Motherhood and the Ugly Cry

    I have been wondering about the strangeness of motherhood lately.  Raising our kids is a weird combination of desires for your children.  On the one hand, you think, "I hope I can...

...foster an open and loving relationship with them,

teach them about Jesus,

model gratefulness, kindness, and respect on a daily basis,

help them understand their inherent worth as uniquely created people,

teach them to be strong and to use that strength for good, 

show them the value of hard work,

(and a hundred other things)."

    On the other hand, there is the most basic overshadowing hope:

Please, God, just keep them alive.

     Maybe it's the season I am living right now, and maybe I need therapy.  I don't walk around everyday paralyzed by the fear that my child might die, but I hear tragic stories everyday where my gut reaction is: "Yep, that could have been us."

     A few months ago, the kids and I were staying at my parents' house while some work was being done at ours.  Piper, Jon David, and I were under the weather with fevers, and it was resting time.  Myla spends resting time in my parents' bedroom.  As I was rocking in the recliner with a fussy JD, Myla started hollering, "Mommy! Mommy!" and crying from the bedroom.  To be honest, I ignored her for a minute, because it resembled the kind of reaction she might have to seeing a bug (or some similar non-emergency).  When she didn't stop, I went back to find her pinned from the waist down by an overturned chest of drawers.  My risk-averse 5-year-old with no history of climbing just "wanted to see what it was like" to climb this new furniture.  You guys, this thing was so heavy that I could only lift it for a few seconds while telling her to quickly pull her legs out from under it.  It stayed flat on the floor until my dad came home from work.  Once I checked her body for any visible trauma and realized she was ok, enter: the ugly cry.  Because everything from that moment on felt like, "Well, you almost died today, so..."  She had bruises down her leg and even on her forehead, but no serious injuries.  A random plastic Ozarka container filled with coins that my dad keeps on his dresser seems to have held it up off the floor a few extra inches (i.e. the size of her legs).  She wanted to watch tv, and my thought was, "Well, you almost died today, so I guess we can watch 3 hours of television right now."  When she needed some correction later in the day, I thought, "Can I discipline her when she almost died today?" (Sidenote: I think the answer is "yes," but I tell ya, it really makes you think about the manner and tone in which you discipline in that moment. But still, ask the experts instead of going with me on this one). 

     Even more recently, we went to a pool party with some close friends.  Every parent has their safety thing, and mine happens to be swimming.  Despite this, the kids have never used Puddle Jumpers or life jackets on a regular basis, because I only do the pool thing when I have enough reinforcements to cover my crew.  My girls are taking lessons but still not swimmers, but they have become pretty proficient holding a little ring floatie around their waist.  While my sister was on Jon David detail in the pool (a full-time job), I sat on the side chatting with some moms and watching the girls.  I was more nervous than usual because I know things can happen at parties where everyone is comfortable with each other. I was chatting with a friend (about Puddle Jumpers, no less) while Piper was kicking around and playing a ball game with her friend.  I saw her lean over once to reach the ball, and thought it was a little bit too far of a reach, then I saw her reach again and tip over upside down with her feet wildly kicking in the air and her head underwater.  I went in after her and came out, heart pounding and swim cover-up sopping wet. Dave was by the side as soon as I got her there. She was probably only under for a few seconds, and one of those nasty water coughs plus 5 minutes of resting had her asking to get back in.  "It was just because I was weaning, Mom," she said. (Still working on pronouncing those L's).  But you guys.  The only reason I saw her tip over was because I happened to be watching at that very moment.  Can I honestly say I was watching both my girls every single second? No, I can't.

    I guess the art of motherhood is realizing how close to death your children always are without completely losing your ever-loving mind.

    (Ask me in 20 years or so if I've accomplished this).

Dear Piper,

Today you are four!

Let's be honest-- you are going to wake up on the morning of your birthday, and I won't be there with you.  You girls had an impromptu sleepover at Nana and Paw Paw's though, so I'm pretty sure no tears will be shed (until I come to take you home).

Pipes, this year with you has been so full.  You have experienced ALL of the feelings.  With you, my passionate little girl, the highs are so high, and the lows are low.  One of my favorite memories from this year is a conversation we had after Myla's birthday party.  The kids all painted pictures, and I showed you yours the next morning.

     "Piper, this is a great painting!" I told you.

     "What?! That's not mine!" you replied, horrified. 

     "Yes, it is.  It has your name on the back.  I like how you used so many colors." I said.

      Through genuine, crocodile tears, you blubbered, "But I was twying to make a wainbow, and this just wooks wike scwibble, scwibble, scwibble.  That's NOT mine!"

Seeing the heartbreak over your real picture not resembling the one you had in your mind was just the funniest thing.  I had to hold back my laughter, because to you, it was a big deal.  (And besides, what adult doesn't deal with disappointment over unmet expectations in themselves and others?)

Piper, you hold such a special place in our family-- the only one who gets to be the little sibling AND the big sibling, and it looks like no easy feat.  I love watching how you run right alongside the big kids but can also take care of your little brother with your softer side.  You are starting preschool in the fall (*tear*), and my hope for this year is that you can have something for the first time in your life that is your special "thing." You are special and unique, and I want you to have the same confidence and strength standing alone as you do standing in the middle of our family.

Piper Joy Livingston, you are a force to be reckoned with.  I love you like you love your yummy thumby.  Let's keep this thing we have going for another year, ok?

Love, Mom

P.S. I'm going to start taking you to auditions for commercials or something so that you can become small-time famous enough to pay for future dental work (since you informed me that this isn't the year you'll be giving up the thumb).

2015: A Year in Review

     It's 2016 already!  Last year was filled with fun and a handful of firsts.  Here are some of the highlights of 2015:

• Our church kicked off the year with a BOLD campaign focusing on generosity and giving (with a goal of purchasing a property within the next two years).  It became an exciting time of talking about how we can use the money God has entrusted to us over the next few years. Nothing excites David Livingston like talking about giving, so this was a sweet time of good conversations for us.
• We entered 2015 with no plans to move, but through a whirlwind of events ended up purchasing our first home together in October. (Dave purchased our former house before we started dating). Though there is a laundry list of work to be done in this older house, it already feels like home and just feels "right."  Dave is enjoying his much shorter commute to the office.
• Myla began school!  She is attending a homeschool co-op kindergarten class even though it's technically her Pre-K year.  As I expected, she loves it.  We will most likely send her to our local elementary school next year, which is within walking distance of our house.
• We took a road trip to Tennessee and North Carolina over Thanksgiving, and it's amazing how a 15-hour drive seems way quicker than the 20-hour drives we take to Wisconsin or Minnesota.  We had fun, but this vacation also confirmed the fact that if we leave town, one or more of our children will get sick.  (Thanking the Lord that this time it was a sinus thing and not the pukes).
• I completed a Beachbody Challenge group and kicked the last few pounds leftover from my fatty baby.  I came thisclose to posting my "Before" and "After" pictures but ultimately chickened out.  You're welcome.  

Those are the big ones, but the photos show a few more tidbits from the year.

 We ventured to the rodeo with much less fear and trepidation of the goats.

 Some cute guys took a cute walk.

 I continued to let these goobers dress themselves, and it doesn't really bother me at all that we go out in public like this.

 Jon David is learning the important lesson that sometimes a boy who follows two girls will have to use a pink toy every now and then.

The "First Day of School" photos were a family affair.

Starting with my dad's generation, our family has a traditional one-year portrait taken.  Though Dave and I are not on the ball for most things, this is one area where we have managed to come through!  Since we were unable to locate the outfit my dad wore for his photo, Dave's mom and aunt once again created an outfit that mimics the style that he wore. (They also replicated the dress that Kristen and I wore from seeing a cell phone picture of the picture).  It's been fun maintaining this tradition while also adding this extra sentimental layer.  

 Here's a poor quality example of our photos. (From left to right: Me, Myla, Piper, Jon David).  I plan to add a copy of my dad's portrait soon.

One of the most exciting moments of home buying is picking out a key of champions.  (Or in this case, former/future champions).

Start 'em young.

First haircut for the little man.

Porch swing fun in Tennessee

So... I Have a Five-Year-Old

Dear Myla,

     Today you turned five.  It feels like a weird day because it's special but also completely ordinary in every way.  It feels HUGE, but it also just feels like Tuesday.  Five years seems like we have arrived at a milestone of sorts. There are days when I pick you up and think, "Man, she's so tall and heavy!" or photos where I realize your face looks like a big kid face instead of a baby.
   
     Your dad and I bit the bullet and had a party, because we always want to try and make you feel special even though it goes against our grinchy personalities.  And you know what? It was fun.  You painted canvases, decorated cookies, and played with your friends.  We sat back and enjoyed the company of loved ones who have been alongside us every step of the way in your life.

     Today, we all went to see the Peanuts Movie because I sometimes make poor decisions.  Let's just say that a 10:00am movie on a Tuesday is the way to GO when we are forced to bring along your little brother. We had popcorn and frozen yogurt for lunch.  (I'm sending in my "Mother of the Year" application right after I finish this post.)

[Movie time!]

 [Birthday trip to Menchies]

      

[Halloween Sass]

[Porch swing fun in Tennessee]

 [Zoo trip with the Stacys]

[One of my blessed reminders that you are still little.]

          As you keep growing older, I am faced with the reality that you are your own person.  We have moved past the survival stage of parenting to the big stuff.  (And let me tell you, I stretched out that "just keep her alive!" stage for as long as humanly possible).

     You are coming into your own this year.  You are acting with boldness that we haven't experienced before.  One small step at a time, you are becoming brave.  You started sitting in the front row during Story Time at the library. You touched a snake at the zoo. You LOVE school. And way late in the game, I finally taught you to wipe your own butt (Praise Him). You still don't love to talk to strangers or practice polite small talk, but you are in your element when you have your little siblings to protect.  

     Myla, I am thankful that God gave you to us.  He has used you to show us His grace time and time again.  Side story: early in the school year, your teacher emailed me about a behavioral issue you had in class one day.  You talked back to her and had an attitude about something.  I was mortified (and subsequently confronted with my "fear of man" issue).  After that, we started praying in the car together before we walk into the school building.  One day, Grandma was with us, and we were in a bit of a rush, and I was wondering to myself whether we should just skip it.  

     "Mom, are we going to pray?!" you asked me.  Talk about conviction. 

     My prayer for you is that you would come to know Jesus.  My prayer is that God would fill in the holes where your dad and I are lacking.  I pray that you remember the days where I am here for you and loving you well and forget the moments where I screw it all up.

     This parenting gig is hard.

     ... and fun.

     ...and I'm glad you're mine.

Love, 

Mom

     

Happy Birthday, Jon David!

Dear Jon David,

     I can't believe it has been an entire year since you were born. I waited until the last minute to write this post, because I was secretly hoping to slow down time and keep you from getting older.  Tonight I fed you and prayed for you, thanking God that He has given you to us for now and realizing that there is no stopping time.  You are growing, growing; and I am excited to see the man (gah!) you become.  (I can really only wrap my head around you growing into a boy, but a man comes after that, and I need to come to grips with it.  Help me, Lord)!

     

     You have been the perfect addition to our family.  I don't know how or why, but this round of infant-rearing has been a sweet time for our family. I know that sounds silly, but it isn't always easy for me to go through the baby stage. Your dad thinks you might be our easiest baby, but I think we've just been worn down or forgotten the past! :)

     It's also funny to me that now, at 3 kids, I should probably have the hang of this parenting thing a bit. If anything, more time at this gig has shown me that I will never have it all figured out.  We're just learning as we go and praying that God fills in all the spaces where we mess up.  

     What I can tell you about your life so far is that you have filled us with joy.  I waited to find out if you were a boy or girl because I knew that if I had a boy, I wanted to name him Jon David.  I knew I couldn't keep a secret if I found out beforehand, so it made your birth all the more exciting.  What you also don't know is that I lost my beloved grandmother (Paw Paw's mom) when I was just a kid.  She died suddenly at the age of 56, and we were all shell shocked for a long time after that.  I always thought that it would be a strange, bittersweet year when my dad would turn 56, because those wounds never heal completely.  When you were born on November 9th, 20 days before Paw Paw turned 56, God showed his loving kindness toward us. Your dad, Kristen, and I waited in the hospital room with anticipation, willing the nurse to hurry up and finish bathing you so we could introduce you to him. It was a sweet moment for us all.  

     I want you to know that I don't know anything about boys. I barely understand your dad most of the time. I was starting to feel pretty comfortable with a house full of girls when you barged into our lives.  If I need to learn the names of some dinosaurs, how to make truck noises, or how to bite my tongue when you're climbing too high on the playground, bring it on. This old dog can try and learn some new tricks for you.

     Jon David Livingston, I love you. I am glad you were born. This year, let's work on kissing mama on demand instead clawing my face while screeching like a pterodactyl.  

Happy birthday, son.

Love,

Mom      

[You were doted on from the get go]:

 [If this ain't a proud dad, then I don't know what is.]

[You were born on a Sunday night.  We had our friends take Christmas card photos that Friday morning, because I sometimes make foolish decisions].

 [This pretty accurately describes your personality]:

[Post-haircut, when you turned into a teenager over the course of one hour]:

Ch-ch-ch-changes: The House Edition

     So, we bought a house!  The past few months have not looked at all like we thought they would at the start of this year, but we are excited where God has brought us.  

     It all began in July....

     I had become a bit of an har.com junkie.  I browsed houses in my free time just thinking about our options for a year or two from now.  One day, I noticed a house hit the market on my parents' street.  I mentioned it to Dave, and on a whim, we decided to see it.  From then on, I had visions of my kids running down the street to Nana and PawPaw's house.  Long story short, we made an offer!  I wrote a letter to the sellers about how I grew up on this street and how exciting it would be to live near my family.  (Granted, our house wasn't even on the market yet).  The sellers were very gracious, but wanted to wait to officially respond to our offer until we at least had things rolling with the sale of our current house.  After talking, Dave and I thought it would be wise to spend a little time looking at other houses in the area to confirm that we really wanted this house.  

     Meanwhile, we scrambled to put our house on the market.  Our realtor is a dear friend who has known me my entire life, and she moved mountains for us.  We took photos on a Wednesday, listed it on Thursday, and got an offer on Friday!  (Throw in a couple of showings where we loaded up 3 kids, a pot of chili from the stove, and dogs we were pet sitting). We dog sat during our whole house-moving adventure, because I sometimes make poor decisions. 

     Anyway, while the house that originally sparked our interest is a wonderful place, it ultimately wasn't right for us.  Some issues with the floor plan made Dave cross it off the list pretty quickly after visiting other homes.  Curve ball!  

     After resigning ourselves to being homeless and waiting to find the right place for our family, I started rethinking one of the homes we saw.  This house was in the perfect location, had a floor plan we loved, but the showing was just...strange.  Picture this: we go to see a house, and the homeowner was there (because she wanted to stay).  She asked us to remove our shoes, so we walked around on carpet that felt a bit sticky between the toes...  And there were cats.  And lawn furniture in one of the bedrooms.  And dumbbells holding down an electrical cord that trailed up the stairs.  This is the kind of house where you see the listing online, and the photos are messy.  There were dishes in the sink.  And also the cats.  

     Once removed from the awkwardness of that situation, I asked Dave what he thought about that house.  Hypothetically, if we get it for a certain price and do a bit of work prior to moving in, would he consider it?

    From then on, our excitement only built.  Our realtor thought we were a bit crazy, but she helped us seal the deal.  Now, it's home!

(The key of champions)

 We even inherited an old hammock.

 "I will finish this kitchen before I go to bed," I said, twitching.  Three days later, it was functional.

 Everyone pitched in to help.

     So, we have done a lot of work.  There is much work to be done, but we are here.  Dave's office commute is about 7 minutes long.  I self-preach against laziness every morning when I have to walk upstairs to feed a baby.  The last few weeks have been filled with total first-world problems (broken refrigerator, wonky outlets, plumbing issues, etc).  We are expecting many more to come, but for some reason, it all feels right.  As we continue to unpack and dream about the things we'd like to do in years to come,  I hope we stay grateful.  I hope the Lord uses this house to bless us and to bless others.  I hope I remember that this house is a wonderful place to stay for a while, but that one day, I'll be in my real home with my Savior.

     What a great day that will be.

Dad Went to Alaska Today...

... because our grandpa passed away.  

It feels weird saying that, mostly because I can't put a finger on my emotions.  It's always sad when you lose family, but our situation is a bit complicated.  I didn't know my grandfather very well, and Alaska isn't exactly close to Texas.

You see, my grandpa left when my dad was 5 years old.  Dad is the oldest of three boys, so my grandma became a 25-year-old single mom in the early sixties.  By God's grace, Ruthann Kemp had a ton of help and support from her family to raise my dad and his brothers.  By the way-- have you met the Kemp men?  I am sure they weren't what you would call "easy" kids. 

Grandpa Kemp (or "Grandpa Eskimo" as some of my cousins liked to call him) was a functional alcoholic.  I in no way want to dishonor his memory, but I want to tell our story.  There is a reason my dad has never had a drink in his life, and that's because he saw the effects of alcoholism take place in his own family.  I know this isn't the only thing that mattered about my grandpa.  There is so much more.

I know that he forged a relationship with my dad as an adult.  It may not have looked like a normal father-son relationship, but it was still redemptive. 

I know that he called us every year or so and always, always said, "I love you" before hanging up.   

I know that Grandpa made lifelong friendships in Alaska.  

I know that his housemate physically took care of him until the very end.  That's love right there.

I know that my dad inherited Grandpa's clear blue eyes, his charisma, and his gift of storytelling.  

I know that there are three Kemp men who are steadfast husbands and fathers that are part of my Grandpa's legacy.  

I hope that those three Kemp men can find some beauty in their trip together and maybe even have a few laughs along the way.  I hope they learn new things about their dad and find some peace in laying him to rest.  

The whole thing has been weird to process for all of us.  But you know what?  My little family has been staying with my parents for the past week as we prepare to move into a new home.  I have watched my dad be the "official announcer" for princess pageants with my daughters.  I have watched him rock my son to sleep almost every night.  He wouldn't miss this for the world.  And they will always know how he feels about them.  

If that's not beauty rising from the ashes, then I don't know what is.