Why Finding Fault and Placing Blame Won't Solve Anything

Yesterday I woke up early.  Mike was out of town, and I knew I needed to get up early to be able to shower and get everything ready before it was time to wake the girls for the day.

I had plenty of time for the things I needed to accomplish.  Get dressed, make breakfast, pack snacks and backpacks, get two 5 year olds ready for school . . . no problem.

Except . . . I decided to open my computer for just a few minutes.  (What was I thinking?!!!)

A few too many minutes went by and in a panic I closed my computer, rushed up the steps, stressed out from how little time I now had to accomplish such a long task list!

 And it's *that* mom that my girls woke up to.

Have you ever tried to get two little kids to do anything in a hurry?  If you have, then you can picture the scene in my house.

Pan-de-freaking-monium!

I woke up Shannay and told her to go potty.  Shannay's not a morning person. At all.  So I give her the extra time she needs.  Except we didn't have extra time today because I made a poor decision.

As I finished getting her sister ready, and then told Shannay it was her turn to get ready she said, "I need to go potty" . . .  just like she does every. single. morning.  She always waits until it's her turn and then SUDDENLY she has to go.  For real.

You see, she has control issues.  It's too much to explain so you can read this if you want to understand what I'm saying.  But the point is, I know this is how the morning is going to go down.  On most mornings, it doesn't bug me.  I don't let her need to be in control be an issue for us.  I politely tell her, "Okay, go potty and let's get ready."

But because I had made the decision to get online and waste precious minutes that I didn't need to waste, I was not the mom she needed.  I flipped.  I yelled like a crazy person said , "Shannay, we do this every single day.  You are not in control.  I am in control."

Side note:  Anytime you have to STATE that you are in control, you aren't.

The morning proceeded pretty much as you would expect it to go with a stressed out, flipped out mom. Lots of yelling, lots of hurrying, lots of tears.

When we finally got in the car, and we were all able to take a deep breath, I said, "Girls, I'm sorry.  You didn't do anything wrong this morning.  I did.  I wasted time on my computer and then I got mad at you because we had to hurry. I'm sorry.  It's my fault."

Nikki said, "Mama, fault don't matter."

Cue my mama tears.

You see, when we have conflict in our house, especially between the girls, there is always such a great need for them to blame, to establish whose fault something is.  And I often just say to them, "Ladies, fault doesn't matter.  Let's just say we're sorry, fix the problem, and move on."

Sure fault matters. But my point to them is that sometimes we are so busy trying to find fault, and place blame, that we get stuck in the conflict and can't move on.

Despite my parenting fail of the morning, she was able to reach beyond the craziness and find the reassurance I give them when conflict threatens to overtake them.

"Fault don't matter."

All that to say, if today you're feeling like you've blown it as a parent, take a deep breath, say you're sorry, fix the problem, and move on. You're probably getting way more right than you think.

I Give You Permission to Quit Trying So Hard

I love the early morning.  Before the girls became a part of our life, I used to wake up early just to experience the peace and quiet of life before daylight and hustle crashed in. It was during those quiet hours that I had the leisure to think my thoughts as they came; untidy, unfiltered, and unpolished.

I still rise early, but it's to be able to have time to brush my teeth and throw on some clothes before the mad rush of the day begins.  Some mornings, as I look back at the woman whose face I see in the mirror, I think, "Man, she's gotten old." 

I notice all the imperfections I see there.  The tired eyes, the fine lines and wrinkles that seem to multiply daily, the haggard look of a woman in her fifties with a whole lot on her plate.  On those mornings, it is so easy to doubt.  Easy to doubt God, easy to doubt His plan that includes me raising babies all over again; easy to doubt my ability to do it well, do it again.

But most mornings, I rise early, brush my teeth, throw on a bra, a t-shirt and some jeans, rake my fingers through my hair and think to myself, "You look pretty damn good for an old lady, Carol Jones."

Then I dash upstairs to greet the day and the two beautiful little girlies who await my morning greeting.

Amidst the frenzied pace of getting them dressed, fed and off to school, I am often caught off-guard by my reflection.  Not the one I see in the mirror, but the one I see in them.  Turns out, some mornings they, too, notice the tired, doubting version of me.  And other mornings, they delight in the me who is ready to conquer the day.

I've been thinking about my reflection a lot lately, because the me I see reflected in them is a much clearer reflection than the me I see in the mirror.  What my children learn and receive and hear and see in me; they will practice those things, they will reflect those things. 

All that to say,  I'm not trying to pressure myself into becoming a perfect mom so that my kids will reflect that.  I'm giving myself permission to relax, take life a little slower, a little easier, let some things go that aren't really important anyway, and let *that* version of me be the reflection I see in them.

And just in case you need it, I give you permission to quit trying so hard as well. What do you say, you in?



Photo by Shauna Maness Photography

Some Days, I Suck As a Parent

Some days, I really suck as a parent.  I mean, I really suck as a parent.

I lose my temper.

I have adult-sized expectations of my toddlers.

I repeat myself because I am angry, and it fuels my anger to say the same thing over and over and over.

I don't want to  hear one more whiney voice tell me why they want apple juice instead of water.

I don't want it to be bath time or bed time or story time or time to brush your teeth or any other "times" other than "Can Mama just please have a hot bath and glass of wine time?"

I confess it.  Some days, I want parenting to be easy.

I don't want to have to hold my breath as I open the take home folder to see if my special needs child hit the teacher or scratched a friend or had a meltdown because someone accidentally got blueberries on their favorite shirt.

I don't want to have to think about atrocities like child abuse and neglect and a lifetime of mental rewiring that will be in our future.

I don't want to argue with Social Security about why our children need new identities or explain to the hospital where MY CHILDREN were born as to why I need their medical records and why I have the right to have them.

But most days aren't those days.  Most days are filled with barbies and cars and mud and flowers and chasing mosquito hawks through thick grass.

Most days are tiny little feet running into my bedroom and crawling into bed for a few stolen moments of snuggling before the day beckons.

Most days are reminders that God's healing power is at work and that our lives together are not a bleak future but a blessing.

All that to say, most days, most days are good days.

Why Pinterest Makes Me a Bad Mom

I don't know about you, but sometimes I worry I don't measure up as a mom.  ESPECIALLY because I'm an old mom.  I'm 51 (and a half), and I am the parent of twin 4 year olds.  My "peers" in the parenting world are half my age with beautiful skin, great bodies, and the energy of . . . well . . . a 20 something!

While they are worrying about getting Bobby into a great college (even though he's only 3),  I'm working on being healthy and alive when my kids get to college!

On the flip side, I've parented kids through every stage of life, from infancy to adulthood.  I've survived the terrible twos and potty training, bad grades and bullies, teenage attitudes, driving, dating, drinking, and broken hearts (and not necessarily in that order).

I'm pretty chill about the fact that one of my four year olds still wets the bed.  I'm okay that they don't know how to read, or add 2+2.  I'm fine with the notion that they might not read until kindergarten or dare I say it . . . first grade.  And it's okay that they may or may not be in the "gifted" class at school.  When it comes to rearing children, I've learned to take life at the pace it comes.

I'm Chill.

That is.

Until.

I get on Pinterest.

And then I am overcome with the need to create, recycle, upcycle, do, glue, paint, design, decorate, make and bake all for the sake of "making memories" with my children. And when I'm done with all of that, I need to dream, surprise, inspire, delight, protect, teach, date, nurture, discipline, and feed them!

I tell you, I thought I had it all together, until I got on Pinterest.  As it turns out, I am a slug for a mom.  I don't know how to cook.  I'll never have buns of steel.  I can't convince my husband to date his daughters (heck, I can't convince him to date his WIFE!) and I don't know how to make a damn darn thing from an old pallet.

All that to say, I guess I'll just have to stick with what I know; teach them what they need to know, when they need to know it, fill our home with laughter (mostly), and love them unconditionally for their lifetime.

All That to Say: A Little Distracted

Quite some time ago, over 2.5 years ago to be exact, we unexpectedly became foster parents. 

It wasn't our first time to be foster parents, as we had fostered two sweet little girls when our boys were much younger.  Zack was three at the time, and Jacob had just turned two, when a family member needed help with his two year old and 13 month old daughters.  So our family of 4 became of family of 6 overnight, and we found ourselves parenting a three year old, two two year olds, and a 13 month old. (Not an easy task to say the least)

Fast forward a whole lot of years, and once again our family of 4 became a family of 6, only this time it would be permanent.

We never set out to be foster parents (in either case).  It just happened.  Maybe because we made ourselves available, but most likely because God had ordained it would be so.

Once we realized that the short-term fostering of our daughters was going to become permanent, we knew we would no longer be able to be a rescue family.  At times, the longing to help children in crisis situations would pop up in our hearts and minds, but then the demands of twin toddlers, jobs, schedules . . . life . . . would distract us from those desires (which was probably a good thing for those days!)

Fast forward 2.5 years and once again we find ourselves as foster parents.  We had a sweet little boy in our home last week, quite unexpectedly, but thoroughly enjoyed every minute with him.

Imagine my surprise when just 4 short days later I received a phone call asking if we would take a newborn for two weeks.  A NEWBORN!  She had just been born that day!  We gulped a few times and then readily said, "yes" and began the process of preparing. (Thank God for facebook and facebook friends who jumped in with all the baby paraphernalia we needed!)

I gotta say, it does come back to you, much like riding a bike, but for a few days it's more like a distant, vague memory.  But we're in the swing the things now, sleeping (or not sleeping as the case may be) bottles, schedules, the lot. 

And then I realized, I FORGOT to  post a weekend giveaway! Oops!

All that to say, sorry.  I've been a little distracted.  I wish I could post a picture of the beautiful loveliness of this baby girl.  But privacy laws and agency policies say that I cannot.  So you'll have to take my word for it.  She's a beautiful distraction though. :)