Christmas Cards

One of the many great things about attending a blogging conference is that there are lots of opportunities to try free products from sponsors. At Relevant, we received swag bags overflowing with books, jewelry, coupons, and hand-crafted items. One of the conference sponsors, InCourage, a division of DaySpring, offered the attendees beautiful home decor items to try for review as well as the chance to design our own photo Christmas cards on their website.

So if you're on our annual holiday Christmas card list, I implore you to look away right now. I'd hate to ruin the surprise for you.



There were so many personalized design options - from elegant to whimsical to classic to fun - on the Studio DaySpring site that I had a hard time choosing. Eventually I found this one which just seemed perfect for us. I love it's simplicity, the 5X7 size and the sweet verse at the bottom. Plus the kids in the picture are pretty cute, if I do say so myself.

And right now, DaySpring is offering their biggest discount ever - 30%! You can apply the discount to cards, home decor and any of the gifts on their site. Use code SUPER30 at checkout to receive the savings.
Thank you DaySpring for the beautiful Christmas cards!

*Disclaimer: I received 50 personalized photo cards from DaySpring in exchange for this review. The opinions expressed here are my own.

For the Love of Chocolate

Today started like any other. I woke everyone up, made breakfast, packed lunches and helped with shoes and jackets for the big kids while Chancho snuggled under four blankets on the couch. Or so I thought.

As I made the final call for Bubby and Sissy to gather their things and get out the door, I noticed that the rumpled mess of blankets no longer contained my baby big boy.

I thought that was weird, but in my haste to get the kids ready for the bus and to kiss Big A goodbye, I figured he was in the bathroom or playing with toys in his room.

I called for him once. No answer. And again. Still no answer.

I looked in his room. In the bathrooms. In the laundry room. In all the closets. All the while calling his name but getting no response.

Bubby and Sissy were beside themselves, watching me as I searched our house. I noticed Bubby dialing a number on the phone.

"I'm calling 9-1-1," he said matter-of-factly.

"We're not calling 9-1-1," I said. "He's here somewhere."

This is the point where I started to panic a little. Over the weekend, he actually snuck out of the house twice - once to check the mail on his own and another time to say goodbye to someone who was leaving. Both times, we noticed he was gone with a minute or so, but I was surprised how quickly and easily he could get out.

While I was fairly certain he didn't sneak out the door into the dark of morning, I really didn't know.

I called Big A to see if Chancho  followed him outside when he left for work. He wondered how I could lose my own son in my own house. I wondered how he could be so insensitive.

And just like that, it occured to me that Chancho could be hiding in the toybox, in the same room where I called his name no less than 10 times.

I opened the lid and sure enough, there he was, crouched down, eyes closed.

"Chancho! What are you doing in there?"

"I don't want waffles for breakfast, just this chocolate," he said as he showed me piece of chocolate in his tiny hand.

Unfortunately for Chancho, he was grounded from chocolate for the day, as well as banned from watching TV. And after I called Big A back to tell him I found our son and that he was alive and well, I drove the big kids to school because we missed the bus.

Then I came home and ate the piece of chocolate plus a few more for good measure. That will show him.

16 Minutes...

Is the new K Family hula hoop record, held by our very own Sissy K! Just look at the determination in her eyes, her clenched toes clad in purple socks and her Halloween tattoo.

She means business, and so far, even after several attempts to beat her record and to sabotage her efforts, Bubby hasn't even come close.

So what's your hidden talent? (mine is definitely NOT hula hooping)

Afraid.

One of my biggest parenting challenges is dealing with fear.

My own fear.

In case you haven't noticed, I'm not what you call a risk taker. I do my best to fly under the radar, stay out of everyone's way and not make any waves. If I can manage to do all that, and not be noticed, I'm happy.

I like to think that my anxiety carefulness is a spiritual gift, but deep down, I know that's not the truth. Fear is not of God. And I most certainly don't want to pass all of my fears and insecurities onto my children.

I'm afraid of failure. I'm afraid of success. I'm afraid of spiders. I'm afraid of unemployment. I'm afraid of public speaking.

And when Bubby's teacher announced a few weeks ago that her students would be giving an oral presentation in front of the class, I was worried for Bubby. Because I know how scary it is to speak in front of a group of people. 

I noticed as Bubby prepared for this assignment that he wasn't anxious, wasn't fearful. And that made me even more nervous for him.

He has no idea how hard it is to speak in front of people! I thought to myself. I should warn him so he doesn't get caught off guard!

But when I asked him "Are you a little scared of talking in front of your class?" he replied, "Why would I be scared?"

See, I couldn't tell him all my reasons why he should be nervous. And I couldn't share all the times I got in front of my classes and felt my cheeks flush and my stomach turn and heard my words run together and all the "um, um, um, you know"s. I didn't want him to know that of everything I'm afraid of, sharing in front of a group is at the top of that list because I don't think what I have to say is important and someone else could do a much better job it's hard to do. As much as I wanted to prepare him for all the things that could happen, I just couldn't put my fears onto him. 

So I said nothing. And I prayed for him the entire day. And when he got off the bus with a frown on his face, my heart sank because I just knew he figured it out on his own.

"How was the presentation?" I asked softly, though I could already tell.

"FINE."

But when I looked over his grade from that day, I couldn't believe what I saw.

Excellent! Check plus!  Great voice projection! Awesome use of props! Wonderful job!

"Bubby, you did a great!" I was surprised, but so proud. "Why are you so upset?"

"You didn't pack me the lunch I asked for!" he said with tears as he flung himself onto the couch.

And it was over. His oral presentation was no big deal compared to the horrible lunch I packed for him. 
I'm thinking I need to ask him for advice.

December 7, the day I puke in front of my church's mom's group.

God has been weaving together so many parts of my life since my brother Josh died. Things that once confused me are finally making perfect, peaceful sense. 
C.S. Lewis once said,  "Experience: that most brutal of teachers. But you learn, my God do you learn."
And I have learned. And now I'm being led to share in ways that make me want to throw up.
Please pray for me. Specifically, that no one shows up that day, that I can say outloud what I've poured onto 12 pages of paper. And that God uses my words to touch someone, anyone.
So now what you know mine, what's your biggest fear?

See Me, Mommy

In about a month, we'll celebrate Chancho's fourth birthday, a fact that I can't seem to wrap my mind around.
I don't know if it's because he's the baby of the family, or if it's because I'm with him all day every day, but when I look at him, this is what I see:



For the life of me, I can't see him as anything other than an adorable little baby with big brown eyes and chubby cheeks.

I have a dilemma. He's not a baby and he hasn't been a baby for some time. And lately he's been showing me emphatically that he will not be treated like one.

I still notice how cute his little tushie looks in his Lightning McQueen underwear. I kiss him on the head every single time he calls a Snickers bar a "Sneakers Baw." I smile and scoop him up when he gets frustrated. I pull him to my lap every time we're next to each other so I can smell his breath and feel his sweaty head on my shoulder.

But now he pulls away. He doesn't want to be noticed for how cute he looks in his Toy Story jammies. Or for adorable way he can't pronounce Bubby's real name. Or for the countless ways I dote on him each day.

Now he doesn't want to be seen as cute. He wants to be seen as a big boy.

"Look at my new cool trick, Mommy!" he says as he spins like a "tomato" on the swingset.

"Watch me jump higher!" he squeals as he bounces across our front yard.

"Did you hear me say all the ABCs, Mommy?" he asks as he sings the alphabet to me from his carseat (And by the way, it's completely adorable when he says "n-n-n-o-p" instead of "l-m-n-o-p.")

"I'll do it MYSELF!" he demands, allthetime.



He's not a baby. He's not even a toddler. He's a PRESCHOOLER.

I think I'm just trying to hold on because he's our last. We're in a whole different stage of life now - one without diapers and strollers and bubble baths, one where Bubby, Sissy and Chancho aren't dependant on me for all their needs.

I thought I'd be ready, that I'd relish this freedom and downtime, but for some reason, I'm a little sad. I miss the middle-of-the-night feedings and the oatmeal covered bibs and the  runny noses wiped on my clean shirt and the peanut butter smudged windows and the I-Can't-Figure-Out-Why-You're-Crying-So-I'll-Just-Hold-You-'til-You-Stop tears.

I miss it all so much.

And I'm wondering if I'm crazy? Does anyone else feel this way about their children growing up?
More importantly, exactly how much therapy will Chancho need as an adult if I continue to treat him like a one-year-old? I should probably start saving up now.

Halloween

I should start this post by saying that yes, we are a Christian family and yes, we observe Halloween.

So now you know.

But because we live in the country, on a tiny road with no streetlights, surrounded by cornfields (where I'm certain there are children of the corn hiding) and railroad tracks, we don't get many trick-or-treaters.

In fact, we don't get ANY trick-or-treaters. Ever. And because I can't get enough Reese's cups my kids enjoy dressing up for Halloween, we go trick-or-treating each year in one of the towns nearby.

It just so happened that the soup kitchen where we volunteer was hosting a Light-the-Night event for trick-or-treaters with a bonfire, hotdogs, coffee, candy and apple cider and we, who are always up for free fun, were all about it. (Incidentally, this was the first time I tried apple cider. The verdict: I'm not a fan.)

So we trick-or-treated for a while before heading to the church.

It's really too bad he didn't enjoy himself. (j/k)

It's always funny to watch Chancho's stages of Halloween. Each year, he starts off trick-or-treating with caution, slowly approaching each house, quietly mumbling "trick-or-treat" while hiding behind my legs. Then he gets braver and braver as the night goes on. Before long, he's bouncing off of porches, petting strange animals and saying, "No, I don't like those. Can I have those instead?" to the people passing out candy.

Just one more house, please!

Sissy and Bubby were ready to call it quits fairly early, which was fine with Big A and me. After I made sure we had an adequate amount of chocolate coated peanut butter candy, we went back to the church to hang out by the fire.

It's a good thing Bubby ate three hotdogs that night. He's all skin and bones!

My Southern Belle, Skeleton boy and Iron Man. They were fading fast at this point.

What I loved most about this night is just how comfortable the kids are at the soup kitchen. They love going. 

They love serving. I'm pretty sure they don't even realize they're serving. They think it's fun to spoon food onto plates and clean tables and drink all the pop they want and play with new friends. When we aren't able to go, they miss it.

I miss it. Since I got over my fear of being God's hands and feet, the soup kitchen has become like a second home to me. No matter what has happened during the week, I feel better when I go there. And I know it sounds cliche, but I receive so much more than I give. Much much more.

I'm praying that serving and sharing become second nature to Bubby, Sissy and Chancho, that they realize just how much they receive when they give of themselves.

Especially when they give their mom their Reese's.