnant, it is like, “Hey you will have an extra infant next year I hope you don’t mind”….when she told me she hoped it was the twins I was so relieved. But if God gives us another kid pretty soon….which we are hoping Hdoesn’t…..or if this is the twins…..I don’t think so but you never know, I just know they are coming………He will have to giver her a new van. Which we are praying God will do anyway. Lady needs air conditioning, and a radio, and maybe some remote sliding doors!)

Our arrangement rocks, and I have had more than one person ask me about it because it works so well for us. And because it has NOT worked for some other people I have talked to. It also seems to be a very popular idea recently. I have seen a lot written about it. I think my generation likes to put a label on things (join a child-care co-op!) our parents and grand parents have been doing for years (watching each others kids…duh) and then claiming them as a bold new-fangled parenting solution for the  modern world! As I have been thinking about this I have figured out some things that make our arrangement particularly succesful.

Parenting Styles: We parent in a very similar way as Elizabeth. If you aren’t down with the way someone parents that is fine, but I think it is unreasonable to drop your kid off at their house with their kids and then insist that you do XYZ with little Logan, please follow the same rules. Food allergies and other legitimatly special needs issues are different. But don’t expect your friend to take care of your kid with a whole different set of rules than she takes care of hers. And mostly we follow the who/how rule. I trust who I leave my kids with so I don’t worry about how every single thing goes down. If you are a micro-manager then you need to pay some one. That way it isn’t uncomfortable when you boss them around.

Friendly arrangement or Business: Decide early, is this a business arrangement with set times, or a set number of hours a week? Or is it more loosey goosey like we have a mutual understanding that when we call each other we will say yes if at all possible? Are extra times “allowed”? Will you try to keep that even-stephen too? We started with set times. The peanut went there Tuesday and Thursday and we watched the Grimes clan on Monday and Friday. Now we have a general two day two night arrangement. Elizabeth lets us know when she is working when she gets her schedule and the Peanut goes over there when Christian decides is best for him. If we need extra, we ask but don’t expect anything. It works for us.

How many: Elizabeth has three kids, we only have one. It doesn’t bother us. We don’t have some sort of formula where our hours equal more becuase there are more kids. Her kids are older so I don’t have to dress or change all but her youngest. They aren’t likely to eat something and force me to call poison control because they have surpassed the “stick everything in your mouth” stage (I’m looking at you Peanut….). I can leave them in a room for a minute and trust they aren’t going to hurt themselves. Plus, we put the kids to bed not very long after Elizabeth leaves, so half of our time babysitting is spent watching Netflix on the couch. But for some people number of kids is a big deal. Not everyone would sign up to watch 5 children 6 and under……welcome to January ’12!

The Age Gap: For some having everyone in the same stage is helpfu, for us I think it works better that they are not in the same age range. Part of it is personality…..adult personality. I love my babies but I am not a baby snatcher by nature. I won’t stalk you at church to grab your new born and smell her tiny head. I have found the Peanut much more enjoyable to spend the day with since about her birthday. But Elizabeth, holy baby lover. The teeny feet, the little cries she loves to walk around with a baby in the sling (which is good because in just a few short months I have a tenant for that sling!) and lament how much bigger they have gotten in the week she hasn’t seen them. She doesn’t find the infant stage to be as draining as I do. Meanwhile, I dig school age kids. I like answering “why” and explaining things in a way a kid understands. I just find kids funnier and much easier to deal with when we can actually understand each other. Christian is pretty even in the developmental preferences so that evens everything out. I guess.

Grace: Ultimately it takes some grace to make this arrangement work. You have to give it, and you have to make sure you are  not taking advantage of too much grace taken not enough extended. That shakes out a little differently for everyone, but too many arrangements that I have heard of erode into one person being the free baby-sitter for the other family and quietly resenting it.

Can you speak up: If you need to re-work, or end the arrangement are you the kind of person who can? If you keep saying “yes” then some of that frustration you are feeling needs to rest on you. Do you trust God enough to know when this relationship ends another way will open up? At some point Elizabeth may get a day job, our kids will be in school when I am, Christian may get a ridiculously high paying job and I will homeschool, Elizabeth will become a best selling author and go on her book tour for two months. We will both be best selling authors and go on matching book tours and leave all the kids with Christian for two months (Thanks honey, you are the best!) Whatever the case may be, it ain’t forever. And that is okay. But when the time comes, somebody needs to say something.

I think that God put this relationship in our lap for a variety of reasons. One of the pastors at our church said that us doing this for each other is the gospel being lived out. It sure feels like it. And imagine if this were the norm at churches, that people truly live lives together and meet each others needs. Heck, if people were regularly doing this for each other I think people would show up at churches in droves just to get in on the action!

There is a rule I have. One this: Friends don’t let friends be a-holes. And if you are really my friend, and I am really being an a-hole, you will tell me to knock it off. If you let me continue to be an a-hole without my knowledge….maybe you aren’t as great of a friend as I thought you were.

I have been really lucky blessed in this area of my life. My sisters have always kept me on the hook, whether it was asking me tough questions about purity in High school, or telling me I better get off my high horse before I get knocked off.

My best pal from the 6th grade, Diane, was an AMAZING accountability partner all through Jr. High and High school. And I am not the easiest person to hold accountable. I have the tendency to get a little defensive. In pre-marital counseling we took some test and Christian and I both rated me super high in hostility. Then I got hostile about it when my mom and future husband were giggling about the fact that I didn’t seem to already know this about myself. I may have been standing in my childhood living room yelling “Hostile! I’m not hostile! I don’t know what everyone thinks is so FUNNY! I AM NEVER HOSTILE! FINE! I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT THIS!”

Sometimes, when Diane would call me out on my less than Godly attitude or behavior I would often have a million reasons to justify my behavior. It wasn’t wrong. I wasn’t wrong. I was completely justified in my behavior. It was good for me to be…..doing whatever I wanted to. Especially the stuff that wasn’t good for me. And she was a good enough friend to not let me get away with that crap. She would stand firm, tell me it didn’t matter what I said to justify it. My behavior was not Godly. Inevitably I would call back at most a few days later letting her know she was right. Could she pray for me. She already was.

Between my freshman and sophomore years of college I went on project with Campus Crusade. I ended up living in a house all summer with 8 other women. And I learned there that if you really loved someone, you wouldn’t let them get away with being a butt. Yeah, a lot of times it is easier for people to just go on their merry way. What they do between them and God is really none of your business. You don’t want to hurt the relationship between you and her. Plus….sometimes…..it can get awkward. The problem with this line of thinking is that ultimately it is selfish. I don’t want to be uncomfortable so I am going to continue to allow you to hurt yourself. Mostly because I don’t feel like saying anything.

I know you have to develop a relationship and all of that before you can dive in. Recently a friend called me out on an attitude problem I was having. Then I tried to justify it. Then she laughed and said “You can think that if you want to, but I am pretty sure that isn’t the way God works.” Not unkindly, it was just that I was soooo being in the flesh right then. And we both knew my nature was seeping through. I have grown up since the days of a phone call three days later. I laughed and said she was right. I am so glad she loves me enough to not want me to be an a-hole.

I want to know, why do all the best most hilarious mothering stories have to do with poop? At least at this stage. Perhaps it is because at this stage the kids are not old enough to say loud and inappropriate things at the worst times. And if I am honest with myself, I sometimes say loud and inappropriate things when I am certainly old enough to know better. So I probably have that stuff coming to me.

I have never been very squeamish about much. I don’t like blood and have almost passed out at first aid presentations. But that was in junior high, I have gotten a lot better since then. I can even watch Grey’s Anatomy without closing my eyes. But bad smells and generally disgusting bodily fluids I have always been able to deal with pretty well. Except when I am pregnant. My gag reflex and sense of smell kicks in to overdrive.

WARNING: This is the part where I start telling hilarious poop stories. Well, hopefully hilarious.

I found this out last year at the Sunday after Thanksgiving  dinner my mom was hosting. The Scientist (Em’s second) was hopping out of her seat and running back and forth around the table. The Scientist ran out of the room and when she came back she was swinging something back and forth. It was her diaper. And more importantly, as the Star (Em’s oldest) so aptly pointed out from the other side of the table as she stood on her chair, pointed, and yelled IT’S POOP! Emily was stuck behind our overly crowded table and thus could not get to the Scientist. So Jill grabbed the Scientist and I snatched the diaper. Jill cleaned her up so before the Scientist could sit on anything while I went to three different trash cans before I found an unoccupied bathroom where I could throw the offending object away. Then I went outside to make sure that if I threw up it would be in the bushes.

Recently, Christian was helping people move and I was at home with the peanut. Our disposable diapers have snaps, but for whatever reason I grabbed a random hand me down diaper that was Velcro at the top. Hey, it matched the cutest little dress I put her in. I needed to run upstairs and check the laundry really quickly, so I left the Peanut in her nursery playing while I ran upstairs. I got distracted and the next thing I knew the Peanut was calling MAMA from the top of the stairs……with a diaper trailing behind her. Upon closer inspection there was a turd trailing out of that diaper. I stripped the Peanut and left her in the bathroom (after making sure she would be safe in there) while I simultaneously tried not to puke and picked up her little trail, and bleached the floor. This is the story that makes people crack up laughing.

And then last week I was babysitting, and I had to change the youngest’s diaper. And I realized I was making gagging noises and disgusting faces because he was mimicking every single thing my face was doing. Then I was laughing, gagging, making faces, and changing the diaper. It was as amusing as he thought it was.

So really, is this just the phase of parenting I am in right now. The poop story phase? I can’t wait to get into the “inappropriate and hysterical comment” stage. I was reminded yesterday that the Star spent a good portion of the French and Indian War re-enactment last summer yelling “I can see that Indian’s BUTT!” I guess that is funnier than poop. But it still has to do with butts…..

Dang, I was reading back through some entries and it is amazing to me what already makes sense to me, just a few months ago I was feeling the need to call out for mercy, but what the heck did that mean?

Well, it seems to mean that instead of the two boys I would need a whole bunch of new stuff for I am getting a beautiful wonderful second baby girl. And the morning after the ultrasound as I was driving to work it suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t HAVE to buy anything for this baby. I will buy a few things so she can have some things all her own, and I am sure other people will as well. But I don’t have to plan or list or anything. I just have to take this kid home. So easy. So awesome. Getting very excited.

While my first trimester was a lot harder this time around mostly I am shocked by my neutral appetite. I am just not that hungry. And I still fit into my regular jeans. I doubt this is coincidental. The ones I bought BEFORE the Peanut even. I really need to find the time to post some belly pics to Facebook because I look much better this time around.

God providing. I am already halfway through summer school. Clearly someone was praying there would be enough kids because I needed about ten and I have 22. They definitely needed me. And there is some other “random” money coming in. Maternity leave is abundantly covered.

New School. Someone contacted me and through the wonders of Facebook we figured out we knew some mutual friends that I don’t know very well but I have a LOT of respect for their world view. I am very much at peace about what will happen next year.

Writing the book. I am doing it. It is still easier for me to not think about it and just do it. But I am doing it.

Mostly, I am amazed at the peace and grace God has given me when my default method of coping is clearly freaking out. Thanks God.

I have noticed some things about myself. Things I have noticed before, but they have been peeping out as I have had a week and some change of mostly just being with me. Most notably, I get myself in situations I am not entirely sure I will be able to get myself out of. I just wing and a prayer it and think “this will probably work out” and most of the time it does. I drive far too long on a gas tank that has been sitting on E far too long. (I know for a fact the CRV can make it 60 miles round trip if you turn the car on and the get gas light is on.) I only ran out of gas one time. And the one time I did run out of gas in college, I called someone and they fixed it. No problem. I once showed up to get an entertainment center off Craigslist only to discover the CRV was about two inches too small in the opening. But my friend with a truck wasn’t working that day and she and her husband came to rescue me. No problem.

Recently that same friend lent me that same truck because the Volvo-wagon is currently out of commission. And me with a truck is probably not the best idea. First, I have a tendency to over estimate what I can lift, drag, carry on my own. Second, I have TERRIBLE spacial awareness. That pre-school skill where you practice figuring out which item fits in which box without actually putting the item in the box…..I could use some work. So I have some trouble figuring out what could go in the bed of the truck and what could not. I just think, “Hey I drive a truck, I can get that!”

Yesterday I went to Lowe’s to pick up the supplies for the headboard I am going to be making. I picked up an eight foot by four foot piece of ply wood, paid for it and attempted to load it into the bed of the truck that was so clearly NOT eight feet long even I was wondering if this was going to work when I whipped out my credit card. You should have seen my pregnant self struggling to cart the giant piece of wood around, then push it out of the store, before finally schlepping it into the truck bed. Where it didn’t fit. And it was light and blowing and bending in the wind. Luckily, and honestly this was the way I expected it to go, some nice man came by and pushed the wood so that is was wedged underneath the box and only sticking out maybe two feet. (Hey, I live in the south I am allowed to expect some nice man will help out a struggling little big pregnant lady.)

Then I had to drive home and get this thing into my house by myself. Which, surprisingly, I did with only a few splinters to show for it. Then I had to get the thing upstairs. I had decided that I was going to get it upstairs before I painted it. Because I knew that there was a chance the giant board would not fit up the awkward narrow staircase we call our own. And I was not going to invest my time and paint on this thing only to have Christian come home and let me know I could either saw it in half or abandon it. But I did manage to get it around and up the staircase! All by myself! And now that I put the bottom coat on it occurred to me this morning that I didn’t measure the space I want to hang this thing on………hmmmmm………

Oh well, I am sure it will work out…….

This weekend I went to the beach with Elizabeth and her kids. It was awesome. But I did cry when I got there because I could imagine how much the Peanut would like to splash in the water and dig (and eat) in the sand. I wanted to slather her with sunscreen and have her experience it all. And I wanted Christian there with me too. Since we have been married we always go to a new place every summer. We love traveling together and know how spoiled we are that we get to take summers to do that. This year, unless we take a quick vacation to Savannah or back to the beach, we don’t really have plans to do that.

On Sunday Elizabeth’s kids decided they would rather chill at the pool than go back to the beach. So I took the minivan and headed out by myself. I had some really great God time, and wept as I heard what the Lord spoke into my heart. Mostly, I miss you. This here, the ocean, the beach, the warm breeze. I put it here for you to enjoy, and I was hoping we could enjoy it together. I want us to spend time together again.

Since becoming a mom I have never quite recovered from the hectic-ness of it all. I tend to spend snippets here and there with God. But picking up my Bible, reading and meditating have not happened very often if at all. God has been so gracious in showing up despite my lack of time or discipline. But I miss the concentrated time I used to have too. And I was pretty humbled that the Lord cares enough about me to miss me individually. I think sometimes I figure He has enough to worry about and surely He doesn’t mind that I have been lacking in calling. But He does.