The Village: Daydreams of a Stay At Home Mom

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The Village: Daydreams of a Stay At Home Mom

We all hear that “it takes a village”—and what a quaint little saying that is—but Y’ALL, WHERE IS THIS VILLAGE?! Because even if your family lives in town and you have awesome friends, there are those days when, desperate for interaction, you attempt to summon the village. To call or text a friend for a stroll or a family member for help but OH NO TODDLER IS SCREAMING BECAUSE SHE REMEMBERED THE EXISTENCE OF OVEN MITTS AND WHY ISN’T SHE WEARING THEM, MOTHER, WHY?!? So you give her the worn yellow oven mitts and then, wait, what were you doing? Oh yes, sending that SOS text, but oh wait, baby is like HEY GIRL I AM FURIOUS THAT I HAVE A DIRTY DIAPER AND I WILL NEVER GET OVER IT EVER, so you quickly change the diaper. Mid-change, Toddler realizes it is HILARIOUS to pour the milk on the kilim rug WHY DO WE HAVE A KILIM RUG WHO ARE WE KIDDING HERE, INSTAGRAM, WE SHOULD ONLY OWN THINGS MADE OUT OF PLASTIC SO THEY CAN BE HOSED DOWN (jk it was free from my grandmother, but still) and wait wait, what were we doing? OH YES, sending text. But hold up, THE OVEN MITTS HAVE FALLEN OFF BECAUSE OF THE MILK SPILLING AND TODDLER WILL SCREAM FROM THE ROOFTOPS HOW VERY UNCOOL THIS IS! You make a mental note to re-read that article on Pinterest about techniques for toddler discipline but naturally you forget and also who cares.

It kind of goes like that for a while.

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Little by Little

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Little by Little

My daughter Adelaide took forever to talk. She developed her own minion-like language, hilarious and adorable, but when it came to actual words, there weren’t many. When our pediatrician would ask us at a well visit how many words Adelaide had, I would round up, quite a bit, and we’d still fall short. I’m a chatty person, and Adelaide was hearing one billion words a day at home, but she wasn’t saying them. I wasn’t sure what she understood, and it made me panicky: Am I not doing a good job? Is something wrong?

In the name of thorough first-time-mom-ness, I consulted a speech therapist and a developmental therapist. It was a whole six month process, but ultimately, they said she was fine—probably a little behind, but in process. “She’ll surprise you,” they said.

And then one day: “I am Moana of Motunui. You will board my boat and sail across the sea!”

My jaw dropped.

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Why Retreats Matter

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Why Retreats Matter

I think God tends to do his most profound work in small moments—the regular practice of opening up the Bible and leaving it out on the counter for random snatches of reading, of praying in the car, of keeping an open dialogue of gospel-talk with friends, of choosing to not be offended by a weird email. I think the regular moments matter most, that it’s where our roots grow and stretch deep down into the earth, grounding our faith and making it stronger.

But I also think big events can reinvigorate small-moment living. This is the reason I believe in retreats. (This weekend I'm speaking at a women's retreat, and I’m in the middle of planning a women's retreat in December, so retreats are on my brain. Also, treats are on my brain. That’ll come up later.)

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Strange Encounters with Sleepy Toddlers

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Strange Encounters with Sleepy Toddlers

My precious firstborn is rarely the type to do things by the book. She was born 15 days after her due date (I KNOW I KEEP MENTIONING THIS, probably because I’ll never get over it), she never crawled except in secret, she could eat an entire adult meal before she had any teeth, she took forever to talk but currently will not stop talking, and she has never had one single ounce of separation anxiety. While other children were missing their moms and agonizing over being away from them in the nursery at church, Adelaide would barely tell me goodbye. Basically, if it’s going to mess with my mind, Adelaide is into it.

However, one solid benefit to her “not-going-by-the-book”-ness is that she sleeps like a rock every single night and never, ever gets out of bed. For over three years she has waited patiently for me in the morning, and if she were the only other person in the house, I would get tons of sleep. Well, until this month.

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He Is Good

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He Is Good

This was originally posted in my old blog in October 2014. The link came up on my Facebook memories this week, and I shared it from my personal account. Because this old painful story resonated with some precious readers, I want to be faithful to share it here, too, in case God will use it to strengthen your faith. I know I needed to be reminded of this truth. However, if stories about scary incidents with children are too triggering for you currently (I have been there!!), please don't read it. I want this story to serve you, not overwhelm you. Our God is good. 

I threw out the pink monkey pajamas. They’re cute, and she only wore them once. But they make me remember that night, and I do not want to remember.

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