Throwback to 1997. My besties Brooke, Caroline, Karen and me. 

Among the interwebs there is a wave of “open letters” and lists of coulda, shoulda, wouldas about the past and offer advice. Some are wonderfully insightful.

Almost always blogs annoy me in their constant negativity, but in this case, I love the theme of looking back and offering advice to other folks…especially when it’s uplifting and positive.

With that in mind, today I am going to begin a series called, “Could.Shoulda.Woulda.” This series will include letters and lists to my former self, letters to young girls, young men, mommies and strangers.

I love the thought of rehashing the past and putting a positive spin on it to (hopefully) encourage others. I hope that this series will do just that.

So, here we go, here’s my very first little story of this series:

Top 10 Things I Wish I Would Have Known in High School

1. Your mother isn’t an idiot. She knows much more than you think. If you show her respect, chances are she’ll respect you right back.

2.  Wearing short shorts/skirts often make your legs look bigger than they actually are. I know that all your friends are wearing them and it’s hard to find modest clothes, but you can find modest shorts and skirts. Your legs will look much better in mid thigh shorts. Trust me on this.

3. Speaking of modesty, I know it’s hard to understand that boys look at your body before you heart. I still have a hard time understanding why it’s so difficult for guys to look into my eyes first, rather than my chest. But ya know what girls? That’s just the way they are made. God made men and women very differently. Part of the wisdom of growing up is understanding that you can curb their lust for you by your clothing. If you dress and act modestly chances are that boys will treat you more respectfully.

4. You’ve probably said or at least thought, “I don’t care what they think about me, I’ll do what I want.” You’ve probably thought this about your parents, siblings, friends or teachers. But darling, as a former 13 yr. old I can tell you that really, you do care very much. Very, very, very much. Don’t let your hormones and emotions get away from you enough to ruin your reputation, because sweet girl, your reputation means everything.

5. While I’m on the subject of reputation, let me give you a gentle reminder that your reputation will be with you forever. The decisions you make now will absolutely effect you later in life. I know that it seems like these four years are taking forever  and you’re bored and frustrated and annoyed at everything in your life, but acting out physically and/or emotionally is not productive. I still regret some of the ways that I treated people in high school based on my bad attitude. Every relationship you have in your life matters, treat them gently.

6. The Bible offers this extremely wise advice in 1 Corinthians 15:33, “Do not be misled, bad company corrupts good character.” I know that you love your friends. Maybe you’ve known them for a long time, maybe you just met. Either way, if they are drinking, doing drugs, having sex, stealing, cheating, and/or any other questionable activity, please hear me on this, it is not your job to fix them. It is not your job to be a good influence on them. It is not your job. It is not your job. It is not your job. Walk away from those friendships and invest in people that believe in good things. Luke 6:45 reminds us that “The good man brings good things out of the good stored up in his heart and the evil man brings evil things out of the evil stored up in his heart. For out of the overflow of his heart his mouth speaks.” That means that whatever you are putting in, comes out. For example, if you are around negative, cursing, bitter people, guess what? Eventually rather than you raising them up they will bring you down. Don’t forget, how you spend your days is how you spend your life. Do not waste it with people that aren’t good influences on your heart and soul.

7. Boys. I know that you like them. I was a bit boy crazy in high school actually, so I know all about it. It’s awesome to get attention and for boys to say nice things, I know that. I really do. But I also know that in almost every single instance dating in high school is a mistake. You’re just too young. You are. You really are. You are too emotional and the boys are too hormonal which is never a good combo. The best case scenario is that you won’t endure massive heartbreak, the worst case is that you will. Enjoy your life with your friends (both boys and girls). Be foot loose and fancy free! Dance, laugh, sing, play sports, be in plays, be in every single club if you want, but resist the urge to get a boyfriend. You’ll thank me later.

8. Stay pure. This one is a tag-along to the one before. I’ve mentioned a few times that boys are hormonal basketcases during high school. Remember? It’s okay. God made them this way. Chances are that at some point you will feel pressure to have a physical relationship with a guy (even if it’s just a kiss). You’ll have romantic intentions and have Taylor Swift playing in your head as he reaches for you. But honey, please hear me. Taylor Swift isn’t playing in his head. He’s probably hearing something a little more like David Guetta’s “Sexy Chick.” Even if he likes you for your heart, when you tempt his hormones, it will be incredibly hard for him to resist you. This is a compliment to you sure, but you are playing with fire if you think your raging emotions and his raging hormones should ever be left alone together. Play it safe, don’t be alone with a guy. Like, ever.

9. Planning for college is important. Where you go is important. Studying is important. It’s all important. BUT, don’t allow the pressure of college to weigh you down. Remember that God loves you more than you know, if you allow Him to guide you, He will. He’ll do a much better job than you ever could.

10. Always remember that you are beautiful. On the inside and out. I know there’s a lot of pressure to be skinny and beautiful, but please realize that you, my love, are the daughter of the King. You are the apple of His eye. When you feel pressure, just remember that. You are loved by the Creator of the whole wide world. Proverbs 31 is a great chapter of the Bible to hang your hat (and your heart on), “Charm is deceptive and beauty is fleeting, but a woman who fears the Lord is to be praised.”

So there you go, this is going into my Bitzy’s baby book, because sadly, someday my baby won’t be a baby anymore and I’ll tell her all these things. Excuse me while I go cry myself to sleep about that.

Do you guys have anything to add? Did I forget something important? Disagree with any of them? Do tell!

Introducing my sweet blogger friend, Keely. She not only is a fantastic writer, she is also a fellow mama to 2 beautiful girls. She has been so kind to write a guest blog for me…I hope you enjoy!!!!

I try so hard to be a good mother.

Or at least the kind of mother that the media depicts as being “good.”

And by Media, I mean Other Parenting Blogs.

But the deck is stacked these days. Not only does one have to feed, clothe, and generally keep one’s kiddos healthy (all the time, too, not just for like a day or a week!), but we’re also in charge of entertaining, teaching, having a good amount of [supervised] “down time,” and Creating Moments…in a spotless home. And you’d better believe that the super-clean abode needs to be kept that way without chemicals or any other substance you wouldn’t want directly up the nostril of anyone residing with you. A Good Mother- as everybody on the internet knows- uses only eco-friendly products to sanitize her sustainably built home, the one that was created with with [naturally replenishing] bamboo flooring and/or solar panels. She also fashions homemade air fresheners out of whittled lemon peels.

(I may have made up that last part. Or, I’ve just unwittingly created a new thing and am already failing to do it often enough.)

Chemical-free cleaning is the hardest part. (Mostly because I cannot afford that whole bamboo thing.) I’m a pretty good Mom on the other fronts; I love rolling around on the floor with my two daughters. I adore singing made-up songs in made-up French. And, for the most part, our major health maladies can be fixed with a pirate Band-Aid and a cool mist humidifier.  But the green living thing? For the uninitiated, let’s just say that kids can make some truly horrific things happen in, on, or around their bodies in impressively short amounts of time. And gentle spritzes of vinegar and lemon can only sanitize so much. (Although it does make an exceptional salad dressing.) So sometimes industrial-strength cleansers are the only way to ensure germ-freeitude, short of burning play clothes, kitchen surfaces, and maybe even the kitchen itself.

And there you go. Filthy children and thoughts of burning down the kitchen. Not a Good Mother.

When I try to be a greener cleaner in the bathroom, I end up using way too many of those compostable wipes. It then occurs to me that, since we generally don’t compost, I’ve just shoved the entirety of my supplies right into the regular trash can. Strike One for saving the Earth.

And then, after I realize that I’ve just had my hands directly in the toilet bowl (with or without biodegradable wipes), I generally use industrial- strength bleach and way too much boiling hot water to wash my hands. (Strike Two. And a half.)

I try not to beat myself up about it. After all, no mother (even a Good one) is perfect all the time. This thought comforts me for roughly ten minutes. That’s when I find my infant (ignoring her BPA-free and stimulating wooden rattles) with a hairy cat toy in her mouth. So I throw the whole shebang away with nary a thought of recycling. (The cat toy, that is. I keep the baby and the cat hair.) Strike…let’s just go ahead and call it Strike Nine, because it’s already been a long day.

I haven’t given up hope, however, that Nora and Susannah will grow up to be responsible and environmentally friendly citizens of the world.

After all, they have exceptional table manners, despite seeing their mother eat cereal over the sink with a spatula.

There’s hope.

Wanna connect with Keely? Check out her blog here! Be sure to “like” Lolly Gag Blog on Facebook too!

Have a great day friends!

I hear his chest rising, the air flowing seamlessly through his nostrils as and I thank God for my husbands every breath.

I hear the wind whipping through the trees, almost like a threat. The wind is wild and uncontainable. I thank God for the ability to be outside, standing on my two feet, listening to the beautiful mystery of the wind.

I hear my beautiful girl prancing through the kitchen singing “Away in a Manager” under her breath, like an afterthought. I thank God for the miracle of her and her ability to sing and dance in freedom.

I hear my baby boys laughter as he pounds his hands and knees into the floor, crawling more quickly and efficiently. He becomes more coordinated and confident each day, I thank God for a wild and happy little boy.

I hear my two silly puppies barking at 7:00pm on the dot, conveniently when both of our babies are settling into a deep sleep. I thank God that they are so protective over our family.

I hear the tip tapping of rain falling on our roof and I thank God to have a roof over our heads, as so many do not.

I hear the air conditioning turning off and on during this unseasonably warm spring day. I thank God for the luxury of being able to control how warm and cold our home is.

If I get really quiet, I can focus on the beating of my own heart. I thank God to be alive and healthy to enjoy this beautiful life that He has so graciously given me.

I want to really hear things. Things that I’ve missed in the past. I want to resolve for 2012 to be the year of hearing.

Join me?

Today is Monday.

Normally Bitzy goes to her Lolly’s on Monday for a day-o-fun. They play with the chickens, puppies, paint, color, make messes and do all the things little girls should do with their grandmas. It’s beautiful to me that my Bitzy is loved by and loves her Lolly so.

This leaves me with Brother. It’s nice to have a day to focus on him and him alone. He is a wild man these days. Quickly crawling across the floor, attempting to pull up on just about anything. He’s full of energy, hyper even. All boy, already.

He takes 2 naps a day, a short 45min.-1 hour in the mornings and a longer 2-3 hour nap in the afternoon. This leaves me with a quiet house and long to-do list on Mondays.

It’s my big cleaning/laundry day.

I do my “big cleans” on Monday and Fridays with swifter sweeps throughout the week. With Brother crawling I’m, how you say? Crazy? Yes, that would be it, crazy, about keeping my floors clean.

This is a blessing and curse. I love having a clean house, but I don’t love cleaning it.

But really, that’s one of the things that annoy me about myself most.

I love being too skinny for my jeans, but hate working out.

I love praying God’s Word, but hate memorizing.

I love an organized closet, but I hate organizing.

Again, I love my house being clean, but I’m not so into cleaning it.

Get my point?

It’s the cause and effect of life.

Cutting through the routine of life to see the simple beauty in our everyday.

Seeing the piles of folded laundry and being thankful to have a family to do laundry for.

The agony of going through something excruciatingly painful to see the restoration and blessing at the end of the tunnel to only realize that it’s truly only the beginning.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t just want an attitude of gratitude but a culture of gratitude. Rather than sulking about cleaning the house I want to take that thought captive and thank God for a house to clean. When Brother wakes me up in the middle of the night rather than being frustrated I want to thank God for the blessing of a perfectly healthy child. When I sit at a blank screen willing myself to write funny things and nothing comes, I want to be the kind of person that thanks God for allowing me to experience patience and ask Him for the words. What would He have me write today?

Sadly, I am not this person. Not even close. I’m not sure if I ever will be. But I want to be, oh how I want to be. And honestly, I know that the only way to become this person is putting in the time and work. To practice gratitude constantly throughout the day. To truly be thankful for each step, every word, every breath.

“Be joyful always; pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances, for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus.”
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18 (NIV)

This, my friends, is my prayer for me and you today.

Happy Monday!

Have you ever read something that really struck a cord with you, whether good or bad, and weeks later it would randomly pop into your mind and force you to reconsider it once again?

This has happened to me many times, but this time, I feel like what is brewing in my heart must pour out. Like the words are bubbling up whether I want them to or not.

Because friends, what is brewing isn’t very popular. In fact, it’s convicting my heart to the core and I hope/fear that it will do the same to yours.

But ya know what? I started this blog to tell my little stories so that’s what I’m gonna do.

You see a few weeks ago, I read this blog by a stranger whom I will probably never meet. It made the rounds on Facebook and Twitter with mommies everywhere cheering and shouting “Hooray!”

It was a chant for mommies everywhere to join in, to admit that each day isn’t filled with sunshine, love and happiness. To admit that maybe, just maybe, motherhood is tough.

She mentions being in a store and older women encouraging her to “enjoy every minute because it goes by too fast.” (Which has happened to me many times as well). She admits the panic in living that way, suggesting that having a Carpe Diem approach to life is too frantic and too exhausting to execute everyday.

She reasons that parenthood is like climbing Mt. Everest, that you don’t truly appreciate the journey until you reach the summit. Only then can you look back and see all that you’ve accomplished.

And ya what? I get it. I really do.

I get why the Huffington Post picked it up and thousands of people read it and elbowed each other with a twinkle in their eye.

And to be honest, the reaction from so many people to the blog really bothers me more than the writing itself.

It seems everyone wants to feel justified in their frustrations with having children who are wild and crazy and don’t listen and who God forbid, act like children.

I know that I do. There are nights that I recount all the ways to Zach that Bitzy challenged me and how Brother refused to nap and how I am just so tired. I just want someone, anyone to feel sorry for me and my tiredness. But then, there are nights where I am practically dancing around the house with joy that I get to live this life and I am devastated that my babies had to go to sleep because I’ll miss them so.

It’s like the valley verses the summit. Every day can’t be the valley and every day can’t be the summit. I totally get that.

But this blog was almost a permission slip to settle for “good enough” and I have a real problem with that.

My intense reaction to this kind of thinking also stems from seeing mommies out with their littles at the indoor playgrounds and parks. I am continuously baffled at how parents ignore their children in public. The first time I experienced this was when Bitzy was around 12 months old. She was newly toddling along and we went to a local park where there are two playgrounds. One is for small children (1 and 2 year olds) and one is for older kids. As Bitzy was walking on the tiny bridge of the jungle gym I followed her and helped her up the steps, down the slide, etc. I mean, the child was barely a year old for goodness sake, she couldn’t do it by herself. As I was helping her up the steps there was a little boy. He was around 18 months. Bigger than Bitzy, but still a tiny guy. He bravely climbed up the steps and flashed me a smile. I innocently said, “Good job buddy!” as I helped Bitzy go across the bridge. As I scanned the area for his caregiver I didn’t see anyone, but that didn’t concern me too much because I was certain they were watching. After 15 minutes of playing and helping him maneuver the playground, his mommy finally appeared with her phone in hand texting. He ran up to her and hugged her and she non-chanlantly patted his back and then resumed texting. She didn’t even look at him, or me for that matter. I hadn’t seen her the entire time we were there, she just appeared out of thin air.

This was my first interaction with mommies who act like their children are a burden.

And truth be told, this situation is rare. Mostly, it’s much more subtle. Like a mommy looking at Facebook instead of playing with her kid at the playground. Or who barely looks up when her child yells, “Mommy watch this!” Or in this case, a mommy who settles in the knowledge that when the summit comes someday far away from today, then she will enjoy. Then, she will relish in her children, rather than enjoying the climb- today.

I always wonder how I would behave, parent, love, speak and spend my time if this were my last day on earth, because well, it could be. You just never know, ya know?

I don’t want to settle friends. I want the BEST. The very, very, very best. I want to lay down on my pillow every night knowing that I loved hard and spoke encouragement into the hearts of those around me. And on days I fail, I want to regret it and ask forgiveness rather than sighing and saying, “Oh well, it was good enough.”

I’m better than that, and so are you.

I don’t just want a few fleeting moments of amazingness throughout the day, I want a full day of amazingness. I want to cultivate a home where there is so much love and fun and encouragement and JOY that is springs forth in our speech and our dances and our hearts.

And when older women stop me and tell me to enjoy my babies I want to sincerely say, “I do and I will, every single minute of the day, even on the hard days.”

Because I’ll say it again, “How you spend your days is how you spend your life.” I don’t want to spend MY life complaining about the hardness, I want to relish the miracle of this life, even if I have to say it with gritted teeth as a manta over and over again to convince myself that it’s true on the hard days. I want to appreciate the opportunity to love without limits and to enjoy the moments.

But the reality is that this kind of intentional living with joy is tough stuff. It’s much easier to lazily skate throughout the day begging for bedtime. I know that, I’ve been there.

That’s why I’m so challenged/convicted/invigorated by this thought that although life/parenthood/friendship/whatever is a climb to the summit of a mountain, the climb is where we learn to take one step at a time and enjoy ourselves. We have to consciously take one step at a time and choose joy. It’s not easy, never is, but our attitudes determine the joy of the climb.

I want to love my time up the mountain, don’t you?

Growing up I always had bright blonde hair. It wasn’t platinum by any stretch, but it was a pretty shade of blonde. The older I got, the darker it got. It went from bright blonde to more of a honey blonde and then to a carmel blonde and finally to a dirty, dirty blonde.

After two babies and breastfeeding hormones pumping away (ha, get it? I crack myself up), now it’s dark blonde. Apparently my hormones don’t like pretty blonde hair. They like mousey blonde/brown hair.

I’m told that this is normal, is it? Is this yet another way that I’m a total weirdo?  Has this happened to anyone else?

Before Brother was born and I worked part-time I would visit my trusty and talented hairdresser for all of my coloring needs. But now, our budget simply doesn’t allow it. Zach has begged me to go, to bite the bullet and pay the money, but I just can’t. Once you become insane about {not} spending money, dropping $100 on hair just doesn’t make sense to me like it once did.

At first, I was in total deniel that I even needed color. I figured that I would “get used” to having darker hair. In fact, I went nearly 6 months without any coloring help at all.

It was a sad, sad time.

Then, it occured to me that maybe, just maybe I could do it myself. All I had to do was follow the instructions on the box, right? I mean, how hard could it be? So, I bought a highlighting kit. When I got it home and read the directions I saw the cute little cap. It was then and there that it became clear that in no universe could I hightlight my own hair. Patience is NOT my bag, it’s just not. And, let’s face it, my darling husband isn’t exactly hairdresser material.

So I gave up for a few days and declared that having pretty hair was a thing of the past.

But then, I thought of my friend Candyce. Candyce is one of those people that knows something about everything. So, I emailed her and gave her the scoop.

To my delight, she knew exactly what to do! She gave me detailed instructions on what to get for an all over color. Forget the highlighting kit! Putting a bunch of chemicals all over my head like shampoo is much more my speed.

Like a good little student I followed her instructions to the letter. After my babies were in bed I went to get this sacred box of beauty. When I got home I did exactly what the kit said to do.

And, wait for it…

It wasn’t terrible.

It wasn’t great, but definitely not terrible.

I tried to convince myself that it was totally awesome to have semi strawberry blonde roots while the rest of my hair was kind of a mix between brown and blonde splotches. Ever positive, I figured that it could be worse.

After a week or so, I went back to the store and got another kind. A lighter shade this time. At first I was timid to go too blonde because I felt like my hair was practically black.

Dramatic much?

And then, WAMMMOOOOO! It was great. In fact, it was kind of awesome.

So awesome that I’ve been using a box to color my hair for months now. The last time I got a haircut the hairdresser actually commented on how great my color looked. Imagine her surprise when I told her that it was from a box! Ha!

But like every little story there is sometimes controversy.

Cue: Last Night.

On my weekly trip to The Wal-mart, I casually looked for some color. I’m not true to a brand or even a certain color, I like to keep my options open in the world of hair coloring.

I had a price match and coupon for Loreal Healthy Look so I grabbed a box. When I got it I realized that it was on clearance for $5.00. Double score.

*Note to self: When buying hair color, never, ever, never, ever, never, ever buy it if it’s on clearance. Got it?

When I got home I innocently put on my chemical shampoo (that’s my pet name for my hair color. Isn’t it fitting?), waited my 10 minutes and washed it out.

As I got out of the shower I noticed that it looked a little dark, but no worries, I figured that when it dried it would be lighter and brighter.

Um, no.

It was brown.

That’s right.

Today, I was a brunette.

I would like to think that I looked like my bestie Sandy, but I fear that I did not.

For one thing, there are no tropicial flowers up in here and secondly, the sun hasn’t shined in months it seems. Well, and the obvious, that Sandy is a supermodel, and I am sadly, not.

Honestly today I really didn’t even think about it much. Something about chasing babies really takes my vanity away, in fact, I barely noticed it. But when Bitzy and Brother went to sleep I remembered.

Oh, did I remember.

I said to Zach, “So did you notice that I’m a brunette now?”

Zach: “Um, yes. It looks, um, great.”

Me: “Oh, come on! It looks nasty. Just admit it.”

Zach: “It’s not brown, it’s just darker. You’re so dramatic.”

Me: “I’m so not dramatic! Ah! It may not be brown, but it’s BY FAR the darkest it’s ever been.”

Zach: “I’ll give you that. But you look beautiful no matter what.”

Me: “Now that’s convincing. I’m going to The Wal-mart, be back soon.”

This time around I didn’t even take a coupon. It’s true, I admit it. Granted I still had a price-match, but I was on a mission to lose the brown, I could not be bothered with a coupon.

I found the most expensive box they had. It was $7.97, which in the world of hair coloring is a lot. And it was gold. It looked very fancy. It was the one.

It does say it’s “Superior” and “Luminous” after all. Granted, I have absolutely no idea what luminous means, but it sounds delightful.

Then, I did the whole routine and WALLLLLAHHHHHAAAAA, I’m blonde again.

Hallelujah!

I’m not cut out to be a brunette friends.

Long live the boxed blondes!

Have you ever had any hair dye disasters? Care to share?

If you have been following my little blog for awhile you know that every so often I get all sudsy and clean on my own personal soap box. It’s not often that I get my feathers ruffled, but for the past week or two, everyday there have been little comments, facebook posts, or conversations with people that have culminated in me becoming very frustrated.

Ya see, I’m gonna need to complain a little.

About what, you ask?

Well that would be about People Complaining.

Ah, complaining.

We call it many things, “getting something off our chest,” or ” being authentic”, or as we said in 1993, “Getting Real.”

To me, it’s called, COMPLAINING.

Now don’t get me wrong. I know that life is hard. Really hard. Disturbingly hard sometimes.

I know that each day isn’t easy and filled with bubbles and big bowls of Milk Duds (what I would do for a Milk Dud right now). I know that. And I know that sometimes offhanded comments are made about physical aches and pains or how the baby was up all night and you’re tired or about how the house is a wreck or about how your husband forgot your anniversary or how your baby boy refuses to take a nap and screams endlessly (oh wait, that would be MY child).

I get it.

I really do.

What I don’t get?

The constant, negative, need to complain.

I know that we all want to be heard…to be acknowledged. But is complaining really the best way?

I don’t know if I’m just attracted in some weird way to stories of heartache and tragedy, but I feel like I’m constantly hearing stories that sting my eyes with tears.  A story about parents losing their three precious children in a car accident. One about a baby boy being born with a congenial heart defect that lived only 5 short years before going home to the Lord. A story about a 5 month old baby inside his mommies tummy who died as his mommies kidneys and heart began failing due to the stress the pregnancy had on her body. And my least favorite (and the one that produced the most tears) a story about an innocent couple that were carjacked, kidnapped and subsequently tortured and murdered. No reason, nope none at all. Just the wrong place at the wrong time.

All this said, it makes my napping woes seem a bit less serious, no?

It’s this little thing I like to call perspective.

So many people say, “it can’t get worse” about simple things like disciplining their toddler or their car breaking down. And then, I hear stories, these horrible stories, and remember that oh yes, yes, it can.

In an instant, a heartbeat, everything, and I mean everything, could get worse. Like, way worse.

So friends, today, I encourage you to bite your tongue when you begin to complain. Remember that somewhere in this great big beautiful world someones daddy is dying, a child is starving, a terminal diagnosis has been made, someone’s heart is breaking and that in an instant your problems could become much, much worse.

So today, try to enjoy your life. Regardless of the hand you’ve been dealt. No matter how bad you think you’ve got it, remember, it could always be worse.

And if you’re feeling really, really up for a challenge stop focusing on all the awful stuff, and remember how amazingly blessed you are. Because, you are ya know, you really are.

What will you do today to celebrate how blessed you are?  Let’s chat about it!  Do tell!