Lasso The Moon

The Mask: One More Thing to FAIL At

July 28, 2020

I hate mask culture. Not as a political statement--I'll keep those opinions to myself thank you--but as an absent-minded person who has enough to think about and doesn't need another thing to forget at home and ruin her attempt at running errands three days after they should have been run.

I never once left the house with a diaper bag. I was truly lucky if I even had a single diaper in my purse when I needed it. I still leave my phone at home or my keys in the car. I have left my wallet at home many times (next to my computer after online shopping) only to realize I didn't have it when it was time to pay for 3 weeks worth of groceries.

I DO NOT NEED ANOTHER THING TO MAKE ME LOOK AND FEEL INCOMPETENT! 

Do you KNOW how difficult it is to carry 3 pizzas and a 2 liter of coke out of a @dominos with one hand holding the neck of your t-shirt over your face?! I do. Because that's my mask in the pic, where it fell out of my pocket and onto the porch on my way out to pick up dinner last Friday.

 

But--as long as you have to wear one, why not make it a cute one. Mine is from my cousin's shop--@shopgraceandflair . Take my advice and buy multiples. 

 

I Used to be a Wildflower

 I used to pick wildflowers. I used to look forward to May so that I could put together a birthday bouquet full of lilies, thistles, and queen anne's lace that I found in fields or along Texas roads for my friend Amanda's birthday each year.  I used to be a wildflower.  But there is something about being a mom, or a wife, or maybe just an adult, that makes it hard to keep up that wild, care-free spirit.  I'm a role model now.  I have important things to do with my precious little time.  Most days, I probably resemble a cactus--strong, sturdy...and prickly--more than a wildflower swaying in the breeze.

::

We were on our way to buy crickets for our newest pet, who you may have met in a previous post. It was an hour past bedtime, and the pet store would only be open for another 30 minutes.  Donnie was out of town, so it was all on me to keep our beloved pet stocked with prey to stalk, especially since she had turned her nose up at the last treat we presented to her.  Angelina the Tarantula was not exactly Momma's favorite on this night.

Neither was Eli.  Because about 5 minutes from our destination, my potty-training 3-year-old told me he had to potty.  Dark thoughts.

There was literally nothing around except a field, not that I would have been able to take him in anywhere since I wasn't wearing proper supportive undergarments.  In fact, the only person who was fully dressed was Emma, who I was planning to send into the store.  Everyone else was in jammies or less, since it was an hour past bedtime. Out of potty options, we pulled over to the field.  And as there were no trees to aim for, which are his preference when taking relief in the wild, I pointed out a small purple thistle.  "Go for it." I stood there grumbling in my heart for a minute as he finished, knowing we could easily run out of time.

And then glanced up at the field.

It was absolutely bursting with wildflowers. Gorgeous purples, pinks, rusts, and golds--colors I would never put together, but in nature, they just work.  And as I stood there, I felt the stirring of my inner wildflower from within my hard cactus shell.  Do I have the time?  I tossed the kid back into the car, and grabbed one of the  five pairs of scissors in the glove box, because that's where you keep scissors apparently, and I ran.  I cut as many as I could carry while my kids looked on with amusement.  I saw them giving each other the nervous side-eye like, "Exactly when will Dad be back from his trip...?"

It only took about 5 minutes.  After their initial shock, the kids started pointing out patches and colors that I didn't have yet. And then with my arms full, my heart racing, and hands stinging from the thistles, I got in the car and drove to the pet store.  We pulled in with a few minutes to spare.

::

A lot of times when I'm ordering my day, I fill that to-do list to the top, the sides, and the bottom.  Because there is never enough time to do what needs to be done.  That list is full, and tasks get crossed out!  But there is no margin.   I need margin.  Nice Mommy is in the margin.  Mommy who tries new recipes and card tricks is in the margin.  Encouraging Wife who sends texted love notes in the middle of the day is in the margin.  Wildflowers are in the margin.  I want to be a wildflower again.  As my children get older, they don't need me to be quite so rigid with their "training-up."  Maybe they never did.  I think it's time to practice the gentle sway of the wildflower again.  I liked that version of me.  I think my family will too.

 

 

We're Gonna Make It

These two.

What can I say about toddlers?  They are HARD.  It's no joke.  They have no common sense.  They have no grip on their emotions.  They have no volume control.

You'll notice my two-year-old is locked onto that pacifier.  No judgement please.  He is a high-maintenance fourth child.  THIS IS SURVIVAL.

And then I wander into the living room, because they have been TOO QUIET for a few minutes, and I find them like this.  Esther is pointing out every detail on every page, in that non-stop, chirpy four-year-old chatter.  And Eli is drinking in every word.

I have never seen him sit so still. 

It's the moments like these that make you stop and remember that it is worth 3000 diapers, marker on the wall, and the brand new box of cereal dumped on the floor because "I DO IT!".   Something that I am doing or saying, or maybe it's just the mere passage of time, is getting through to them.  And there is a chance we might actually make it through!

Happy Monday, y'all.  We're gonna make it.

 

P.S. They're reading this book! We've had it since forever! It's such a classic!

 

Even homeschoolers take snow days

The big calendar I made at the beginning of the school year is taking a hit this week.  We have gotten almost nothing done.  Because this is what you do in Dallas when "snow" hits.

The first day was pure ice. The streets were coated in it, so we pulled out our trusty sled and some cargo straps and ran through the streets, pulling the kids behind us.  This attracted the attention of our neighbors (we were screaming like idiots), and soon we were taking turns dragging our friends around...kids AND adults.

And then today we woke up to giant gobs of slush falling from the sky.  The perfect consistency for rolling snowballs and snowmen.

It might have taken every flake of snow from the yard (and the neighbors), but we are proud of our leaf-and-snow people.

(The one one the right got decapitated by Eli only moments before the picture.)

Who needs a ski trip?

 

Four Kids is Too Many: What to do when God gives you more than you can handle.

I know it sounds terrible, but it is absolutely true.  Four kids is too many.  If you have four kids, (or 2 or 8 or wherever your "too many" hit you) then you know. It's like they are everywhere at once.  Sometimes they take turns, tag-teaming with their shenanigans, one after the other, wearing me down hour after hour while they get time to energy-up during someone else's turn to pour out all the cereal or slam their own fingers in the bathroom door. 

And other times, it all hits at once like a tsunami of neediness. I remember a distinct moment about 18 months ago.  I was giving our new baby a bath when the toddler fell off of something tall, and the two school aged kids were desperate for help--one with math homework and the other was probably trying to cook or something.  Donnie was working that night, so it was all on me to deal with it.  And I couldn't. I could not help them all.  I couldn't even reach the toddler who was screaming like a maniac.  I could, however, reach the phone, and with one hand on the bathing baby, I remember texting my sister*, "They all need me right now. All four of them, at the exact same second are in desperate need of my undivided attention, and I can't do it."  I don't know why, but I never expected that. I felt so defeated.

I'm sure you've heard that saying, "God will never give you more than you can handle." I first heard that phrase when I was young, and it has brought me great comfort over the years.  What a sweet, gentle God who only gives each of us as much as we can handle. I don't ever have to worry, because He'll never let anything happen to me that is too much.  All those bad things that happen to people in the world? God must have let those things happen to them, because they are just better at handling hard things, right?

Does that sound right to you? 

I don't think so.  It's weird to realize that you've been living in a fog of misconception for most of your life.  I'm the type of person who over-analyzes everything, and yet I had swallowed this Masterful Lie from the Devil like it was a spoon full of sugar from Mary Poppins.   It just felt so good going down!

But when you are in the middle of a situation that you absolutely cannot handle, that saying doesn't feel so good anymore.  It feels less like a promise and more like a betrayal. Or a kick in the ribs.

The real truth is exactly opposite. If you are a child of God, I bet He's allowed something in your life that is more than you can handle.  Maybe a lot of somethings.  And you're not alone.  There are lots of  biblical examples:  Esther had to confront the most powerful, dangerous dictator in the world, all by her pretty little self.  Gideon had to face an army of blood-thirsty barbarians, with just a few guys and no weapons!  Peter was asked to WALK on WATER.  Mary had to watch her sweet, perfect son be ripped apart right before her eyes.  I don't think any of these people were able to handle these things.  And yet, there they were, in the middle of their own life stories, required to do something that was just too much.

 Maybe you are dealing with something like this right now.  Whether it is a devastating loss, a profound disappointment, a terrifying diagnosis, loneliness, or wherever your "too much" has hit you, please believe that God did not allow this thing in your life because He knew you'd be so great at handling it.  He knows the pain and frustration of this life, and He wants to carry you through this season of feeling like you just can't take another step.  He wants you to bury your face in his chest and let the tears flow freely.  He's your Papa.

For me, it took saying out-loud the words that I was too ashamed to even think to myself.  "Four kids is too many." And when I said it, somehow they turned from a complaint to a prayer.

Lord, four kids is too many for me to manage on my own. I know this is more than I can handle. I'm begging you for a portion of grace that will see me through this day.  I don't want to just survive, Lord.  I want to be the kind of mom who shines Your Love on them the whole day.  Teach me to see them the way you do--their eternal value in Your kingdom. Show me how to love them and nurture them, to discipline them in a way that teaches and doesn't cause shame. And please don't leave my line of sight, for the entire day.  Because if I take my eyes off of you, I'm going to run this whole screaming circus into the ground.

On days when I speak those words from my heart to my Savior, things are different.  I don't feel like the waters are rising up over my head while I try to walk on water by my own strength. I know that He's carrying me, using His Spirit to speak words of life and growth into my children, that I sometimes can't even believe are coming out of my mouth.  Somehow I see them as future adults who are going to do HUGE things to change the world, and I appreciate so much more about all the little annoying things they do to try to destroy me.  Because I can see that they won't do them forever.

On the other hand, sometimes I forget. When I try to live my life on my own strength, I end those days with a shadow of regret, hurt feelings, and failure. I hear that sharp hateful tone in my voice and cringe at the memory of how I made one of my children feel like a burden or a failure instead of the beautiful, inspiring, redemptive presence that she is. That's not the kind of mother I want to be.  My kids certainly don't deserve that. On those days, there is usually a moment** when that desperate thought crosses my mind:

I can't do this.

I'm going to lose it.

This is too much.

Four kids is too many.

And I'm learning to hear those words, not as an admission of failure or source of shame, but as a prayer. 

I can't do this.  Lord, you have to show me how to react in this situation.

I'm going to lose it. Lord, remind me of your Word. Cover me in your grace and peace. 

This is too much. Lord, it's too much for me, but it's nothing for You. Please make this path clear to me.  Show me what's important and what can wait for a quieter day.

Four kids is too many. But Lord, you gave them to me.  I know you chose them for me, and me for them.  I adore them, but I feel like I'm punching above my weight, and I need your help to keep them fed, happy, and alive today.

The desperate prayers of a mother on the edge are always answered quickly. He loves my kids more than I do. He knows their paths and their innermost thoughts.  He knows how to diffuse a situation in a more effective and peaceful way than I could ever think of. And every time I go before Him, He shows up in a powerful way.

 Here are a couple of references to back all this up:

Matthew 11:28  “Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.

2 Corinthians 1:3-5 Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, ⁴ who comforts us in all our affliction so that we will be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God. ⁵ For just as the sufferings of Christ are ours in abundance, so also our comfort is abundant through Christ.

2 Corinthians 12:9  And He has said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for power is perfected in weakness.” Most gladly, therefore, I will rather boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may dwell in me.

I love that last one.  "Boast about my weakness."

It's true. Four kids is too many for me to handle. I'm so glad I don't have to do it on my own.

::

footnotes

*my sister was no help.  Her reply text was  :(

**It usually happens about the time that one of the children throws up, and while I'm hugging and soothing him another one comes in to investigate and slips in the vomit fully clothed to the shoes, and then as I start to panic, thinking I'm running out of arms and patience, the cat shows up and starts eating the vomit. (Oh how I wish this wasn't a true story.)

 

When Fireflies Spread Butterfly Wings

When Ethan first entered public school, I honestly did not know what to expect out of him.  He is not the natural student that Emma was, and at home he's the one who gets called out the most for not listening or following directions.  I was so nervous that his teachers wouldn't be able to see his loving, energetic, encouraging character traits as positives in the world of test scores and quiet single-file lines. 

But they did.  He has had two excellent, gentle teachers.  Sometimes I think his first grade teacher understands him better than I do!  She loves him to bits.

Still, today at his first grade award ceremony, I did't know what to expect. 

He walked across the stage while his teacher named all the certificates he received in his packet.  Good citizenship, more than 50 advanced reading points, some other stuff I don't remember because I was trying to take pictures...

We clapped and cheered, and loved our hearts out at that little guy from our seats in the school cafeteria.

But then this happened.

These are the children who were able to maintain an average of 95 or above in every subject.

And then there was this.

These are the children who had the top three scores in reading and math in the entire first grade.  Ethan was third place in math.

I stood there snapping pictures, bursting with pride. But there was another feeling as well.  A nagging guilt.

Because I realized that I had labeled him.  Emma was the "smart one" and Ethan was the "sweet one".  I didn't mean to.  It started out as a way to showcase Ethan's best qualities, even though they weren't always as showy as his sister's.  This is not a bad thing, right?  Kids need to know what their parents like about them.  They need to be told what they are good at.

Hands Free Mama wrote an excellent article called "Children Who Shine From Within" that shares a perspective on children with different talents and gifts that aren't quite as flashy as others'.  I love this article.  The heart behind it is making sure that you know what your kids' value is, and how to share that with them.  But what I realized today was that I took that too far.  In my heart I labeled Emma the butterfly and Ethan the firefly.  Emma gets good grades, is great at art, and loves to sing.  Her talents are easily showcased in the modern academic world.  She spreads her colorful wings and people take notice. Ethan is enthusiastic, empathetic, nurturing, and the friendliest kid I know.  There aren't tests for those things.  His light shines from within.  And sometimes you have to be looking in the right place to even see it.

But today, my firefly spread his wings, and they were as colorful as any butterfly's.  I have to be careful to give my kids the space to become whoever they are supposed to become.  Gifts and talents should be a source of freedom, not a label on a box that I put them into.  If I label Emma as the "smart one", will she feel free to pursue sports, take risks, or do something just for the fun of it?  If I mark Ethan as the less-shiny of the two, will he ever feel free to shine when it's his time?

My kids are as complex as any adult, and I shouldn't confine them with simple labels or descriptions.  Even though they are one way today, I want to give them an environment where it's okay to show me an entirely different side of themselves tomorrow.  Today, Ethan showed me that he's not a butterfly, a firefly, or any other limiting insect metaphor.  He's my hard-working, math-loving, toothless-grinning first grader.  And I can't wait to get to know him even better.

 

 

And Then My Life Imploded...

Did you ever forget a friend's birthday, and you want to call her the next day and make up for it, but then you feel bad that you forgot, so you don't.   And then some time passes, and every time you want to call that friend, you remember forgetting the birthday, so you don't...but now you also feel bad about all the time that has passed.  And then more time passes.  And before you know it, your friend has gotten married, had three kids, moved out of state, and is running for Mayor of her new town, but you still can't bring yourself to call, all because of that stupid missed birthday call!?!

It's kind of like that. 

Where have I been?  Well, it's a little complicated.  It started out kind of like the story above, but it was more like I had so much to share, but no time to write an intelligible post about it, so I waited.  But then I had even more to share, and yada yada yada, the cycle continued. 

And then my life imploded.

Back sometime around the end of November, things started to change for this mother of four.  Elijah got sick the night before Thanksgiving, and I missed the holiday altogether.   And then his illness turned into the beginning of teething, and my already seldom-sleeping baby began to sleep even fewer hours than before.  He replaced them with hours of screaming.  All. Night. Long.

Over the course of the next few months, this sleeping problem became more severe, and while I tried with all my might to not keep track, I am pretty sure I never got more than 5 hours of sleep for a single night in January.  Most nights it was three.  Or less. The absolute worst was when I finally got Eli to fall asleep, and I heard Emma's alarm clock ring, telling her it was time to get up for school.

Now, I have never been particularly needy when it comes to sleep.  In fact, during my more manic productive times, I could go for days with very little sleep.  But not weeks.  And certainly not months.  By the end of January, I was almost unrecognizable to myself.   I spent my days in a fog, barely holding myself together enough to deal with the laundry, dishes, dinner, and homework that are the core of my job.  And some days I couldn't do any of those things.  I gained 15 pounds, because hearing a baby scream for hours makes me want to eat my feelings, and by feelings, I mean Lucky Charms.  And somehow I developed an addiction to Candy Crush--which you will be happy to note, I just deleted from my phone before I sat down to write this.  Enough is enough.

So, where in the world have I been?  I've been right here, with a baby in my arms, a toddler climbing up my back, helping the big kids with homework while I stare at the wall, eat lucky charms, or play Candy Crush.  It has not been pretty, y'all.

It is now half-way through March. We have done sleep training, which my pediatrician said would take 3-5 days, and which actually took 6 weeks, and is still ongoing.  Elijah just cut his fourth tooth, which is incredible, since one month ago he did not have anything but swollen gums.  And I am ready to start putting my life back together.  It's funny that one of my goals for this year was to be more human, and that I almost immediately devolved into something much more closely resembling primordial ooze.  Oh well.  I have worn shoes to Walmart at least once this year, and last week I painted my fingernails.  So, that's something.

Through it all, there have been moments of sunlight, clarity, and joy, which I look forward to sharing with you in the coming days.  But for now, I need to deal with my screaming son (note that it's 4am) and then get a couple hours of sleep before the rest of the kids wake up.

Hoping to be back here soon!

XOXO, Anna

 

 

Merry Christmas!

 

Breeze

After spending much of August huddled around the air conditioning vents, we got a little relief this weekend.  Low 80's and breezy.  It was amazing.  We spent a few hours at our favorite park.  We couldn't waste the weather, since it could easily be back in the hundreds next week.

Emma spent most of her park time on top of the climbing rock.  Sometimes big sisters need a little solitude.

Ethan is clutching his chest because he has just failed at keeping up with Esther...

...who never stopped running the entire time we were there.

Elijah stayed in the shade.

But he found something to keep himself occupied, too!

Can you believe he is 5 months old already! 

So thankful for sunshine and cool breezes.

 

 

First Day Jitters :: 2013

Well, I got through it again, even though I didn't think it was possible.  The hardest day of the year for me as a mother is the day before the first day of school.  I spend the day double checking school supplies, packing bags, planning lunches, kicking myself for forgetting to buy water or juice boxes of any kind, admiring my children's faces, marveling at how big they're getting, and grabbing them for a hug every time they walk past me.  And crying.  There is always crying.

But by the time the big day actually arrives, there is so much hustle and bustle, I don't have time to tear up.  We got dressed, checked bags again, made lunches, ate breakfast, made lunches, and were out on the lawn for pictures before 7:30.  We grabbed last year's picture for the annual frame-within-a-frame shot.

This part always takes a while, because my kids are chronic weird-face-makers whenever they look into camera lens.  For example:

I have half a mind to hang this one on his wall all year.  It cracks me up.  I'll send these to Walgreens and have them printed and hanging in their rooms when they get home from school today. 

Of course, the little guys had to get into the picture-taking too.

Oh my gosh.  Ethan's face!  I'm going to look at this all day long to cheer me up.

We packed up and drove the half mile to school, or at least we tried to. We only got half way there, because every other parent wanted to walk in with every other kid, so we parked at the end of the street and hoofed it the rest of the way, loaded down with six bags of supplies.  By the time we got to the front steps, they were saying things like, I'm so tired! and Why does school have to be so hard?! I'm sure the 80% humidity didn't help!  But everything got better once we made it to Ethan's class.  He has the same beloved teacher that Emma had for first grade, so it was a happy reunion.  I can't wait to catch up with her.

He found a seat next to some friends from last year.

(See the bag that Emma is holding in the background above?  That's one of the tote bags I made for their teachers.  I'm going to put up a tutorial for ya later this week!)

Finally we made our way to Emma's class.  I'd never met her teacher before, but I knew that many of Emma's friends from previous years were going to be in her class.  Turns out, her teacher is darling. And she seemed to be really excited to meet the kids and the parents.  I made sure to give Emma a big sloppy kiss while her friends were watching, and I told her please don't cry, but if you get too scared or sad without me, just call and I'll come pick you up. 

She said, "I don't think that will be necessary."  Hmph.

So, with seven hours of waiting ahead of us, Esther and I are trying not to look at the clock too much.  We are cleaning, working on projects, and watching videos, but really we are just counting down the minutes until carpool time. 

And in case you're feeling sentimental, too:

Big Day

First Day of School 2012

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Did your kids go back to school yet?  I think we're pretty late this year compared to everyone else.  If you took first day pics, link them to the comments!  I'd love to see them!

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Be sure to check back in later this week for the back-to-school tote tutorial!