The Battle of Mamahood

There was a time being a Mama felt like going to battle every single day.

You had to assemble all of your supplies... the diapers and the wipes and the formula and the bottles and three different outfits because the first two were destined to be covered in spit up or occasionally poop (and then there were the outfits for the baby!) Favorite toys and favorite blankies.  And then there was the wrestling them in and out of the car seat...

I thought of this yesterday, as I sat in church. I would often leave church on Sunday mornings feeling like I had been in a boxing match.

Caleb would climb up in my lap, and then climb under the pew, and I'd have to reach and grab him. He'd play with my hair and try to hold my hand and climb back up in my lap.  He'd lean over on me, as close as he could get, and then head butt me to get my attention. He never went anywhere without at least fifty cars (I am NOT exaggerating. I'm trying to decide if this meant that I spoiled him for continuing to buy them or just by packing them along... but they were a lifesaver at many a ballgame. He just didn't understand why he couldn't take up a whole pew on Sunday morning to line them up to listen to the message, After all, even Lightning McQueen needs Jesus, right?)

So, if you're a Mama, you can probably relate.

And almost thirteen years later, I still feel like I'm going to battle every single day... only this one is a verbal battle. A battle of words and wit and eye rolls and the occasionally slamming door (and yes, I still can slam doors with the best of them. Real mature, Mom...)

I have tried to choose my battles. There is no choice about going to church most Sundays, but there is a choice about what to wear, even if it kills my husband's soul. And I don't battle over bedtimes at night, but I am trying to wage a war on disrespect toward myself and others. Sometimes, I make a little ground. A lot of the time, I want to wave the white flag, but I keep on digging in. I know that God formed Caleb in my womb, and He has plans for Him that were laid in place before Caleb was even thought of. Though the battle is tough, the Bible promises that those who endure to the end shall be saved, which tells me that this battle is already won. I just have to claim the victory.  (And I don't want you to think Caleb is an awful kid... because he's not. He has a heart of gold and loves long and hard and never meets a stranger. He just sometimes cares more for strangers than he does his parents, and I'm convinced that is pretty typical for a twelve year old. At least, it was for me when I was twelve, and the kid has definitely got a lot of my genetics!)

And then there were moments like yesterday. Caleb had sat up all night long (accidentally. He really didn't mean to.  He really wanted to go to sleep. He just never quite got there.) He was in an excellent mood considering. There was no back talk on the way to church. He sat with some of his friends and was relatively quiet. Then, about halfway through the sermon, he made his way back and sat next to me. He laid his head on my shoulder and fell fast asleep.

I'd like to say that I was a tough Mama and I shook him awake, but I didn't. I just sat there, rubbing his back and feeling the rise and fall as he breathed in (and snored. I did shake him a little to get him to stop snoring). I sat there and allowed myself to go back to those days nine or ten years ago, when I'd walk out of the sanctuary sure that I was half-dressed because my skirt would be twisted and an occasional button was missing from the wrestling match that had just ensued.  I thought of chubby little arms wrapped around my neck and warm breath smelling of cheerios falling on my cheek.

Just for a minute, I paused and appreciated just how blessed I am to be Caleb's mama.

And then he woke up, grouchier than ever...

But oh, baby.  I'm still blessed.

To Catch You Up

So, I've been a little quiet in this space the past couple of months even though I had vowed (resolved, aimed, promised... you fill in the blank) to write every day. Namely because life gets busy and also because I've been trying not to get on my computer as much. It hasn't worked, but I've found myself advancing in Candy Crush like never before. Ok... maybe that's a lie, because I've always been pretty addicted to Candy Crush.

Let's stop to think about that a minute.

How is it that a game can hold someone's attention for so very long?  I mean, I loved Tetris and Super Mario Brothers growing up, but a girl could only play so much before her eyes started crossing. I think Candy Crush baits me in by having limited lives.  I hold my breath for 25 minutes until I can play again... and in the meantime read and sleep.

And I've also been walking a lot, holding hands with Caleb when he'd allow it, and watching TV with Wallace (we are currently addicted to AD, Criminal Minds, and I've found myself involved in Bates Motel, which I find really, really hard to believe. And just last night there was a new Pawn Stars, so I'm pretty sure that our summer is set.)

I've also been following the NFL Deflategate situation pretty closely, only because I used to think Tom Brady was pretty cute but I developed a strong dislike for him a couple of years ago for some reason. And cheaters never win... and he looks a little too scruffy sometimes... but we won't point fingers at quarterbacks who sometimes make poor decisions because Big Ben hasn't always been the sharpest tool in the box. Speaking of my Steelers, I have been in slight mourning because Troy retired (yes, I can call him Troy. He is younger than me and I feel like I know him on a first name basis).  I was elated when Bud Dupree was drafted and signed by the Steelers, though... because he is a Wildcat and we all know that Big Blue Nation is great... maybe not always at football, but Dupree is legit.

Also going on in the last couple of months: I've been trying to lose weight, but I like chocolate a little too much, and also Lemon Oreos (which are divine.  A small taste of Heaven in between two cookies. God did good when He gave someone that idea). I have lost some weight, though... but I couldn't tell you a number because I have no idea what I weighed this time last year. Seriously.  Scales were not my friend.

And they still aren't, but I'm happy to say that despite the Lemon Oreos, I've also managed to lose all  most of my baby weight.

It's just taken me 12 years... but Wallace said the other night, "This just might be the smallest you've been since you had Caleb."

So we can call it baby weight...

One way I would NOT recommend losing weight is the horrific stomach virus that has been going around.  The whole family was down for the count last week (except for Wallace. I think he must have some kind of secret immunity. That, or he quarantined himself in the bedroom and I was nice enough to sleep on the couch.)

I'll let that sink in for  a minute, too... the SICK individual in the house on the couch, while the healthy individual enjoyed the luxury of the bed. However, if you know Wallace and know how much he enjoys his sleeping, you know that I couldn't take that away from him. And obviously, I didn't do much sleeping that night because I was too busy dying... He was nice enough to occasionally yell, "Lauren, are you ok? Do you need anything?". Well... hmm... nothing that I can think of. And in the midst of dying, when I thought I was going to pass out because I felt like my sugar was dropping, he did come running to my aid...

with a bag of blueberry muffins in one hand and a Fiber One strawberry streudel in the other. Um... STOMACH VIRUS??? But it was the thought that counted...

Anyway, things are pretty much back to normal around here and no one died from the virus. I actually have some control over Mount Laundry in the hallway and am vowing not to sleep away the summer.

I'm making no promises about not reading it away, though...

Or relaxing in the hammock most of the day...

Now that I've filled you in on all things going on in the Bates house, I'm going to go get my Lemon Oreos and grab Nobody's Cuter Than You by Melanie Shankle ( a must read!). Have a blessed day!!!

A Thank You to Those Younger Than Me

Dear Sweet One,

I don't even know you and yet I do... because I sat in that same place (or a place somewhat similar) just a few years ago.

Ok, maybe it was a little bit longer than a few years ago, and maybe it was in a different gym, but there were still balloons festooning the bleachers and lights flashing as the DJ played some sappy love song that will be out of season before the night is out.

I see you there, spinning on the dance floor, the skirt of your dress flaring out around you.

Tonight, you are magical, and you don't even know it.

YOU are beautiful.

Not your fancy dress or your makeup or your nails or your updo.

You.

Even when you go home and collapse into bed (which by now you already have) without washing the hairspray out or the makeup off...

when you wake up and that eyeliner is smudged around tired eyes, you'll still be beautiful.

The dress doesn't make the girl, and it's high time that we realize that.

As I sit here, admiring how the light sparkles off the sequins of your dress, I'm envious of your youth.

You have the whole world at your fingertips.

But hindsight is 20/20 and even 20 years down the road I still don't have it all figured out.

I do know this, though.

You are beautiful. You are you... in your Chuck Taylor converse (blinged out for some of you!) or your short puffy dress or your multicolored hair.

Oh, you may not be the most beautiful...

but comparisons are silly and are ruining us.

There isn't a comparison between apples and oranges and it's high time that we stop comparing each other, too...

because I wasn't the smartest or the prettiest or the most eloquent... but I was me. And it's taken me 20 years to figure out that was enough.

I'm not sure when I started thinking that I wasn't enough...

I'm not sure when that less than attitude kicked in...

I just know that sometimes as a teenager one becomes overcome with emotions and hormones and start to see how you may or may not look in the eyes of others.

And as vain human beings, we tend to think that everyone is judging us...

and sometimes they are.

But the thing is, we too often judge based on what the outside looks like, and that is crazy...

because air is freshest just after it rains and sometimes even on the sunniest days, things aren't beautiful because you can't breathe.

I wish I knew all of your names. I wish I could tell you that the mirror sometimes lies and that we are often our own biggest critic. That sometimes you may feel like hiding in a corner but it is never worth it. I wish I could tell you to take a deep breath and relish how special you feel, that excitement of the perfect dress... the intoxicating rush of being a princess for a day... because who doesn't want to be a fairy princess?

And maybe your evening didn't even start out that way because your dress isn't perfect and your hair won't stay up and for the love of God you've never gotten the hang of painting your fingernails and you can't afford a manicure.

You know what?

That doesn't matter.

We aren't beautiful because of what we wear or how much we weigh or how fancy our hair is.  You aren't beautiful because of who you are... but...

You are beautiful because you are you... and no one else can be you.

And today, as I'm reflecting on being old and watching youth in all its glory last night...

I say thank you....

Thank you, even if you don't realize you are beautiful.

Thank you for helping me affirm to me that beauty is contagious.

Keep on keeping on, and keep on being you.

Love,
The Older Me, who Wishes I had Realized this a little sooner.

Music in My Heart

There's such a thing as muscle memory. Do something long enough, over and over repetitively, and it becomes a habit. Something you can close your eyes and do.

Things we are conditioned to do... like when I miss a turn because I'm so used to going straight to town. Or when I accidentally run the red light at Lees College because when I was cruising around town as a high schooler, there wasn't a red light there.

And the thing about memories are... they'll come back to you at the strangest of times.

Like today...

That organ started playing the first notes of "Morning Had Broken", and I caught myself standing a little taller, with one hand by my side.

No slouching. No fidgeting. "Lauren, quit rocking back and forth on your feet."

I could close my eyes and I was right back in that room at Breathitt High School. The chair is hard against my back and the carpet is a little worn.  We've gone over that same score too many times to count, and then...

She was sitting at the piano, head held high, a somewhat stern look on her face...

Until the music was over, and then...

She'd hold one hand up, directing us to stop, and then salute us with that hand.

And that smile...

It covered her whole face. There was nothing like nailing a song...

Not just because you sung beautifully...

but because you knew you had made her proud.

Chorus was my favorite class from 8th grade until I graduated, and I had a lot of excellent teachers(read more about those here, if you'd like). I'm pretty sure that my Senior year Chorus was pretty much a haven for me... because after AP English, AP Calculus, and AP Chemistry, I could go in and relax.

I'd like to think I was the teacher's pet. I won the Chorus award at 8th grade graduation and at high school graduation. The thing about Mrs. DeHoag, though... is that really, every one was the teacher's pet. She loved you regardless and managed to make you feel special. There was a place for everyone in her Choir.

Mrs. DeHoag taught me much more than what a teacher normally teaches. 

She taught me self-respect. She taught me courage. She taught me that if you just keep trying, you'll eventually get it... and if you don't try, you won't ever get it. As we drove to Louisville today, Nora and I laughed about how when she gave you music, the next time you went through it better be better than the first.

She had high expectations.

From my first solo in 8th grade (one of the verses of Who Put the Bomp) to my last solo in high school (Bind' aut dein harr... in German, no less) she pushed me to try things that I never would have.

A note that seemed to high?

Breath control.

An Eastern Kentucky accent?

It didn't matter... when you opened your mouth to sing, it better disappear.

You didn't hold out the consonant sounds, only the vowels, and you shaped your mouth a certain way to make those vowels rounded.

You just simply didn't disappoint her.

You sang from within, from the heart, and you showed that in your presentation.

She taught me about other things, too...

how to project my voice during a ballgame. All-District Chorus tryouts fell right smack dab in the middle of football season...

and what an exciting football season it was.  We were undefeated, and we all know that was largely due to my hard work on the sideline.

I never worried about my voice being strained, though, because Mrs. DeHoag had a talk with me my freshman year about how I could yell deep without putting a lot of pressure on my vocal chords.

Wallace has her to think when I can be heard yelling at the refs across the gym now, loud and clear, and still be able to talk the next morning.

She taught me how music is something to be enjoyed... all types.

I shine at UK football games because we proudly sang My Old Kentucky Home, and I know all the words, not just the "Weep No more my lady" that most of the stadium sings.

Songs like "Poor Man Lazarus" are jotted in my Bible, because every time I read that Scripture I think of Mrs. DeHoag.

Decrescendo and crescendo and emphasizing your diction.

Determination and hard work.

And love. I knew Mrs. DeHoag loved me... loved all of her students. She showed it by pushing us, and she showed it as she talked about us during concerts, and she showed it when she came to my wedding.

She showed it when I looked over in a Target bathroom while washing my hands and met her eyes after I hadn't saw her in a few years.
"Lauren!" She squealed, and hugged me even though my hands were dripping wet.

She showed it when I ran into her at Red Lobster in Louisville during one of Wallace's Reserve meetings.

A hug and questions about Mom and my sisters until we realized that we were holding up the waitress.

And as we sang "Joyful, joyful" to conclude her service today, I thought of the medley we sang from Sister Act that included that song and O Happy Day

Today, and these past few days, were sad days, as I read comments and posts made by my friends and classmates who were impacted by her love for her students and her music... As the music went on, and the service spoke of how grace and love win, I teared up, as is expected with death...

But I was reminded during her service that it is also a happy day, because we have hope.

Hope in Christ.

Victory over death.

We don't mourn as people without hope...

and that hope is in my heart.

Just like her music.

Thank you, Mrs. Dehoag, for believing in me... and in all those who were blessed to have you in the classroom. Thank you for the memories, for your laughter, for your smile of pride that I can still remember.

And thank you for the music. "Next to the Word of God, the noble art of music is the greatest treasure in the world."- Martin Luther

"Eyes have not seen, ears have not heard, neither has it entered into the heart of man, what God has prepared for those who love Him."

And I'm pretty sure that includes new songs and melodies. I'm glad you're going ahead of me. I'll be doing my warm-ups, and we'll sing together again.

Will You Be My Friend?

In my quietness, I've been contemplating lots of deep stuff over the last month.

Like why Kentucky had to lose this weekend.

And what my summer reading list will consist of.

And also why it seems to be muddy every stinkin' time I have to go to clinical.

But on a serious note, I've been brooding... gloomy... unsure....

And I don't really know why.

Just for the sake of being real, I'll admit something that I'm pretty sure someone else may relate to... or maybe it is just me, which validates my feelings.

I may or may not be a little lonely.

Now, that may seem crazy to you... but here is the deal.

I am married to the biggest extrovert on earth. He never meets a stranger and his cell phone is never quiet. And most of the time, I'm okay with that. I'd much rather retreat to a corner with a good book or my Kindle or my cell phone...

because I'm an introvert.

But even introverts need human contact.

Lately, I've been thinking of friendship.

I've never been one to have a whole gaggle of friends. In grade school, I had a couple of good girlfriends but always felt more comfortable hanging out with the guys. They were much less likely to stab you in the back.

And in high school, I had my cheerleading friends and my chorus friends and my yearbook friends and the friends that I took most of my classes with. They helped me stay sane and pass calculus and chemistry.

Nursing school brought a couple more friends, but we were just trying to survive.

And I've never been one to share my deepest feelings with others. I don't like feeling vulnerable...

But that's what friendship is.  And in our social media world, we can have 2,000 friends yet still feel lonely.  We can stand in a crowded room and still feel alone.

I'm tired of superficial relationships... but I don't really know what I'm supposed to do about it.

I've never been good at making friends.

The Bible said to be a friend you have to show yourself friendly. I thought it was interesting that I started this blog last night and then this little post from Lisa Jo Baker showed up in my email today... 7 Ways to Find Soul Friends... Yes, please.

Because I'm all about a checklist and the easy way to do things...

because isn't that what our society is about?

Except friendship is hard work. There is no easy way to be a good friend, because it means that you open your heart and leave yourself bare, and you sacrifice. You listen when maybe you don't want to and you put aside your own agenda and look out for someone else's interest.

And I'm no good at that.

So, this year I'm focusing on love and learning that love is an action word, and it's about more than just actions and words but putting the two together. 

And love is hard... just like friendship. 

So while I'm still not sure that I know how to make more friends, and to stop being so superficial, and I'm not sure if there are even people out there that care or that need friends...

Here's what I'm thinking.

A true friend shows himself/herself friendly...

by being interested. Truly interested. By leaning in and listening and asking the right questions when necessary but also by just sitting and being quiet when that's necessary, too... knowing that sometimes silence doesn't always need to be filled.

by working hard at being a friend... going above and beyond and looking for ways to show that the other person is cared about.

by being authentic. Real. Vulnerable. Not caring when your laundry isn't done or your fridge isn't clean when company comes over, because it's more about the laughter than the dust (unless, of course, you cause someone to have an allergic reaction... and thus far that hasn't happened. At least that I know of).

by being loyal, which is a bygone in today's world, it seems like. By showing your loyalty by taking up for someone else and also by not chiming in when the world is beating them down.

by just being you... offering up who you are.  It may not be much, but it seems like in today's world we've lost focus of who we are.

"If you are a sincere friend, folks around you will quickly understand that there's no hidden agenda and nothing on the other side of the equals sign- just you."- Love Does, Bob Goff

So... I'm inviting you to be my friend... and to be your own friend... and to be someone else's friend. 

No perfect people... just imperfection trying to live love to others... one smile and kind word at a time.

Five Minute Friday: Good

The Word starts in Genesis.

He speaks, and it comes into being.  Light in darkness.  Shapeless voids become earth.  The sea and the creatures in it. Animals. Humans.

And He saw that it was good.

This...

The Word spoken into creation, was good.

The beginning was good.

And then something happened.

We became less than good.

Sin was invited in and we were no longer good.

What was in the garden was no longer good enough.

Our focus was skewed, and we forgot that God is a good God.

The middle is sometimes rough.

The story twists and turns and it looks like we may be forsaken...

but then The Word.

When the earth needed goodness, the Word became flesh.

Dwelt among men.

Brought light into darkness, but men were afraid of the light, because we were no longer good.

So He came.

He loved and forgave and healed and ministered...

And then, on Good Friday, He died.

He hung His head and said, "It is finished."

The ending.  He was the in the beginning, when it was good, and He wrote the ending, where He is good and we can be righteous because of His goodness.

It is finished.

We no longer have to be good enough... because He is more than enough.

We no longer need to try to hard... because He's already done it.

We are not good... but He is.

And that's all that matters on this Good Friday.

It.  Is.  Finished.

And in the end, it's too good for us to even understand.



Linking up with Five Minute Friday, where we write for five minutes, unedited, on one prompt. This week's prompt, on this Good Friday... Good.

Hello, again

It's April, and it has been almost a month since I've written.

I've been lazy.

I've been unmotivated.

I've gone back on what I wanted to do.

But...

tomorrow is a new day and His grace is sufficient, so I'm back on track. 

But right now I think I'll just read a while and go to bed...