Side Braid: Fail

When we were in college, Luke dated an athlete. She was a college volleyball player who spent around 4 hours in the gym on any given day. When she wasn't in the gym she was usually wearing workout clothes. And even if she wasn't wearing work out clothes, she was probably wearing jeans and a tshirt because she grew up in the country and she liked to go barefoot. And fancy clothes and bare feet don't exactly go well together in public.

Rumor has it that at their wedding she took off her shoes and went barefoot at their reception. At the country club. Classy.

Point being, I've never been a trendy person. Fashion was always something I sort of noticed but never really practiced myself. Partly because being fashionable seems to me to take a lot of work. And let's face it, my daily life is enough work. Amen.

I have a small box of jewelry but it literally never crosses my mind to wear any of it. I have a pair of earrings that I've been wearing basically non-stop for the last 3 years. I put them in one night for date night and they were so comfortable I just forgot to take them out. 3 years later. Yes. It's true.

But aside from those and my wedding rings, it is a rarity that I wear jewelry.

Sort of like my showering schedule. Rare-i-ty.

I have long, curly-ish hair. Which means, if I'd rather not look like I rolled directly out of bed and into the car, I have 2 hair options. Wash, condition it LOTS, and load it down with mousse and gel and prayer.

Or wear it pulled up in a ball of mess on my head just like I did in college for all of my days.

In the summer in the south it's up a lot. Because: HUMIDITY.

Like I said, I notice trends and styles for the most part. Mostly because I have an almost 10 year old and she keeps me informed. So yesterday was not shower day hair washing day and I knew this. So on Monday night I found myself in front of the mirror attempting a super cute side ponytail braid.

In my head I aspired to something like this:

(Just a side note: as I searched images to put on this post of "side ponytail braid curly hair" I basically saw all the ones I thought were messy, yet attainable, were on famous people. Which means, they are probably anything but easy and attainable.)

At any rate, I braided my hair, turned to my husband and said, "What do you think? Do you like it?"

He looked at me, and since our relationship is built on trust and honesty and love he said, "You look like a homeschool mom." And he may have mumbled something about a denim jumper.

I rolled my eyes, because, you know I am a homeschool mom.

So the next morning I got up and thought I'd try this side braid again, sans Homeschool Dad. But, I lack confidence in anything trendy because I know that I'm trying and likely failing. Because, isn't the point of being trendy is not trying to look trendy and like you tried too hard?

Yes, yes it is.

So, I braided my hair and promptly sent a picture to Amanda and asked her what she thought. Here's that pic.

It is also basically impossible for me to take a selfie. I just can't. At least not one with any normalcy or a shred of seriousness.

Amanda gave her vote of approval (several times), told me homeschool moms wear buns and denim (BOOYAH Homeschool Dad!) and so off I went with all 8 kids for a day of chaos errands. It occurred to me after I was 20 minutes down the road that I forgot my back up hair tie around my wrist. It's sort of my security blanket because if hair tie A breaks or if I decide to ditch freshly washed and prayed over hair, I always have one on my wrist and I know that I can throw the hair up and call it a day.

I panicked. Then I breathed through it and remembered that I'm trendy. And I've delivered 6 babies out of my lady parts so I'm tough. Plus, I'm recently fashionable.

It's FINE.

We went to the orthodontist and then, for good behavior had a brunch of Chickfila. All was sailing smoothly until it was time to exit Chickfila. Aaron called a kid on the playground fat, Abigail is a regressing potty trainer and Evelyn was sleepy. It was the perfect storm.

We loaded into our 15 passenger van, (that doesn't scream trendy but more so HOMESCHOOLERS), which I had parked by the door, in a spot that was sandwiched between the building and the drive thru line. When I parked there I thought to myself, "Self. This is a bad idea. Large vehicles and ridiculous drive through lines don't mix." But then I thought about my exit strategy and how wrangling all those kids across a busy parking lot would make me stroke out and I pulled that beast into that compact car spot and told myself we'd leave before the lunch crowd came.

We did not.

I went to leave, I shifted into reverse, took my foot off the brake and we love tapped our bumper against a sweet, little old lady's 2014 Altima. The beast was fine. The Altima was not.

After police were called, Abigail peed in her car seat, I HAD TO PEE, it was hotter than anywhere else on the planet.

We FINALLY made it home. Abigail pooped her pants. It was naptime. We needed to leave in 2 hours for ballet.

Basically, it was a totally normal day other than the literal fender bender. I got Abigail bathed and in the bed and looked in the mirror.

Let's just say, there's a reason why I'm not trendy.

We went to ballet. Then baseball practice. And Luke came home to his wife looking basically like that college athlete he married plus 50 pounds.

And I learned a lesson. Stay with what you know. And don't forget the backup hair tie. Ever.

You are able. You are enough.

*I started this post a week and a half ago. Today, I sit back on my own couch, surrounded by 8 clingy kids again.**

I sit here on the couch in California, Evelyn napping beside me and Ashlee locked onto a movie, a whole country away from 6 of our kids and my amazing husband. Ash, Evelyn and I flew here to be with Amanda as she gives birth to her second child. She was due on Sunday should be having her baby any day now is eager to deliver her second daughter and is hoping baby girl will make her appearance very soon. They already have a beautiful baby girl who is 16 months old. So, in a few days, their house will be very, very busy. And exhausting.

A very pregnant Amanda with Harper and Nick, about a week before McKinley arrived

I keep flashing back to a conversation I had with another friend a few months ago. She was lamenting how dirty her house was, how she never had any time to complete anything and she feels so frustrated at accomplishing anything productive during her days home, aside from caring for her two boys aged 2 years and 10 months. And in that conversation, I remembered. I remembered the days of us having a 2 year old and 2 newborn babies. I remembered the days of having a 4 year old, two 2 year olds and a newborn. And I thought about it in comparison to my day to day life (when I'm not living up the relaxing life in California) now. Something leapt out at me and I knew, especially as we anticipate this sweet bundle that should come right this very second any day now, that it was worth sharing. These thoughts have been swirling in anticipation of the life Amanda and Nick are about to step into. So if you have young babies, all under 3 or 4 years old. This is for you, too, friend. I hope it encourages you.

Dear Momma (and Daddy) of many littles,

Your life is hard, most days. Diapers flow freely, your boobs see more fresh air than a topless mannequin in Abercrombie, your head rarely rests on your pillow for longer than hour and a half increments. Somewhere, deep inside you, you may wonder in the exhausting hours of the wee morning, when you've been on your feet longer than you've been horizontal, if you made a mistake with all these little people you longed for, prayed for and ached to hold. That's okay. I did that, too.

Lucas (as a newly turned 2 years old) holding Aaron (the itty, bitty newborn).
Lucas' shirt was SO CORRECT.

In so many ways, your life with your 2 or 3 kids all ages 4 years (or 2 years) and under is SO MUCH harder than mine, with 8 children ages 9 years and younger. I promise, it really is. The thought of 8 kids overwhelms you, most likely. But I can assure you, my day to day life is a lot easier today than it was 6 years ago when we had a 2 year old and two newborns. Do you want to know why?

Because you are responsible for it all. I have at least two tremendous helpers named Elizabeth and Ashlee. But, not you. You, mom and dad to your two little bitties, you are all there is to keep the peace. Every pat, every feeding, every reinserting of the pacci, every diaper, every butt wipe, every snack, every meal, every drink, every boo boo that needs kissed, every cuddle and burp, all of it. YOU ARE THE ONE who has to do that. You and your husband is all there is unless he's at work, or deployed or just at the store for another round of diapers, and then you're it. You alone.

And I don't say that to overwhelm you or to make it feel even more exhausting, but to give you hope. Because, I can promise you, that one day you will blink and those sweet babies that are 16 months apart will be 9 years old and 8 years old and the very best of friends. You'll hear them arguing over who gets to sleep on the top bunk tonight, or who wore the stonewashed jeans last or who took all the marshmallow cereal and you'll have to think really, really hard to remember how exhausting today was for you. You'll hear them tell each other secrets that they only reserve for each other and your heart will feel so overwhelmed with joy and love it just might explode.

Elizabeth - 3 years (almost 4), Lucas and Ashlee - 2 years, and newborn
Aaron in my arms, about to take his first "real" bath.

When you have a rockstar mom day, and both babies sleep like they've been sprinkled with sleeping dust from heaven, high five yourself and enjoy it. But when it's been a cry fest day, all you've accomplished all day long is holding babies and the smell of your own person makes you cringe, remember that this won't last forever. Also remember that this is the hardest part. Yes, there will be days when your first born begins to grow breasts and has her first period, her first crush and is sassier than a Kardashian with PMS and you'll wish so hard she was still 4 months old and you could baby wear her and smell her baby head. Those days will be hard, too. Trust me.

But today, the day that you are everything and everyone and the most important person on the face of the planet to everyone in your home, these days are hard. Emotionally, physically, spiritually all of it. You'll fall into the bed at the end of every day and, if you don't crash immediately, you'll replay the day in your head, highlighting all the ways you feel you failed. And you'll probably cry when you think about how you've probably bruised their fragile, little hearts with your harsh, exhausted tone of voice at nap time because OH MY GAH PLEASE GO TO SLEEP IN THE NEXT 5 MINUTES OR I WILL SNAP. Believe me when I tell you that you did not do permanent damage. It will be overridden by the hours you will spend rocking and holding and cuddling and kissing boo-boos and everything in between. Your babies will grow up, too quickly I can assure you, and you will long for the days when you had to hold your sweet newborn just so you could both nap while the toddler naps.

Luke and I with Luke's Dad and step-Mom.
Elizabeth is not quite two years old, the twins are newbies.

 The best advice I have for you right now, exhausted Momma, is to cut yourself some slack. And take lots and lots and lots of pictures. Journal if your arms are able to move at the end of a long day. Because you will forget. You'll forget the details you swore to yourself you'd remember. When I had my first 3 babies, facebook was relatively new and Instagram wasn't even a thought. Thankfully, with those two things, the picture part will be easier for you now. But journal, journal, journal. Even if you're a bad writer. Even if you can't write out complete sentences. Write it down. I wish, so much, I'd have blogged back then.

I *think* this is the morning of Elizabeth's 2nd birthday. If not, it's close to then.
Look at my tiny twins! Oh goodness I miss those baby cheeks.

Finally, my sweet friend, savor as many moments as you can. I know it's hard. I do. And sometimes it's all you can do to get through the day. But at least once a day, even if it's when everyone is screaming at fever pitch, stop, breathe, fake a smile and savor it. I heard someone say at a homeschool conference when Ella was just an itty, bitty baby (she's 4 now by the way) that, "The days are long but the years are short." It's so true. 

Savoring isn't the easiest thing in the world, either. So I don't say that flippantly. I love, love, love having newborns. But I know not all mothers are that way. And that is okay. It's okay if you don't love the newborn phase. Just like it's okay that 4 year olds aren't exactly my favorite age on the planet.

My point is, motherhood is hard. Mothering small armies of babies and toddlers without the help of an older sibling is exhausting. Cut yourself some slack. Take a long nap when you can and remember to date your husband as often as possible. You can do this. You were made to do this. I promise you were. God set those tiny people in your family with a specific purpose, at this specific time, for this specific season. When the days feel like you're drowning, remember that this time was ordained by The One who walked on drowning waters.

I promise you, you are able. You are enough. Now, sniff that newborn head for me and kiss those pudgy toddler hands (but check for boogers and mystery smells first). And if you forget that you are enough, just ask me. I'll be sure to remind you every, single time.

Love,

Me

Almost 4 month old Evelyn with less than 24 hour old McKinley

Evelyn's birth story

My Evelyn's birth was, by far, the most dramatic of all our children's births. 

I was 40 weeks and 5 days pregnant at my Friday afternoon appointment. Earlier that day I posted a semi-snarky status on facebook about people NOT asking me if I have "had that baby yet" because clearly, I was still pregnant and there wasn't photos of a cute, newborn baby blowing up their newsfeeds.

My OB had told me the week before that, unlike Ella (who I carried 42 weeks 2 (3?) days), he wouldn't be in favor of letting me go much past 41 weeks gestation because of my gestational diabetes. I blew his comment off at my 39 week appointment because my OB is very laid back about due dates and birth and very much in favor of letting a woman's body gestate for as long as is healthy for the mother and baby.

However, when my blood pressure showed to be up just a little bit, he began talking inductions. Abigail is the ONLY baby I have not be induced with. And she came 5 days before her due date in a glorious, pitocin free labor and birth. Remember?

Anyway, my OB, who is a pretty laid back kind of guy started strongly suggesting that I get induced THAT AFTERNOON. I just sat and looked at him, stone faced. Certain that if I said nothing he'd send me on my merry way and I'd have another natural labor and birth. Right? He wasn't catching my drift. "I get the feeling you aren't a fan of being induced," he said. I explained to him my loathing of pitocin and how I'm sure it's extracted from the veins of the devil before it's placed into the IV's of large, desperate, pregnant women who just want to meet their babies already. Ahem.

My OB typed some things onto his computer and said, "Well, let's check your cervix and see what our options are." I was 3cm dilated.

I tried to coax my OB into letting me wait a little longer but at the end of our appointment he had convinced me that inducing was our best option with the elevated blood pressure and all. He is really very kind and very much takes into account the desires of his patients. So when he didn't back down about the induction, I knew he was serious.

I immediately began feeling anxiety well up within me. This would be my 4th induction. I knew what pitocin did to my body and I really wanted to try to avoid an epidural again. I texted a few friends asking them to pray for my anxious heart and I drove myself to the chiropractor for one more adjustment before calling labor and delivery to see what time they wanted me to show up.

I'd been having contractions on and off for about a week but they were never consistent and they weren't terribly painful. More of a nuisance, really. Especially when I was trying to sleep or lay down. I called L&D and they told me to show up about 4:00-4:30pm. I called Luke to come home from work and went home to tell the kids.

I got to the hospital and checked into L&D by 5:30pm. They did all my paperwork, started a saline lock IV, asked me a bazillion questions. Then, the midwife came in for us to talk about our induction options. (The OB went off-call at 5:00pm and the midwife was on call for the weekend.) I had discussed with the OB having the midwife just break my water and try to start labor that way. But after talking with the midwife, and Luke (who knows my laboring body almost as well as I do) we decided that the lowest, slowest IV of pitocin would be the best approach. So at 7:00pm we began the drip of pitocin. It immediately made my sporadic contractions consistent, even though the intensity and pain of them didn't increase much. We bumped up the pitocin every hour (compared to every half hour for a normal induction).

The nursed checked me at about 1:30am and I was 5-6cm dilated. We bumped up the pitocin one final time and that's when the intense contractions began. I was finally in transition! Luke and I have a "dance" we do when I'm in transition. I simply CANNOT sit or lay down during transition contractions because the pain is just too intense. He knows, once my hands go from low to up around his neck, it's serious.

For about an hour, from 1:45am until 2:45am my contractions were hard, consistent and every 3 or so minutes apart. My disposition changed and I told Amanda, who was in the room with us, along with my Mom and Dad, to text a couple friends and tell them that I was certainly in transition, because I knew they'd know how to pray me through. Luke and I did our "dance" that full hour. The contractions got harder, but I knew that they were bringing forth our daughter. And y'all, Luke is an AMAZING laboring partner. He knows when to hold me up, when to whisper encouragements, when to pray over me, when to get me water and when to be my advocate. I don't know how I'd make it through childbirth without him by my side. He's my prophet, provider, protector and priest in every sense of the word during those hours.

I don't think I'll ever forget opening the door to the bathroom (after changing into that sexy hospital gown and before all the induction business got started) and seeing my husband, kneeling on the labor room floor, his hands outstretched to cover the hospital bed, and him praying over it. That is why it's so easy to submit to him and why it's so easy to be his wife.

Anyway, back to birth. At 2:45am the nurse called the midwife. I labored those last 15 minutes literally hanging from Luke's neck. I'm pretty sure the last 3 contractions I had standing up, he was literally holding me up. The pressure was so intense, I just knew that the midwife would come in and simply catch our baby. I was that close to delivery. Or so I thought.

The midwife came in about 3:00am. She checked me to see how dilated I was. I was 6 cm. SIX CENTIMETERS. I felt defeated. And confused. I looked at Luke and the look on his face was exactly how I felt. It simply wasn't possible I was only 6cm because we'd just done our transition dance for the last hour. I think we were both completely thrown off our game. I remember telling Luke and the midwife that it was time to call for an epidural because I knew I could not make it another hour (my usual transition from 6-7cm to fully dilated) with the pain I was in. For whatever reason, it was decided that I wouldn't get an epidural but instead they'd give me some stadol and turn off the pitocin. I remember asking the midwife if I could push because I felt so much pressure. She told me I could not and that if I did, I would risk tearing my cervix. She did say that if it helped with the pain, I could bear down.

So here I am, in the bed, laying on my side and the contractions are not getting any easier to manage. It was the most intense, painful thing I've ever felt in my life. It felt nothing like my labor with Abigail, where it just felt like my pelvis would snap in half. It was an all consuming pain. My entire body hurt with each contraction. It was horrible. I began begging and pleading with Luke to find the midwife (who had left the room at that point) and to demand for her to call the anesthesiologist. I begged and pleaded and told him that it was just too painful and I simply could not bear it. It was too much. This went on for I think 3 or so contractions (remember - 3 or so minutes apart - so by now it's 3:09ish). The nurse put on another sterile glove to check me since I was obviously in major pain. Then, the next contraction came. I remembered what the midwife had said about bearing down. I knew I had to do something to help with the pain because, y'all, I HAVE NEVER.

So, I just decided to bear down a teeny, tiny bit. Apparently that was the only cue my body needed. Natural instinct took over and my body began to all out push. I was still laying on my side and I said, out loud, "She's coming now!" The nurse pulled back the cover and apparently got the clue that I was NOT at 6cm any longer. She walked to the door to get the midwife and I remember my Mom saying, "Her head is out!"

The nurse walked back around the foot of the bed just as my body pushed one last time. She caught Evelyn with one hand, the one that had the glove, thankfully. I have photos of her holding Evelyn with one hand trying to pull up my gown for skin to skin while the midwife is still putting on her gloves. I'd post one here but this is a co-ed blog (I think?) and while it doesn't show any "areas" of me (because the bed wasn't broken down and I wasn't even in stirrups!) it is a little, um, special. But if you know me in real life and come over, I'll show you.

At 3:12am our Evelyn Love was born. (At about 3:00am I was still 6cm. It was crazy fast.)

My poor husband y'all. I remember about the time this picture was taken. I was looking at my baby and something was dripping on my arm. IT WAS MY HUSBAND'S TEARS. Later, he told me that he's never seen me in that much pain and it was torture to know that he could do nothing about it.

Look at his hand on my face. I can't even look at these without tearing up. In that top photo, he hasn't even looked at his daughter yet. He was so concerned for me.

I nursed her for that first hour and she latched on like a champ. Also, THE STADOL FINALLY KICKED IN and my husband, my parents and Amanda were laughing at me hysterically. Apparently, I was slurring my speech and totally blitzed, as is evidenced by the photo below. I didn't feel loopy but I do remember thinking that it was really hard to blink.

Once our Love had finished nursing, Luke escorted her to the newborn nursery. And I did what any drunk person who hasn't eaten in 12 hours would do, I sent my dad to IHOP. No longer a diabetic, I wanted the LARGEST stack of pancakes he could carry back to the hospital. With syrup. An IV of syrup, please. And some juice.

Our girl weighed in as the biggest baby we've ever had. A whopping 8 pounds, 4 ounces and 21 inches long. The cheeks. I'm sure there's a pound of baby in each one.

The next morning (read: 5 hours later) our kids came to the hospital to meet their newest sibling.

They were all SO excited. Elizabeth was so thrilled that she couldn't contain her tears of joy. (Take a hard look at that photo above.) I was so worried that she was upset. But when she finally made it over to the bed all she could tell me was, "I'm just so, so happy she's here!"

Elizabeth has been the first to hold every baby in our family, as is expected since she's the oldest. But Ashlee is, in fact, a baby addict. I think she gets high off baby head sniffs. Luke and I decided that this time, Ashlee would be the first to hold the baby. Her face when I put Evelyn in her arms was priceless.

Even Abigail was smitten and totally thrilled with her new sister.

Our first family of TEN photo. Please ignore the face of Lucas. He hadn't held Evelyn yet and wasn't too happy about it.

The entire experience was unlike any other birth I've experienced. Which is true for our precious, baby girl - she's her own person. She's a delight to us all. We all take turns kissing her big, chubby cheeks and doting on her. I have a feeling she will be spoiled by all 9 of us. Just you wait.

Mr & Mrs: A(nother) repost

Happy 11th Anniversary to my wonderful husband! Here's a repost from our anniversary in 2010. Almost 2 kids later and I wouldn't change a single word (except to maybe add a few).

---------


It is a big church. The most grandiose in stature in the entirety of our small town. The dramatic roof lines and towering steeple sit perfectly atop rock and brick walls adorned with stained glass windows, all situated on the precisely manicured lawn.

It's a beautiful church. And every time I drive by I think about what happened inside.

I stand behind two huge wooden doors, stained to a perfect deep brown, waiting to walk down a burgundy-carpeted aisle. So much awaits me on the other side of those doors. Love. Commitment. Beauty.

The wedding coordinator adjusts my veil and the train of my dress.

Deep breath.

The organ begins to play the non-traditional melody of an Scottish tune, reminiscent of our college Alma Mater. The doors swing open, everyone stands up.

I blink.

It's 8 years later. And here I sit, mother to 6, wife to a man who loves me in spite of who I am. A husband who loves wholly, sacrificially and beyond my understanding.

In our counseling session at Candidate Week we reviewed the many statistics associated with our personality inventories, marriage surveys and some other psychological profiles that we sent in ahead of us.

"You have an over-idealized view of your marriage," the gray haired counselor told me, over the rim of her glasses.

I sat back in my chair, turning her words over in my mind, trying not to be defensive.

Really? Because I'm pretty much a realist in every other area of my life.

At the end of the session, she agreed, my marriage is not over-idealized in my very matter-of-fact head. Rather, I understand that I am blessed. Beyond what I deserve.

Blessed with a man who guards the purity of our marriage so fervently that he refuses to be alone with other women, even in the context of work, where such a conscience is often considered ridiculous.

Blessed with a leader who fears the Lord and seeks, with his whole being, to serve him, even if it makes our family uncomfortable and unconventional.

Blessed with a confidant, someone I can pour my soul out to, the nasty, dirty, raw and often ugly parts and he draws me close and prays over me.

Blessed with a protector, a guardian of our home and our children and someone who takes that role so seriously, he is willing to risk it all for the glory of the Lord.

I smell the familiar smell of the church and take in the pews, full of people. I look to the opening in front of me and see him, standing at the end of a flower strewn aisle. He smiles at me. My heart flutters in my chest. I reach the altar unsure of how I'm standing there since it seems as though my feet hardly moved.

We exchange vows and rings and we both cry. I wipe his tears. More sniffles echo through the rafters of the magnificent sanctuary.

We turn and face our family and friends. We are Mr. & Mrs.

We celebrate. It's glorious. Even 8 years later. It's glorious.

It's no fairy tale and my days are certainly mixed with their fair share of meltdowns and tears. And some days the kids cry too. :)

But we've come through so much. We've endured hardships and know that more are coming. We laugh together often. We love much. He still dates me. He still stops, through the bustle of our home, to wrap his arms around me and let me bury my face in his chest.

We argue, annoy the crap out of each other and forget things that are important to the each other. But we chose love above all else. We chose to bind our hearts together with God as the glue.

We walk out the front doors of the church, and the cold air hits us like needles. We climb inside the magnificent limousine and the driver shuts the door. I look at my husband.

It's over. Man, that went fast, I think to myself.

I adjust my dress. He grabs my hand. We kiss.

The driver starts the engine.

And then, the journey begins.

Chores and Kids: Putting it into practice (Part 2)

If you've not read Part 1 on Chores and Kids, do that first. You can click on this link.

Now that you have a foundation of why you want your kids to do chores, you have to implement the how. This part is, by far, the most taxing on you as a parent because these first few weeks of your new system will require lots of teaching, correcting and side-by-side cleaning with your kids.

But I promise, I promise, if you put in the hard work in the beginning, it's worth it and your children are more likely to do their work correctly, efficiently and even, dare I say, joyfully. (Or at least with minimal complaining.)

Again, as I am teaching our children how to do their chores, we talk about why we do what we do. Why do we keep our room clean? Because if it's clean, you know where all the pieces are to your toys. And, it's a blessing to your Mom and Dad and we will enjoy your room with you. Your room is your place of refuge, the calm away from the chaos of the house. Keep it tidy and you will enjoy spending time there!

Same is true for the bathroom. No one enjoys using a dirty bathroom, one that has trash overflowing, clutter all around the sink, hair all over the floor and a disgusting toilet! And, if one day, you're sick and spending more time than usual in the bathroom, TRUST ME, you'll be glad it's been cleaned recently.

Always putting the why behind what we are doing seems to help our children grasp the purpose behind good work ethic, putting in your very best and being really efficient (after all, the faster you can do your job, the sooner it's over with usually, right?).

Whew, okay. So, first, let's talk logistics.

CHORE CHARTS. This has been a source of wailing and gnashing of teeth for Luke and I since the beginning. Some of our first chore charts were so complex that it required lots of work on the part of us, the parents, to keep up with who had done what, when they'd done it, etc. We'd ask the kids to do chores and if we hadn't putting up a clean chart, marked off the list the things they'd already completed, rotated them for today, blah, blah, blah, then basically chore time was an epic fail. Finally, I realized...

K.I.S.S.

Keep
It
Simple
Stupid

So, we simplified it as simply as we could. I scoured Pinterest to find an easy chore chart. One that didn't require me checking boxes or flipping cards or spinning wheels or erasing or standing on my head while playing the tin whistle or ANYTHING because really, this thing should be self sustaining mostly, with minimal work for you, the parent. I found this link to make my own magnetic charts and adapted it just a bit for our family. I skimmed her post on the actual chores themselves and basically just stole her idea for the charts themselves.

Here's what ours look like:

(I painted them that color before we moved into our new house. The kitchen paint just-so-happened to be the same color as our chore charts. I don't really love yellow that much.)

Once you are 3 years old in our house, you get your own chore chart. Before that, you just help with keeping toys picked up, throwing things in the trash (any 18-24 month olds dream) and basic odds and ends. I keep our charts hung in the kitchen area of our house because that's the most central room where I can see what has and has not been done for the day.

Those are just pizza tins I found at the Dollar General and spray painted them yellow because, well, that was the cheapest color they had. See, here's the back of one:

I gave the kids creative control of their wooden discs and we took advantage of some paint supplies we already had and they painted their discs to their heart's content. Then I glued their chores to the front with clear modge podge. I think it helped them take a little bit more ownership over their chore charts. Maybe not, but I like to tell myself that.

For the older 3 kids, their chores are written out on their charts in words.

Elizabeth and Lucas decided to swap a chore permanently, thus the odd ball looking disc on her chart. For the younger four kids, I used clip art to show them what their chores are.

Their names as well as "To Do" and "Done" are simply some scrapbooking stickers I had laying around and I covered them with a thin layer of modge podge so the letters wouldn't pop off. Last, I bought round magnets and hot glued them onto the backs of the wooden discs. (I tried the peel and stick magnets and the magnets kept coming off the discs. Just fyi.)

Every morning that we are home, sometimes while I'm cooking breakfast or sometimes immediately after breakfast (if we have cereal or something from the crockpot) is chore time. Pick a chore time that can be relatively consistent. Before school, as soon as they are home from school, just before bed, etc. I've found that if we do it around the same general time every day, they see it coming and the complaining is minimal. Now, all I have to do is announce it's chore time. They all go to their charts, slide their magnets back over to the "To Do" side and begin. It's glorious, most days.

Now for the harder part of making charts: deciding what chores you want your kids to do. (I did a quick search on Pinterest of "chores by age" and got a gazillion results so if you're at a loss, try that.)

Here's what our kids do, but of course, you can decide which chores work best for YOUR family. I read somewhere that it takes about 3-4 weeks for your kids to master a chore, I think that's true. I think it's also important to keep in mind that some kids will be naturally gifted in doing some things rather than others. I also read somewhere (or someone told me?) that they had one of their sons on laundry duty. After several months, he politely and quietly went to his mom and told her, "Mom, can I have another chore other than laundry? When I have to fold your underwear and my sister's underwear it embarrasses me. Can I switch chores with someone who isn't embarrassed by stuff like that?" I was super impressed. Not only because he was able to articulate that it wasn't a chore he enjoyed, but he could say WHY he didn't enjoy it and he understood that just because he might not have that chore, he would certainly have one to replace it. It gave me hope that my kids would be able to do the same and it showed me that I need to respect their feelings if something like that should arise with our kids.

Lucas was in charge of sweeping for a long time. And honestly, he sucked at it. He was just BAD no matter how many times I showed him. I don't think it was lack of effort, it just isn't something he's good at. So he and Elizabeth switched. Now, Lucas does dishes and Elizabeth sweeps the floors. I'm not quick to allow kids to swap out chores because I want them to master their job so they can do it quickly and effectively. But like I said in my last post, some families have rotating charts and it works for them.

We do our chores EVERY DAY, except Sundays (and usually, if we have a busy Saturday we ditch them then, too). Soon, the older 3 will probably get one additional item on their list as will Ella, Olivia and Aaron. After all, just like in the real world, the more responsible you prove yourself to be, the more you are responsible for doing.

Everyone does these chores:

Make their bed

Clean their room

Pick up Toys

The older 3 also have this one in common:

Put away clothes (Luke or I will fold and sort them by kid. The older 3 must put theirs away.)

Our 3 and 4 year olds only have 4 chores total. So in addition to the 3 listed above, our 3 year old, Ella, also feeds the dog and our 4 year old, Olivia, (who just turned 5) cleans off and wipes off the table.

Aaron, our other 5 year old, has 5 chores. The three listed above plus he cleans up the outside toys that have been left out and he also cleans up the living room (our hot spot for toys and clutter). He also puts his clothes away and I can't seem to remember to give him another disc for that.

Finally, the older 3 kids have 6 chores each. Lucas and Ashlee are 7 years old and Elizabeth is 9. Elizabeth does the above 4 chores plus she sweeps the floor (one zone per day) and starts a load of laundry (or folds a load if there is none to start). I divided our house into 3 zones for sweeping: the kitchen, the dining room/foyer/sitting room, and the school room/hallway outside their bedrooms. She rotates each sweeping zone every day.

Lucas has the above listed 4 chores and also does the dishes once per day (unloads and loads the dishwasher) and takes out all the trash - which also includes him hauling the trash to the curb on Monday nights since pick up day is Tuesday.

Ashlee has the above listed 4 chores plus she also cleans one bathroom every day (we have 2) and she vacuums every, single day.

The hard work comes in when you, Mom, have to teach your children how do do each of these things. If you simply tell them what to do and release them, then not only will you be dissatisfied with their work but they will be frustrated with their lack of knowing what your expectation is for them. Therefore, when I taught Ashlee how to clean the bathroom I walked her through every step. We alternate between using sanitizing wipes and a spray solution with paper towels. I showed her how I want the bathroom cleaned, step by tedious step. At first, it was just the basics like wiping off the countertops, mirror, toilet, putting away stray toothbrushes and rinsing out the sink. Now, we are about to move her into scrubbing the inside of the toilet.

I talked with Ashlee about making the bathroom counter a place free of clutter and that it's important to make it hospitable for when we have guests, because they use our bathroom too. A few weeks ago Ashlee did her chores and later I entered the bathroom to find it like this:

It made me laugh all day long. And I think that's the thing about watching your children do work. You should take joy in it and laugh along with them when they do funny things, cheer with them when they do a great job and when necessary, gently correct or redirect them when they don't do it just how you've shown them. Sometimes, we have to have retraining sessions and that's okay. Sometimes, Mommy completely loses her junk because her daughters' room is a black hole of death that looks like a wild pack of wolves have taken up residence. Later, Mommy has to apologize for being someone who is rude and belligerent and talk to them nicely about her expectations.

The first time I helped the older 2 girls clean their room to my standard it took FOUR HOURS. FOUR HOURS y'all. And we had just moved and I had already purged a ton of crap. Somehow, a liquified banana made it through the move. Ew.

Now, we do random checks of their chores. We don't tell them when we will come behind them and inspect their jobs. But once they are fully trained, we will.

The bottom line is, have grace with your kids. Teach them and expect high standards because I truly think, as adults, we don't give kids enough credit for what they are capable of doing. But also do your best to be merciful with them when they don't meet those high standards each and every time. Because one day, you'll walk into a room, it will look very unswept, you will realize it wasn't done, lose yourself on your child who SWEARS SHE SWEPT, you'll both be on the verge of tears, you'll retreat to your room for a breather and realize that your darling daughter DID sweep. She swept your bedroom. And made your bed. And turned down your sheets. And organized your nightstand. And left your nightstand light on so that your room looks oh-so-very inviting. And you'll feel about this big.

We tell our kids all the time that when they do their part around the house they are helping our home run smoothly, but when they go above and beyond they overwhelm us with blessings. They do a lot of the latter. Especially when I don't expect it.

Oh, one last thing! We DO NOT PAY our kids for their chores. The way we see it, Luke and I do things around our house because we live here and we love each other and our kids. They can do stuff around here because, you know, THEY LIVE HERE TOO and they love us and their siblings. So I guess I'll drag this out to a third post and tell you about how we plan to implement a new system called "Jobs for Hire" where we pay our kids for helping out around the house, above and beyond their actual chores. Because y'all, we've got some money hungry kids and, honestly, we want to teach our kids how to handle money. So, until next time....

***Edited to add***

I should include that there are other things that our kids do just because they live here. Like putting their dirty clothes in the hamper, taking their plate to the sink after meals, keeping their shoes in their shoe bins, you know, normal stuff that people do when they live with other people. Just so y'all know. That's why those are NOT included on the chore charts. In my opinion, those are part of just being a human who lives with other humans.

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Question for you: Do you already do chores? If so, what chores do your kids do at your house?

Questions for me? Ask!

Chores and Kids: Setting a foundation (Part 1)

After I posted this video on Instagram I got several inquiries about our chore system. I figured this was the best place to post about what works for us with chores.

We've tried AT LEAST 5 or 6 different chore systems since our oldest kids were old enough to comprehend chores and offer some help around the house. Elizabeth is 9 and the twins are 7, so we've been at this chore thing for about 4-5 years. Just when I'd think we'd found the holy grail of chores, life would happen, Luke and I would forget to implement it and it would flop like a dead fish. My point is, we've failed, a lot.

But finally, FINALLY we have a system that works. For now.

I've decided to break this into two parts because I REALLY BELIEVE that this first part is a big reason why our system has worked so well and lasted. So, bear with me. Part 2 will follow soon. But, first, read this:

Here's where I think we messed up a lot in the beginning, you (and your spouse) need to decide WHY you want your kids to do chores. Aside from the fact that you desire a clean house and your children can provide free child labor, what are your hopes with a well executed chore system?

For us, these were the big ones:

* There's a lot of us. We make a lot of (big) messes. Luke and I were ragged from doing all the cooking/cleaning/housekeeping/laundry/parenting and our house was a perpetual wreck (like, not just toys strung amuck or dishes in the sink - DIRTY). We needed help. Plus, our kids live here too. The last thing we want is to raise entitled kids who think that everyone should serve them all of the time. Responsibility is learned by having things you are responsible for.

* We want our children to know and understand the value of hard work.

* We wanted to be able to take pride in our home. It may not be the most immaculately decorated house in the world, but a clean house is one to be proud of, in our opinion. When our chore chart doesn't flow smoothly, our home is habitually a wreck. Our family (even our kids) enjoy having company and friends over. When the house is messy we are all embarrassed by our home. It's not fun to have company over, often on short notice on our part, when your house is always messy.

* Luke and I can more readily enjoy our children, spend time doing things they enjoy and feel like our home is a place of refuge, not stress, when our home is tidy and everyone does their part. Luke comes home from work less stressed, I yell a lot less, we can do fun projects together or play football in the yard, or roast marshmallows, whatever, when the inside of the home has been cleaned that day.

* Luke and I set appropriate expectations for what our home should look like. After all, we have almost 8 children ages 9 years and younger. Our house shouldn't look like it belongs in a magazine. It should look like children live here! Messes are to be expected. When our children help clean up, it won't be perfect. But it will be better than it was before and we can gradually help them get better and faster at their chores which results in one step closer to "perfect" than before.

So what are your goals for chores?

When our children were really young, our main goal was to teach our children to help out, take responsibility, and see that even as a child they can do something to help their family and be proud of themselves when they accomplish a task. Now that some of ours are older, we expect more.

For example, when Ella's chore is to make her bed, we are perfectly fine with it looking like this:

We've shown Ella (3 years) how to make her bed and this is her very best effort. And her best effort is good enough for now.

But for Ashlee (7 years), when her chore says to make her bed, we expect much more. Her bed should look more like this:

When it doesn't, we remind her that she didn't do her best and ask her to try again. Our expectations and even our goals change as our children get older.

A few weeks ago our children were grumbling and complaining about doing their chores. Nearly every time I announced it was chore time, wailing and gnashing of teeth ensued. So, I had a quick family meeting off the cuff. I had already tried yelling, getting angry, making threats and none of those things worked (shocking, isn't it?). I realized I hadn't sat the kids down in a while and reminded them why we need them to do their chores.

I told them all very simply, "When you do your part around the house, our home runs more smoothly. When the laundry is put away, the floors are swept, the dishes are not piled high in the sink and your bedrooms are clean, it gives us more time to spend as a family. Daddy comes home and enjoys his house rather than having to start another job after he's worked all day.

When you don't help out, then it makes life more stressful for myself and your Dad. And right now, our lives are stressful enough. We can't do it all, so we need help. If you are not willing to cheerfully help us around the house then we will have to hire someone to help us. But Daddy only makes a certain amount of money. So, if we hire help, we would have to take that money from another area. The only area that money can come from right now is your extra activities. So, if you decide you cannot help cheerfully, then we will use the money from horse riding lessons, karate, ballet and gymnastics to hire someone to help clean our house. It's really your choice."

We've not had much grumbling and complaining since that day. And I didn't tell our kids that as a threat. I was totally serious. I explained it to the kids calmly and matter-of-factly because it's true. Luke and I cannot do it all and we do need help. (And if you think you can do it all, Momma, you're kidding yourself. And doing an injustice to your children.) They can choose to bless their family by helping and in return receive blessings or they can choose to not bless and reap the consequences from that choice. (One child did lose the privilege of their extra activity one week for having a T-total meltdown when asked to redo a chore that was only half-way done. Life lessons, friends. It was hard on Momma, too.)

Kids have the ability to understand much more than we give them credit for.

Second, we used to have a more complex system where people rotated chores each week. And maybe one day we will try that again. But for now, and with our children, we've found that giving each of our kids a set list of chores that stays the same each week makes it easier for them to accomplish their jobs more quickly and with more efficiency. After all, how you feel if each week you went to work and you had to learn your job all over again? What if your job changed each week, yet your boss expected proficiency upon demand? That seemed stressful to me, especially for our children at the ages they are. Yet, I do know families who have a rotating chore chart and it works beautifully. For them. Not so much for us. Plus, when our kids do a chore week in and week out they get good at it. Ashlee can clean a bathroom in 5 minutes flat. As it gets easier for her, I add one tiny thing to make the bathroom sparkle just a little bit more. It's not so overwhelming for her and in turn, the bathroom is one step closer to the kind of clean I really desire. Win-win!

Finally, (for this post) choose age appropriate chores for your children. I'll go into this in further detail in the next post, but this was key for us. It's a balancing act to figure out when a child's chore is too easy or too hard. For a long, long time Elizabeth's chore (she's 9 years) was feeding the dog. She enjoyed it so it stayed her chore for much longer than it probably should have. But finally, she passed that chore off to Ella and, GET THIS, she was the one who got to show Ella how to correctly feed the dog! Elizabeth enjoyed the time of teaching and Ella enjoyed the thrill of being in charge of something a "big kid" used to do. Ella aspires to do it well because it was a big kid job and Elizabeth is proud be a teacher.

It boils down to setting a foundation for your family, a tone, of what the purpose of chores are in your home. We want our kids to feel empowered by accomplishing a job all on their own and doing it well! We want them to see that they are able to bless us just by doing simple things. We want them to know that when we all work together, we can accomplish big goals (like having the house clean in under an hour)!

What are your goals for your family with your children doing chores? I'd love to hear your reasons and ideas!

The wrestling

Grace told me I should blog. I told her that I wasn't quite sure what to say that wouldn't be 1) depressing 2) angry 3) heresy.

But here's what's been rolling around in my head and I've been wrestling with in my heart. I hope this all makes sense by the time I'm finished.

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I've known it for nearly 9 years now. From the moment that I reached down pulled a 6 pound 13 ounce baby girl onto my chest, I knew it.

Motherhood is the best thing that's ever happened to me.

It's the greatest ministry I've ever been given. One I don't know everything about. One that I'm learning as I go. One that I'm passionate about. Which, in truth, that's every kind of ministry. No one begins ministering to others with all the answers. All they know is that the burning within them drives them to gain more knowledge, love like never before and hope like hell they don't get in the way of God's master plan.

I know all of this cognitively in my head. I know that pouring my everything in to these seven little lives, loving their father well, managing my home and filling myself up with the abundant grace of God is ministry. I KNOW that.

But when I think about what our plans were this time last year. When I remember that there are unreached people in a country on the other side of the world, people we were suppose to be living with as neighbors, my heart breaks.

And some days, this motherhood thing doesn't seem like enough.

Yes, I know we have seven kids. I know my hands are full. I know that loving on seven children ages 8 years and younger is a full time job. I know that.

But somewhere in my heart something seems missing. And that's where my knowledge ends and the wrestling begins. I wrestle between two constant thoughts:

1) I hate feeling like this motherhood gig isn't "ministry enough." That is a lie that the enemy is selling and mothers are buying every.single.day.

I want to refuse to buy it anymore. I believe that there are mothers working their butts off going to work, cleaning up spilled sippy cups of milk, faxing documents while planning dinner in their heads, wiping butts, settling toy disputes, changing 27 diapers a day, homeschooling their kids and coming home to change out the laundry on their lunch breaks. And all the while, these precious mothers are wondering to themselves if they are really making a difference in anyone's life.

Friend, believe me when I say that by loving your children, your husband and your home well you are fulfilling the greatest ministry role on this planet.

I believe that myself. Most days.

Which leads me to my second thought that seems to sit exactly juxtaposed to the first.

2) If this is really it, if this motherhood thing is REALLY my only ministry, then why do hot tears spring instantly to my eyes when I think about unreached people? Why do I feel like I failed? Why does my heart long for more? Why do I nearly ache with the desire to live with my family on hot, dusty soil and watch my children build cross-cultural friendships?

And here is the kicker - even when we were speaking to families and groups trying to raise up a support team, I boldly proclaimed that my role would be nearly identical to what it is here:

Manager of our home, teacher of our children. Wife. Mom. Homeschooler.

So why, if nothing really was to look any different, am I feeling like everything has changed? Because of geography?

That's ridiculous.

This home, these children, my husband - they are my greatest ministry. My hardest job. My biggest reward. Yet somehow, in the midst of my days I feel anger welling up within me.

"This is IT God? We are stuck here? This is my life? Rural America, the freakshow family with all the kids who homeschool? This is IT?"

I'm just not even sure where to go from here. My desire to do any type of ministry is gone.

I've always said that while our children are by far my first ministry, they should never be the reason we chose not to love on people outside our family. Ministry outside the home should happen together. Teenagers. Elderly. Homeless shelter. Whatever. Let's do this as a family.

Over the last 8 months, we've dabbled our feet in trying out a few things to do as a family and each of them has fallen on my heart with a less than desirable thud.

And I can't shake the thought that maybe, this is IT. This is God's plan for my life. "Just" being a mother. (Oh that sound so horrible out loud, doesn't it?) "Just" managing my home. "Just" loving my husband well.

Somewhere inside me discontent sets in. THIS IS NOT THE LIFE YOU CALLED ME TO, LORD. This is not where I wanted to end up. This is not how I had it all planned out. When I stood before you and offered up to you my life with open hands, this wasn't part of the thing you were allowed to take away. Not Africa. Not what we'd worked for nearly 4 years to set in motion.

And so I wonder. Is this pride? Or is it a hunger the Lord has placed deep within me to yearn for foreign soil? I wrestle with those two things clutched tightly in opposing hands. Pride vs Calling. Or is it neither of those and I'm missing the very thing I'm suppose to be learning?

Just as Jacob did, I'm sure I'll not walk away from all this wrestling without a permanent limp. Maybe that's the point. Maybe that's God's plan all along.

A changed walk.
A new, albeit markedly different, gait.
An encounter with the Most High that not only changes my course in this journey but the time it takes to reach my destination.

I'm words, he's numbers: Thoughts from the mind of my man

I don't have a perfect marriage. In fact, my pregnancies take their toll on our marriage. I feel so miserable and pukey-bad for the first 4 - 5 months, love the middle 8 or 9 weeks, then I slip into that slightly-less-comfortable-than-a-beached-whale phase for the last 2 months.

Needless to say, I'm cranky for a lot of the time that I gestate our babies. My sweet husband fills right in where I leave off, taking care of kids, laundry, housework, you name it. But it's hard on him.

By far, this has been the hardest pregnancy for both of us.

Add to that that I'm a woman of many words and my husband is, well, a man of less than many words. Especially when he's thinking about something.

Typically I vomit my words all over him, holding little to nothing back, letting every passing emotion sweep across my lips like a flash flood in a monsoon.

But Luke, he's a thinker. I learned a little trick a few years ago on how to move from being a talker to a listener when I'm with my man. It's invaluable for understanding, hearing and really listening to my husband. (Maybe one day I'll share it with you all, if my husband promises not to act like he knows my secret.)

Anyway, just because my sweet man isn't much on for sharing his thoughts and emotions, doesn't mean they don't exists. Before we got married, I'd only seen him cry one time. He shed a few, tender tears during our wedding ceremony. Then, he cried when he found out his dog had died and when we found out his grandfather was in critical condition, likely to die within a matter of days.

Otherwise, he was cool, calm and collected (unless there's inclement weather, then not-so-much). This life of few words, and even fewer raw emotion was the norm. That was, until we had kids. Now, my man isn't afraid to have or show his emotion. And I love it. I love it so very much.

Even though emotion flows easily for him now, he still isn't one to pour out words. Maybe it's because he can't find the right ones or maybe it's because he likes to really make sure he's sure before he speaks.

I think it's because, in our relationship, I'm words, he's numbers.

Today, I got this email from my thinker husband. It brought me to tears and to my knees to thank my Lord that I have such a man who values our children as much as I do and who sees them as the blessing they are. Glory be, how I love this man of mine.

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From Luke today, via email:

So I find myself crying, sobbing, on the way to work this morning. I would apologize for being a man that cries, but I have learned to embrace these kinds of emotions. “You see Billy cried, because, well, he is a crier.” Through certain circumstances I was able to take my oldest daughter to breakfast this morning. As I am in the car driving, images begin to flash through my mind.

• Elizabeth (age 7) being able to get herself completely ready. She took extra time this morning to ‘look nice’ for daddy.
• When I get home from breakfast I see Ella, our youngest (age 2), getting out of the shower {I will not give any more details on that point}.
• I said “see ya” to my very pregnant wife, carrying our soon to be youngest daughter.

You see, this pregnancy has been different for me. In the past, I have taken the role of caring for the older kids and didn’t stop, nor have much time, to think about our new child on the way. With the kids being older now, things are even busier, but it is easier for all of us to spend time together. With this, I am able to enjoy each child and the beauty of what each one holds.

As I am looking through the windshield I think about my 7 yr old daughter and how she showers me with so much love each and every day. Then I remember how proud my 2 yr old was for me to see her being a ‘big girl’. Then I begin to think of our newest daughter on the way and the moments of joy she will bring me as a father and I don’t even know what they are yet.

All of this brings me to the Throne of God. Humbled he would entrust me to make decisions for these children that will shape there lives. Thankful he would bless me with smiles across a breakfast table, naked babies soaking wet with a huge smile, and to feel my daughter move in the womb. I have such a large responsibility to be a Priest, Profit, Provider, and Protector for my family. God equipped me today.