Mobile Mama

I’m getting on a plane and going 4,355 miles from my children for 6 days tomorrow. I’m terrified. What if they need me? What if they fall and break something? What if they don’t wear exactly the clothes I would have picked out for them? What if there is a car accident with the baby sitter? What if I miss something special on Cy’s last day at school?

What if… This question makes me crazy. 

If I feel out of control, I start to lose my mind. I go into anxiety-stricken, not-a-nice-person, panic mode. Don’t ask Cleve about this; I would hate for him to be honest with you about the crazy person I can become. 

If we pray and bring our anxiety to God, he promises us “the peace, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus” (Philippians 4:7).

My type-A controlling heart is not from the Lord. I must die to myself and re-preach the gospel to myself daily. I fail at this a lot. 

How am I going to make it through six days in Alaska? I’m not quite sure yet, but I’ve prepared as much as I can. I’ve left a novel worth of schedules, tips, and emergency information. I’ve got class snacks prepared for Cy’s last three days of school, and clothes even laid out.

If I’m honest with myself, my fear and anxiety is more about me and my selfishness than it is about the kids. I’m going to miss them like crazy, and then I’ll be home. 

Caring for Cleve is my first responsibility. This week is about supporting his mission and vision. That’s my privilege. I can’t be in two places at once. 

I’ve gone through some busy seasons at home, and I’ve gone through busy seasons at work, but as the two collide here at the end of the year, I’m exhausted. I’m overwhelmed and can’t seem to finish coherent thoughts. I may not have gone through the suffering the writer of this hymn had, but what a glorious thing that the same grace is available for all of us. 

As the wise Matt Papa says, a song is a sermon you sing to yourself. I’m preaching this one all day (and probably for the next few days).

More information and history on ”It Is Well With My Soul”

It was Mother’s Day. I wore a new dress. I got the dress out of a need for something that fit my post-partum body while being insanely cheap. (I think I bought it from Walmart in a late-night diaper run.) I still felt as frumpy and dumpy as I ever have wearing it.

I made a typical mistake that morning and asked Cleve how it looked. He gave me a half-hearted, “It looks alright.” Or something like that. His words didn’t actually matter. In my mind, his eyes and tone said far more. I knew I looked terrible. I’m certain an argument ensued as I tried to get a 10-week-old, a 23-month-old, and a 3.5-year-old ready for church in our usual hurried fashion. I don’t believe the argument between us ever stopped until we actually arrived at church. My own self-pity refused to let whatever angst was inside of me go. 

I sat through church uncomfortable on the inside and out as I reflected on what an over-reacting monster I was. I felt sorry for myself. I’m a terrible mother, and for what good I do contribute, I feel under-appreciated. It was a no-win situation for my family that day. 

I started a journey that day to put movement back in my then-stagnant faith. As I tried to backtrack over some of my hateful words from the morning at a less-than-Mother’s-Day-worthy lunch, I talked to Cleve about having an on-going project that was just for me - an outlet where I could be honest and spend time reflecting. He had been encouraging me for a while to write my thoughts down publicly. 

That was two years ago this weekend. I went home that day and started writing. I’m not a great writer, but as I said then, this is for me. I have nearly as many un-published posts as I do published. They aren’t all worth sharing. Trust me. 

I started this very simple blog as a result of a feeling of loneliness and self-pity on Mother’s Day.

Elyse Fitzpatrick wrote a wonderful piece this week about Mother’s Day, reclaiming it as Daughter’s Day. I highly recommend it for everyone - all women and men. 

Here’s what’s wrong with Mother’s Day (and every other celebration of our own goodness): Any time you seek satisfaction, honor, and glory in yourself you’re going to be dissatisfied—that applies to both women and men. Any time you look for someone to give you something that will make you feel like you’ve done a good job, or are finally a person of worth, you’re going to be disappointed.

Over the past two years, I’ve come to appreciate this day the way Elyse talks about it. I know that my identity is not rooted in the response of others to my ability be a good wife and mother. My identity is in the grace of the gospel. I must die to myself every day - finding my joy in celebrating what Christ has done for me and not in being praised by others. Some days I fail. Some days I do a little better. 

Whatever happens this Sunday remember this: You are loved. You are forgiven. You are righteous. Not because of anything you can do, but only because of what Jesus has already done…

“Go ahead and receive praise and gifts with a smile, but remember these paltry bobbles aren’t anything in comparison to one drop of that precious blood. His work has made you his, and he has given you an eternal identity. You are his beloved daughter in whom he is well pleased.

I wish I could say that the long, drawn-out process below is rare for us, but getting all of my home responsibilities accomplished takes a second full work day many times. A peek into the life of a working mother the last 14 hours before getting out of town for a couple of days: 

6 p.m.
I get home after working a little late getting caught up before being out of town the rest of the week. I walk in and there is an adorable two-year-old eagerly waiting to be picked up and loved on and a three-year-old running up half-naked. I’m not sure why she isn’t wearing a shirt, but I carry her and give her a hug, too. 

Cleve is graciously cooking dinner for the family when I arrive home - spaghetti and meatballs. He is such a great cook, and I am a blessed woman that he cooks one or two nights a week for us when he really doesn’t have to. He’s even busier than I am with his own work and ministry. 

7:30 p.m.
After a quick, yummy dinner and a few more cuddles while sneaking in a few minutes of the Braves game, it’s time to get busy. 

Start one load of laundry. Start packing. Call Grandmama because Cleve and the kids haven’t talked to her in a while. Bath time. Chase fully naked children around the house to get them in pajamas. One kid in bed - late. 

9 p.m.
After a puking incident a couple of days earlier, I finally have the bedding re-washed, so it’s time to re-make Cy’s bed from the box springs all the way to comforter as I put the big kids to bed. All kids in bed (way past their “bedtime”). 

Fold laundry that was leftover from the weekend. Start a second load for the night. Give Cleve feedback on a project for work. 

10 p.m.
Go to the grocery store, yes, grocery store, to get some necessities so the kids actually have something to eat this week in our absence. And I need snacks for Warner’s preschool class because it’s his week to bring snacks for all of his friends. Fill the car up with gas so that Laura can drive the kids around for the next two days. Stop by the ATM to deposit a check and get a little cash. Get home, take the trashcan to the road because it will be picked up tomorrow. Put the groceries up and prep the snacks. 

11 p.m.
Finish a freelance project, finish the last load of laundry, and lay out the kids clothes for the next day. Start one last load of laundry for good measure. Proof a video for the retreat. Answer any last minute, important emails. Set my out-of-office assistant on my work email. All while catching up on Revolution with my sister so that she won’t watch it without me while we’re gone. 

12:30 a.m.
Try to head to bed. Cleve is still working. Set a ton of reminders on my phone so that I don’t forget the million little things I need to do in the morning. Plug the iPad in because I’ll probably need it to keep Warner busy while I take a shower in the morning. As I do this, I notice Cleve’s drink is sweating and making a mess on the nightstand. Cleaning it up, I attempt to pass the cup to him. Naturally, the cup slips and splashes sweet tea on Cleve, the bed, the nightstand, and all over the wall. I’m never going to bed. 

1 a.m. 
I attempt to go to bed with lights still on and Cleve finishing some things. My eyes start to close, and here it comes. Crying from upstairs. Cy is having terrible ‘growing pains’ in his leg. Cleve, again, very graciously goes upstairs to make him feel better and get him stop crying. What a great daddy!

—insert 4.5 hours of sleep—

6 a.m.
Alarm goes off. Warner wakes up. After the commotion with the drink, I realize the iPad was never actually plugged up. 1% battery. Plug it up while Warner watches some Dora on it. Get ready.

6:45 a.m.
Write a note to my mother for a Mother’s Day package going in the mail today. Finish packing. Get Warner dressed and get him breakfast. Put that last load of laundry in the dryer.

7:15 a.m.
Big kids wake up. Get them breakfast. Write preschool tuition check and get the final payment for our June vacation prepared so that it’s sent in on time. Make a list of things that must be done around the house for Laura. 

7:30 a.m.
[Supposed to be leaving the house.] Finish last minute clean up, packing, loading the car, tell the kids goodbye as Laura is now responsible for getting the big kids dressed and all three kids to preschool by 9 a.m. We’re finally pulling out of the driveway at 7:50 a.m. - 20 minutes late. 

I am so grateful to be on a two day retreat with The Summit Church staff. Seriously, what a wonderful chance to refocus in the mountains for 48 hours. It’s totally worth it but time for a nice long nap. 

“Be still, and know that I am God.” -Psalm 46:10

Watching your kids grow can be sad. I’m sure I will cry on the first day of kindergarten and every other “last” and “first”, but I hope I’m better known for celebrating the other days - what comes between the “first” and the “last”. That’s where the fun and the growing happens. That’s where our kids gain the dangerous faith Jen Hatmaker talked about earlier this week - a brilliant post of brave parenting and brave kids.

Today was one such day - Cy’s ‘Special Day’ at preschool. He could pick the theme, be line-leader, and have a little presentation about himself where his friends could ask him questions.

I had so much fun watching him be the star. He chose a football/sports theme which was perfect given not only his obsession with the sport but it being Superbowl weekend. He asked all of the other kids to wear their favorite team shirts and jerseys.

Some interesting facts Cy was able to share with his class:

• Cy has lived in three different states in 5 years.
• Cy has flown by airplane on at least 7 different trips (that mommy can remember).
• Cy has visited 17 different states already: TN, GA, NC, SC, KY, AR, VA, WV, IL, WI, MA, TX, MT, WY, OH, IN, SD
• Cy can tell you on demand every NFL team and a bazillion statistics.
• Cy’s favorite teams are the Cowboys, Broncos, University of Georgia, and University of North Carolina.
• His favorite places to visit are West Virginia, Nashville, and Grandmama’s house.

Flag holder and line leader, Cy, in his full cowboys uniform, pads and all:

Ready for our class presentation:

Pin the football between the goal post:

I didn’t think the simple life in West Virginia could get more simple. But the winter brings quiet serenity - not to mention no snakes. 

We picked up our summer adventure right where we left off but just for a short weekend trip. We returned to the same cabin…

After we warmed the house up from -8 degrees and thawed the frozen pipes, we had a wonderful two days of playing in the snow, and that’s about it. There’s really isn’t anything else to do except enjoy all the wonderful, freshly falled snow. 

Warner stepped off the porch and immediately laid down - just sprawled out right there in the middle of the walkway. 

He had such a great time. Every picture I took he’s making this same smiling face. 

There were snow angels… 

And some make-shift sledding (too many trees for real sledding at the cabin)…

And running down the driveway to open the gate - everything is more fun in the snow. 

We braved the roads no one had traveled yet to make it to the top of Spruce Knob (highest point in WV). Walking through the spruce trees was like walking through Narnia. But the view wasn’t as spectacular. All the falling snow made for nearly no visibility of the surrounding mountains and valleys. And this is the last pic I got before my phone literally froze and stopped working until I got back in the car and warmed it up. Seriously. It was really cold. 

I love this picture of Cleve helping Cy shoot in the snow. 

Now that we’ve settled in to North Carolina, and Cleve has recovered from a broken elbow, I can’t wait to see where our adventures take us this year. One of the beauties of living around Raleigh-Durham is the close proximity to so many wonderful places.

17,000.

Whew. It’s been our biggest parenting battle to date. And now it’s over. Charlotte, 3 years old, is finally fully potty trained. 

I wish I could adequately explain how much I dislike this one parenting task. I’m terrible at it, and apparently my children aren’t too great at it either (I’ve probably said this to you before). 

I can think of a dozen possible reasons why Charlotte has spent more than a year refusing to consistently go to the potty (I’m to blame for most of them), but today none of those reasons matter. All that matters is how she beams every morning when she gets to put on a new pair of her big-girl panties. She is so proud of herself. We have all (even Cy) used this as an opportunity for over-the-top encouragement and positive reinforcement. She is the star of the house right now. 

18 months ago, when we went through a similar battle with Cy, our magic number of diapers was 12,098. To that point, that’s how many diapers our home had gone through. By my completely scientific calculations, I estimate that number is now somewhere around 17,000.

By the numbers: 
17,000 diapers in the past 5 1/2 years
3,380 diapers last year
275 diapers last month
65 diapers last week

Only one more baby in diapers! 

Today I’m thankful to celebrate my father on Veteran’s Day and not on Memorial Day.

No matter where the military or life took Daddy, he always came home. He may have come home changed or even broken at times, but he still made it.

There are multiple times he escaped death and kept his family from remembering him on Memorial Day. Instead, my little sister and I are only here at all because he came home – every time.

I can’t imagine the 13 months spent in Korea away from his wife and two small children. Even more so, I can’t imagine the surreal, blurry day when the helicopter came down and he managed to make it out alive… Or the times alone, literally running for his life in Central America.

For the sake of democracy and freedom, he risk his life. But he would tell you that’s not the only reason he did it or what he was fighting for. He did it to make a meager living for his young family during a time of recession. And you fight for the men beside you.

There have been life-long consequences to coming home alive. I’m sure there have been times over the past 30+ years when he wondered if coming home alive was worth it. Could the opposite fate have been better?

It’s taken a lot of time and a lot of love, but I feel confident that after seeing where the journey has taken him, Daddy feels blessed to have a strong, loyal woman at his side, four children who look up to him, and 12 grandchildren who cherish him. The wisdom and love he has to share because of life’s journey are irreplaceable as he continues to grow as a man of God.

He has taught me about working hard, discipline, team work, and sacrifice because of his service.

I am so thankful that my Purple Heart, Bronze Star daddy always came home.

“Listen, my son, to your father’s instruction and do not forsake your mother’s teaching. They are a garland to grace your head and a chain to adorn your neck.” -Proverbs 1:8-9