“When you stop expecting people to be perfect, you can like them for who they are.”
― Donald Miller
As I walked with my friend, the heaviness in her spirit was written on her lovely face, dampening her normal radiance. She was feeling guilty and frustrated. One of her dearest friends had called to lambaste her, letting her know in no uncertain terms that she had failed miserably as a friend. Apparently there was some sort of friend code that had been broken, a specific sort of support that had been withheld. My friend had had no idea she was so neglectful. She hadn’t even known the friendship code existed.
The cat let out a muffled yowl as I smashed his head between the toilet seat and my derriere. Surprised, I leaped forward and spun around awkwardly, trying desperately to not trip over my panties which were now twisted around my ankles. I successfully shooed him away and resumed my business. Coffee in, coffee out. Can anyone tell me how one cup of coffee can produce two liters of urine?
Sitting back on the couch, I tucked my feet under me to get more comfortable. I looked around the room at the group of young ladies sprawled about, some on the floor leaning against the brick hearth, others settled into plush furniture like me, eager to hear what would come next. We came from various backgrounds and most had only been married a short while. Being the oldest student, I’d been married the longest, eight years, but the differences didn’t matter much in this place.
I’m a serious procrastinator. Better to just come out and own it rather than make lame excuses, don’t you think? Many moons ago I promised my online friends some pictures of the blessed event of my daughter’s wedding. Today marks six months of wedded bliss for her and my new son, so I find it a fitting time to finally share some of the fun of that magical day.
I’ve never been much for the forced romance of anniversaries and holidays. It’s not that I’m a romance Scrooge or anything, rather, it’s the expectations of grandeur on specific days that I resist. Call me crazy, but I expect a bit more wooing in the day to day.
We all yearn for someone to find us utterly irresistible, don’t we? As children, many of us dreamed of finding that one person who would make us feel wanted, accepted, and safe. We all desire to be swept away by our beloved, yes?
Then we find that one…the soul mate, the knight in shining armor and it’s so intoxicating! But then what?
Read the rest over at The Family Road Map!
Photo by bngdesigns, courtesy of pixabay.
“I’m selfish, impatient, and a little insecure. I make mistakes, I am out of control, and at times hard to handle. But if you can’t handle me at my worst, then you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best.” –Marilyn Monroe
This quote, from one of our culture’s most beloved feminine icons, makes the rounds on my social media from time to time. On the surface it sounds strong, confident, and wise. But when I ponder it’s implications and make it personal, it leaves me unsettled.
Why would I want my worst self to be so active that those who love me need to learn how to ‘handle’ it? And why should I only gift my best self to others if they prove themselves by dealing with me when I’m being rude or abusive? It’s kind of sad, really.
Last month I wrote about the foundation for parenting well. The post was titled, Who Comes First?, and if you missed it, please go back a check it out as it sets the groundwork for what we are discussing today. Today’s topic, parenting as a team, will be impossible if you haven’t first established that you and your husband are a team. Go ahead, I’ll grab a cup of coffee and I’ll wait for you…
Great! So to recap the main points: You and your husband became a family the moment you said ‘I do’, and your marriage relationship needs to take priority over all other earthly relationships. This is the genesis of Team Us, and from that shared vantage point you and your husband can enjoy your children and raise them up together.
Join me over at Me Too Moments For Moms to continue reading the original post…
When my new friend, Lisa Brown, asked me to join her community of writers as a mentor mom, I couldn’t help but giggle a bit since I find that being a grown up is highly overrated. With Thorin’s key around my neck, my superhero belt on, surrounded by my favorite toys, I hardly feel qualified to be a mentor to anyone. But despite my seeming immaturity, I have lived quite a few years on the planet and have the privilege to be called Mom by four incredible people. More pertinent though, I’ve been increasingly feeling a stirring in my heart to encourage other mamas and to share the insights and observations I have gathered along my motherhood journey.
So last week, hard at work crafting my first monthly missive to you, I was feeling fairly satisfied with the way the piece turned out. Setting it aside, I went to sleep, confident it would be polished and ready for consumption well before my deadline. When I woke the next morning, in rereading the work I’d done, something didn’t feel right. Normally that means the Holy Spirit is saying, “Scrap that for now, I have something different you need to write.” So, after praying for a few days on this, I feel I’m supposed to share what I find is the most important foundation for parenting, besides of course, a solid, vibrant walk with our Creator.
Continue reading the original post, over at Me Too Moments For Moms…
“I can’t believe he put his hands on my son!” My friend was livid. Quivering with the adrenaline rush of anger, she stalked across the park, her normally beautiful face a mask of fury. Looking back at me, lips contorting into an ugly sneer, she hissed, “Can you believe that @$$#*%#?”
I’ve heard the expression ‘spitting mad’, but until that day I had never actually witnessed it. It’s real, let me tell you, and I was flummoxed as to how I should respond.
My arm was talking to me. A crushed nerve in my right arm has had a considerable effect on the quality of my sleep these past weeks. I shifted, only half-conscious, to a more comfortable position. My husband rolled over and, sensing my discomfort, took one of his pillows and positioned my arm on its plush surface. With a somnolent snuggle, he was back under before he’d even come fully awake. Sighing gratefully, I was able to sleep through the remainder of the predawn hours.
It occurred to me later as I thought of the incident, just how lucky I am. Even in his sleep, my knight in shining armor is slaying the dragon of sleeplessness for me. Marrying this man is the single best earthly decision I’ve ever made, and I’ve been pondering some of the things that make it so. He certainly isn’t a perfect husband, and I am most assuredly not a perfect wife. In fact, sometimes we downright suck at this.