When Dennis and I first moved into our house in Iuka, we were excited to be out of our cramped little apartment and have a little bit of space to move around. Then we started walking through the yard and noticed that where there should have been grass, there was a thick layer of dandelions. And, in case you didn’t know, dandelions are like the black plague of landscaping. They’re tough little boogers to get rid of.
Right now, I’m realizing that pride has taken root in my heart like a yard full of dandelions. It’s a sneaky thing, really, because you don’t realize how dangerous it is and how deeply its roots have burrowed until you start trying to rip them out.
My most recent battle with pride has to do with my girls. When others gush over my girls’ gorgeous blue eyes (they are stunning, if I do say so myself) and praise Micah’s smarts (because she’s a child genius, y’all) or Kendall’s laid-back personality (who doesn’t love an easy-going baby?), I swell with pride. And not just a little bit of pride. It’s a lot of it.
If it were just those things that I’m prideful over, it might not be so bad, but it goes deeper than that.
For three and a half years I’ve gloated over the relatively good health of my kids. As if I had anything to do with it. Seriously. Micah NEVER got an ear infection as a baby. She was rarely sick, and when she did come down with a cold, she bounced back quickly. Other people’s children suffered from chronic ear infections and were always sick, but not mine. My kids were perfect, and I was proud of it.
Until now. When Micah came home from preschool in early December with a nagging cough, I never dreamed that we would still be battling its lingering effects two months later. And yet, here we are. First it was Micah. Then it was me. We both hacked and sniffled for nearly a month before the antibiotics finally did their work and we got better.
But then Kendall started coughing. And then she got her first little ear infection and took her first round of antibiotics. Ever. And then the ear infection came back, so we stepped it up to the next level of antibiotics. Ten days of that, and I thought she’d be better (because my kids ALWAYS bounce back), but over the weekend, she started going downhill AGAIN, so I took her back to the doctor yesterday morning.
Guess what? The infection is back and worse than ever before. Her poor little eardrum is so swollen that it’s on the verge of rupture.
And I nearly cried. Especially when I realized that I was taking these ear infections personally. I’m ashamed to admit that they have seriously wounded my pride. Yes, I’m concerned about my daughter and her health, but I’m also concerned about my track record as a parent, and that’s shameful.
The crazy thing is, I know how ridiculous this all sounds. It’s stupid for me to be prideful of my daughters’ health because the truth is that their wellness has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the grace of God. The only reason that we have enjoyed three and a half years without any major issues is because the Lord has willed it so. Period.
As a mom, it’s far too easy to take credit for how great my kids are, even if I have nothing to do with whatever it is that people are praising. My greatest temptation is to pass off the work of the Lord as my own – to accept all the credit when really, all the glory is due to Him alone.
It’s no secret that the baby years are hard for me. When I see other mothers floating through the early months of their kids’ lives on a fluffy pink cloud of bliss, I want to gag. I always assume that they’re just pretending. The reason that I assume that? Well, in my experience, God has used both marriage and motherhood as chisels, chipping away at my character and removing anything that doesn’t reflect His likeness.
Apparently, there was a lot of junk that needed to be cleared away, and, in case you’re wondering, it’s not exactly fun. It’s painful. But hey, I’ve heard that the first step to recovery is admitting that you have a problem. So this is my confession. My name is Leslie Ann Jones, and I’m a recovering pride-a-holic.
When stuff like this happens, I am reminded that God is still working on me. Right now He’s helping me realize that the pride that I have tolerated for so long has taken root in my heart, and it’s time to do something about it. Thankfully, He’s pretty good at wrenching out things that don’t belong.
Until next time, grace and peace.
Sometimes I feel like my entire life is tied up in whether or not my children get enough sleep. Any mom out there will know what I’m talking about. Or maybe it’s just me.
Kendall is generally easy enough to get to sleep. She’s taking three naps a day and goes to sleep on her own at night. Her problem isn’t going to sleep. It’s staying asleep. She routinely wakes up 45 minutes into her nap, wide awake and ready to play. Then she’s exhausted just 30 minutes later, but unable to settle down. She wakes in the middle of the night and early in the morning with no intention of going back to sleep without intense cajoling. One night last week it lasted for two and a half hours. Let that sink in. For two and a half hours, she was wide awake, either screaming or thinking about screaming. It was not fun. For the past week she’s been stirring between 4 and 5 a.m. wide awake and raring to go. That’s just a bit earlier than I’m willing to get up in the mornings.
Micah, on the other hand, sleeps like a rock. Her problem is going to sleep. I can feel the dread of naptime approaching when it’s still hours away. I know what will happen. I’ll give her a five-minute warning. I’ll set the timer and tell her that when it goes off, it’s time for a nap. Sometimes, she instantly complies, cleaning up her toys and docilely following me to her room, where we’ll read a story, and I’ll gently tuck her in. She’ll give me a hug and kiss, I’ll give her a pat and leave the room. Only to come back five minutes later to discover her surrounded by a pile of books on her bed, quietly resisting a nap. Other times, she flat out refuses to get ready for a nap and throws herself into a rage before we even head to the bedroom. I end up taking away all of her favorite baby dolls, her blankies, and her dream lite every single day before she finally gives it up and goes to sleep. The same thing usually happens at bedtime.
A few nights ago, Dennis and I were sitting in the den, preparing to go to bed ourselves. It was 10:03 when Micah came bebopping into the room. She was wearing a princess gown over her pajamas. She had a crown on her head, a string of Mardi Gras beads around her neck, and one cheap plastic clip-on earring dangling from her right ear. She stuck out her bottom lip as she handed me the other earring and said, “Mama, my eaw-wing bwoke. Can you fix it?”
I just looked at her in shock. Seriously, kid? She had been playing silently in her room for TWO ENTIRE HOURS, and she really expected me to fix the blasted earring? At that moment, I decided that her dress-up clothes probably shouldn’t live in her closet anymore. You can imagine how well that went over.
I’m not really sure how I became this sleep-obsessed mom – I only know that if my kids don’t get enough of it, then it’s all over. I will fiercely protect naps and sequester my girls in the house if something threatens their rest. I’m sure that some people think I’m crazy, but I also know that my sweet little girls turn into raging little monsters if they don’t get enough sleep. I suppose they get that from me.
At any rate, we’ve been going through a rough patch lately. Neither of my girls are sleeping particularly well, and it’s starting to wear on me. As I mentioned before, sleep and I are really good friends. I don’t respond well when our time together is interrupted.
Sigh. I know many of you can commiserate with me. I’m looking forward to the days when they’re a bit older and I can stop worrying so much about the amount of time that their eyes are closed each day. Of course, I’m sure there will be something else to worry about then. It’s just one of the many joys of motherhood. We’ve gotta have something to worry about. And right now, it’s sleep.
Anyone else dealing with sleep issues with their kiddos? I’d love to hear about your experiences in the comments section.
Until next time, grace and peace.
It’s no secret that I’m not a morning person. I never have been, and, most likely, I never will be. Back in 2011, I embarked on a journey to become more disciplined and intentional. I started the year with the lofty goal of getting up with Dennis every morning at 5 a.m. I think that lasted for about three days before I quit.
It’s just not for me, y’all.
My entire life, I’ve been OK with being a night owl. Growing up, the hour before I went to bed was my time to journal and study scripture. Since I always rolled out of bed with precisely enough time to get myself ready and out the door, having a quiet time in the morning was never really in the cards.
Then I got married, and suddenly my time alone each evening disappeared. Evenings were spent making supper and hanging out with Dennis. Life changed, and so did my quiet times. I started journaling and studying Scripture in the mornings when I woke up alone, since Dennis had long been gone for work.
That worked fine for a few years, then I had a baby, and, once more, everything changed. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out when I was supposed to spend any time alone with the Lord. Every night, I fell into bed exhausted from a day of feeding a hungry little mouth and wiping a cute little hiney. The blogosphere is full of all these happy little mamas who cheerfully get up at 5 a.m. to sip coffee and enjoy the solitude of the morning. I think they’re crazy. Sleep and I are way too happy together for me to give it up for a little time alone.
These days, I’ve decided to follow the advice of Tim Gunn. I’m making it work, y’all. I sit at the dining table while Micah eats breakfast and watches Mickey Mouse Clubhouse and Kendall rolls around on the floor. I’m frequently interrupted by squeals of laughter and Micah’s questions, but that doesn’t make my time with the Lord any less sweet. In fact, I think it makes it sweeter.
This is my life. I’ve finally come to terms with the fact that I’m probably not going to have a solid hour alone each day, but if I can sit on my tail and read blogs and catch up on facebook while my kids entertain themselves, there’s no reason why I can’t read my Bible and write in my journal instead. An added bonus to this solution is that as my girls grow up, they will see their mama begin each day in the word of God, and I think that’s important. It’s called leading by example.
Over the years, I’ve seriously had to alter my concept of what an acceptable “quiet time” is. Way back in the day, I would plug in my headphones, listen to some praise music, write in my journal, study my Bible, and read a book. In that order, every single time. Alone in my room, usually with a candle lit. It was my special time with the Lord. Sometimes we insist that a quiet time isn’t right if it’s not absolutely silent and serene. Like God doesn’t hear our prayers if we don’t utter them solemnly while we’re all alone in our rooms. As if we’re doing it wrong if it doesn’t follow some silly preset formula or format.
It’s taken me 30 years to realize that time with the Lord doesn’t have to be silent to be meaningful. It doesn’t have to be perfect to be purposeful. Today, I’m reminded that Jesus has called me to walk with Him and to talk with Him. It’s that simple.
Until next time, grace and peace.
It’s hard to know what to say now that I’ve finally decided to take the plunge and resurrect this blog. I really didn’t mean to drop off the face of the planet in February. It just sort of happened. And then, the longer I said nothing, the harder it became to pick up where I left off. And now, it’s November and crickets have been chirping here for eight months!
Sorry bout that, y’all.
I’ll try not to let it happen again, but I’m offering no guarantees.
Instead, I’ll try to hit the highlights of the past eight months of my life. Then we’ll get on to business as usual.
I had a baby. Isn’t she sweet? Last time I wrote, I was still reeling from the unexpected news that I was pregnant. Now I have a 4-month-old little girl that I can’t imagine life without. Kendall arrived a couple of weeks early (unlike her sister, who debuted a week late), and I did it au naturale. Maybe someday I’ll tell you about it.
I renamed and rebranded my stationery business. Goodbye Senojal Designs. Hello Felicity Paper. The change was a long time coming, and I couldn’t be happier with the result. I wanted a name that (a) people could actually pronounce and (b) reflected my business goals. I’ll tell you more about that later.
Micah turned three. This picture is from her “fancy schmancy” third birthday party, which was heavily inspired by Fancy Nancy books. It’s hard to believe that my baby is now a big girl who constantly tells me what she’s going to do when she grows up. Slow down, sister! Please. Your mama needs you to.
I survived. That may not seem like a big deal to some of you, but it’s gargantuan to me. There are some women who flourish and glow their way through the newborn stages. I’m not one of them. It’s hard for me. It was especially hard to figure out how to parent my toddler with a baby that demanded my attention. We had a lot of moments like the one pictured above, and unlike the picture, I wasn’t always smiling. But we’re getting there. As Kendall gets older, life gets easier, and I’m finally able to come up for air. In case you were wondering, it’s nice to breathe again.
I promise to be back sooner rather than later this time. It’s my goal to write once a week. If I can master that, we’ll shoot for twice a week.
Until next time, grace and peace.
“What’re you doooooooin, Mama?”
“I’m cooking supper, what are you doing, Micah?”
Two seconds pass.
“What’re you doooooooin, Mama?”
“Still cooking supper. What about you?”
Three seconds pass.
“What’re you doooooooin, Mama?”
A couple of weeks ago, Micah and I had that conversation 500 times a day. Literally. If I sat down, she asked. If I stood up, she asked. If I put my shoes on, she asked. If I brushed my hair, she asked. If I picked up a book, she asked.
The questioning was constant and drove me up the wall.
Now she’s moved on. She only asks me two or three times a day, but we’ve taken up another conversation in its stead.
“Somebody’s hidin’ in my woom, Mama.”
“Who’s in your room, baby?”
“A mon-ter’s in my woom.”
“There’s not a monster in your room, Micah.”
Pauses for two seconds.
“Somebody’s hidin’ in my woom, Mama.”
This conversation ensues every. single. time I ask Micah to take something to her room. The first time we had it, it made me grin. The 689th time we had it, I wanted to bang my head against the wall.
In case you can’t tell, her conversational skills are growing, even if she sounds like a broken record at times. She’s at such a fun age. Every time I turn around, it seems she’s learning something new. My jaw dropped the first time she pointed at a stop sign and told me that it was an ot-ta-gon, but really, I shouldn’t have been surprised. I’ve been pointing at the octagon in her Elmo lift-the-flap book for months.
If you ask her name, she’ll answer Micah Joooones. We started working on my and Dennis’ names too, just in case someone asks her who her parents are. I didn’t have much hope in teaching her my name, but she’s getting there. If you ask her my name, she’ll say Essie Ann Joooones. Poor Dennis is left out. She knows his name but refuses to say it most of the time. To her, he’s Daddy Joooones.
She loves to eat and has an appetite like her mama. There’s not much that she turns down, and it’s funny to me that if there’s broccoli on her plate, she’ll eat it before anything else. She also loves Mexican food. Girl after my own heart. And breakfast. Also one of my favorites. Sometimes she eats more than I do, which is saying something. The girl can pack it away.
She’s fascinated with the idea of being a big sister, and she insists that the new baby is a girl. Poor thing will be disappointed if Peanut turns out to be a boy. She likes to lift my shirt and look at my belly, and every now and then, she’ll talk to the baby. Melts my heart.
She’s pretty stingy about giving out kisses, but if I pretend I don’t want one, she’ll grab my face between her little hands and cover it in kisses.
I don’t want to forget her at this age. I’ll take the toddler stage over the baby stage any day. That’s not to say that toddlerhood is without challenges. Last night we had a major meltdown over brushing her teeth. And she’s obsessed with things matching. If it doesn’t match, chaos will ensue. If she’s eating an orange and the wedges fall apart before she pulls them apart, she throws a fit, but I can handle all that. The good far outweighs the bad.
I love this little girl. Can’t imagine life without her.
Until next time, grace and peace.
Enter your e-mail address below to have snippets delivered to your inbox daily.
