Dear Kids: Before We Can Get to Summer

Dear Kids,





I understand that you have received a memo that summer is upon us and school is about to release for well earned break. As we hurl ourselves toward the final days of discipline and books, this worn and weary mother needs to cover a few things before we are crammed together in our home for three months of primeval torture  summer wonderment. So before we can get to summer, Mommy has a list of rule changes from now until the last day of class.





1.) There are still days on the school calendar left to muddle through. I appreciate that you have spent the last week with parties and testing and book reading marathons, but the school district in which we live still requires your butt to be in a chair for a few more required days. Therefore, you may stop asking me EVERY. SINGLE. Morning "We aren't really doing anything today, do I HAAAAAVE to go to school?"




The answer is yes. I am clinging to these last few days as well. As quickly as you are hoping they pass, the unstructured chaos of summer makes this Type A mama woozy. Only a few more quiet mornings of tea by myself before you all re-invade our home like a band of traveling monkeys playing the cymbals.





2.) Since you have been depositing your backpacks, lunch bags and sports equipment sporadically throughout the house as if this is the Great Year End Scavenger Hunt, I have now instituted the following rule: You Can't Find An Item, I'll Cry A Little Tear For You. However, I will not engage in your effort to help me lose my mind by searching for hours for something you "need" when had you let me go through your backpack, lunch bag, sports equipment in the first place we wouldn't have this problem.





3.) I cannot be fully responsible for the confines of what you bring to lunch during these last few school days. If you refuse to clean out your lunch bag, as is your daily chore, I will chunk your lovingly wrapped PBnJ on top of whatever refuse you continue to harbor inside. My mama didn't raise no fool. If you are afraid to clean it out, it means there is something living inside that I also will refuse to touch.





4.) Any request for homemade snacks, teacher's gifts, or special request for anything other than a PBnJ for lunch not received with twenty-four hour notice will be denied. I appreciate that you are probably seeing your beloved teacher receive drool-worthy Pinterest-praised gifts. Trust me, she'll drool the same over a gift card from Target. A special request for lunch not received within the required notice period will be handled by either A) A PBnJ sandwich or B) a pre-packaged something or other from the gas station.





5.) Your clothing options: You are on your own! As you refuse to put away your laundry or to retrieve the stank pile of clothes hiding under your bed since April, I have announced martial law over the laundry room. Whatever you can wear that is clean, kudos! I no longer care if your classmates smell the socks you've refused to change since Monday. Have their mama call me. We can lament which one of you is the stinkiest over glasses of merlot tomorrow while you are both in school.



Hopefully, these rules will allow us to relax and ease into the upcoming months of freedom  screaming, yelling, fighting and daily whimpering of "I'm bored."




Love,






Mom

Big 6!

Often, when we are so wrapped up in grief, things slip past us. The concept of time can slap us right in the face and we are scrambling to put things together for an event or holiday. 

Worse, at times, we just wish the event/holiday/social gathering/appearance

would altogether disappear.

While I adore my baby boy so very much, I would be lying if I told you I had been looking forward to preparing for his sixth birthday party. 

Truth: I was full on dreading it. 

And with so many other things falling apart, the day crept up on me faster than I wanted to admit. 

The planning was drowning to me:

Balloons.

Invitations.

Decorating.

Trying to laugh.

Cleaning up.

Deciding where to have it.

Having to pick an outfit for myself that wasn't sweats and my brother's brown hoodie.

Yup.

For someone who is still grieving a party with screaming toddlers, balloons and party favors 

was my personal version of hell.

Little Man wasn't the most help either. 

On days I felt like I was in a frame of mind to plan, I would ask him what he wanted to do for his birthday.

His answers would range from taking his entire kindergarten class on a play date (Uh, NO!!!!),

to The Hero and I buying him a b.b. gun (UH, DOUBLE NO)

to all of us going to Disney World (Not in the budget).

He also refused to settle on a theme.

He would tell me "Mom, you know I like it all."

"Avengers." 

"Spiderman."

"And minions."

"Lots of minions."

With not much else to go off of and no real energy to peruse Pinterest looking for ways to entertain six year olds, I buckled under the pressure.

The invitations were by Facebook invite only.

Family and a few of our dearest friends whose children I knew I could socially tolerate.

Decorations were a hodge podge of all of his favorites.

Cupcakes were of the store-bought variety.

We topped off the whole cupcake/punch affair with a candy-crammed pinata, sang Happy Birthday and celebrated our newly turned six year old. 

We even made it, just the four of us out for dinner to the Ethiopian restaurant in our area for an extra dosing of celebrating. 

All of it was beautiful and special and he felt on top of the world. 

And for one small glimmer of an afternoon, life felt....well, I would like to say normal, but I hate that word.

Exhaleable.

I know that's not a real word. 

I made it up. 

But grieving through my brother's death has left most of my breaths like they are unable

 to be let loosed from my chest. 

And for one small, Sunday afternoon surrounded by our family and friends, I felt

covered in enough love to let out a breath and not immediately feel the need to fall apart. 

Which allowed me to embrace and enjoy this smile:

Happy Super Six to my favorite Dinosaur! And to all of those we know and love us who made the day extra special and who didn't even notice that the party was not Pinterest worthy, but was worthy for nothing more than the company. 

Dear Bully

Dear Bully,

I know that you didn't intend the harm that you did today at recess. I am sure that it was derived out of ignorance and your inability to yet put yourself in someone else's shoes. If you knew how much my child had already endured in their short time on earth, I know that you would not have said the things you said. Surely, you fail to realize that I held this child, hugging me tightly until they were so tired of crying that they were exhausted and needed sleep more than their mama's hugs. See, my children's story is hard. Real. Hard. More difficult than most issues a lot of people face in their entire lives. My children live their story every day. Staring into faces that do not reflect their own. Having a snapshot of our family that only entices more questions. I know you don't understand that it must be hard; to you it is only different. But different is SO. Very. Good. 

My daughter can make someone laugh to the point of choking; her spirit of fun lights every room she enters. My son. Wow. Talk about the life of the party. He is the most energizing hours I've ever spent. You only see them in a school setting and you miss out on all the beautiful that they bring to my life. 

Which is why tonight was so difficult. Gut-wrenching as I watched my child recount their day to me and then you came up. You, as someone we've never had in our home, never had the opportunity to know. You were a very big topic in our house tonight. And for the first several hours after: I wanted to punch you in the mouth. I know that I am an adult and you, but a child, but the mama bear in me came out. 

But then I started praying for you. Most fervently praying for you and your home life. I pray that you are as cherished and adored as the child that I comforted tonight. Sobbing, through their tears, they could not have told you how much they love to make people laugh, the hurt that they have undertaken in their lifetime or the pain that learning everything new in a new world and a new language might effect someone. You weren't there to see the pain and agony you caused by your lack of understanding and grace. 

I pray that your parents spent their blood, sweat, money and tears to bring you into this world only to tell you each and every day that you are one of the most amazing gifts that the world has ever been received. Because you see, adopted or not, our child, the one you reduced to tears tonight, the adopted daddy and I; we fought for these kids. Traveled miles and spent money that we didn't have for these kids and for you to diminish that in anyway; well tonight, I'm chalking it up to your age and your ignorance. And I'm praying that your parents fought that hard for you. So that one day you will know what a gift to this world that you really are and you will stop using words and actions to hurt others; ALL who are considered gifts to those who love them.

Love, 

A Very Heartbroken Mama 

Dear Trevor Knight

Trevor,

We don't know each other. We have little in common but for our Oklahoma addresses. You would know nothing about me and truthfully, though I'm a graduate of The University of Oklahoma and an avid football fan, until last night, I knew very little about you. I am the mother of a 5 year old son. He has been acclimated to football since his adoption four years ago. Living in the Bible belt, it was expected that we redefine their definition of "American football", as 'football' in Ethiopia is the American equivalent to soccer.  It didn't take long to make him a believer. My husband has worn black and gold as a Saints fanatic since childhood and I ate oysters at Acme once and fell in love with a city that never gives up. 

So between OU Saturdays and Saints Sundays, our kids have become overrun with football. While he still loves soccer, the five year old has been asking for the last two years to play on a team. The fan in me is ready to sign him up, but the Mom in me has countless reasons to say "not yet".  Safety concerns, his age and the aggressiveness of the overall sport will make me keep searching for flag football teams for several more years to come. 

But there is another aspect of the game with which I struggle. As with most high profile positions and situations in life, the bad seem to dominate the headlines and unfortunately are most of what my kids see. Players and actors making news primarily for their wrong choices and not the right ones. Last night Allstate honored players at half time for their activism off the football field and last night you were rewarded for all your hard work on the field. 

What struck me when it was all over and the mics were crammed in your face was not your stats, it was your humility, your grace. It was absolutely refreshing to watch. Completely reminded me of a mutual hero, Drew Brees. It made me want to hug your mama. 

And while my five year old tuckered out before halftime, you can be sure next season when Sooner Nation dones your jersey because of your on field actions, there's a 5yr old in OKC who will done one because of your off field moves. 

Hugs, 

A Future Football Mama 

This Mama's Boy

I wonder if all parents have ridiculous expectations of their children.

I know I did. 

Ok. 

Most days, I still do. 

Adopting The Angel and The Dinosaur was The Hero & I's first foray into the world of parenting.

I had amazing hopes and dreams.

Crayons, giggles, painting toe nails, family vacations, attachment with cuddles and perfect family pictures.

When we discovered from our referral that we would have not one child but two, I was elated. 

I secretly hoped our little boy would be a mama's boy.

I was devastated to learn that our son was anything but. 

Daddy was needed for everything. 

Sports, cutting his steak, tying his shoes, watching him do a number of jumps off our furniture. 

He only asked for one person.
 

Daddy.
 

It was like a cuss word to me in our house. 

Almost four years later, The Dinosaur is still Daddy obsessed.
 

Daddy is still requested for almost everything.
 

Except in the still of the morning when no one else is awake but he and I. 

When he grabs a blanket and asks to be cuddled just a little longer. 

When tired still grips him and he takes me by the hand to help him get dressed. 

Or when he wants to be swaddled after a bath and asks if I'll sit next to him.

Nights when he can't fall asleep and he asks for me to hold his hand until he closes his eyes.

These are the moments I treasure the most.
 

And although sometimes it does hurt that in public he defers to Daddy always,

I'll keep his little secret.
 

I heard the amazing Kristen Howerton lead a small breakout session at Idea Camp back in September and she discussed how attachment for adopted children is different that what we normally think it should look like for biological kids.
That attachment isn't always hugs and cuddles.

The relief I felt in that moment was three and a half years of guilt flowing out of me.
I fought back tears as she described the expectations we have for our adoptive children.
And WE want it to look/feel/be a certain way.
 

He and I's relationship is supposed to look different. 

Because it is different. 

I am still his mama. 

And he is still my son.

And THAT makes him this mama's boy.
 

November: National Adoption Month

November is National Adoption Month. 

Oklahoma has a great website that highlights children currently 

legally available for adoption and are waiting for a family in the State. 

As we enter the holiday season, please use this time of Thanksgiving to pray over those who

are without this holiday season.

Oklahoma's website is: http://www.heartgalleryofoklahoma.com/

And the National Photo list of children available for adoption can be found at:

www.adoptuskids.org

What's To Love About August

August in Oklahoma is the hottest month of the year. 

Growing up here all of my life use to leave me groaning every day in this 100 plus temps.

But the longer I live here, the more I have come to fall in love with August. 

There are very few months that have such a flux of change.

Sweet comings and goings, graspings and savorings that not many months here possess.

August brings new beginnings with school. 

School supplies piled high, the smell of new erasers and readjusting to life on a schedule.

Savoring the last bit of growing beauty before fall takes over and the air chills out. 

The last bit of grasping to lazy days and naps for no good reason. 

The final bits of friends visiting for the summer. 

The garden in full swing as the veggies and fruits craving the hottest part of the heat in order to blossom and produce. 

Sweating in the kitchen, canning the fullness of abudance to savor come winter.

Escaping outdoors a few more moments to explore and discover. 

Anticipation of  the opening of our States second religion...football..

While the air is hot and most people spend most of Oklahoma's Augusts indoors, there is so much to love about this month that I'm almost sad to see it go. 

What Makes It Great

It's no big secret. Adoption is hard. Damn hard some days. Some weeks even. 

Hard is definitely a four letter word to describe it. 

But there are moments in this parenthood that are, that I wouldn't take back for all the hard that has been produced between now and back then. 

Like, for the last two days at pickup, one of my babies who is no stranger to the hard and how to make it hard, screams my name and throws themselves into my arms. 

And last night a bed time, as he curled his fingers through mine, he whispers "Mommy, you are my friend." 

Yes, there is hard. And sometimes it is all that I see in a day. But it is the moments that are breathless that make it easier to breathe. 

"Of course it's hard....it's the hard that makes it great." Tom Hanks, A League of Their Own

"Office School" ?

I'm not sure where or who first used the term "home school" with The Angel, but about every six weeks, she asks me if and when she will every be home schooled. I always give her the same answer, "I have no idea" and "I hope never". 

To be frank, homeschooling has always intimated me and one of the things I always beg God not to call me to do. 

But He saw fit to give me a daughter to think that homeschooling is her personal garden of Eden. 

Because of our summer schedule, The Angel has been in church camp, day camps, etc. for the last five weeks. With our family vacation scheduled at the end of July, there was a three week lapse in what we had scheduled for The Angel. The Hero and I talked about what to do while we were at work and the answer seemed to return to her spending her days with us at our offices. 

So I told her we were giving her a reading list and buying a couple of work books to give her a boost before third grade and she'd be spending her days at the office with me, doing some school work and reading. 

I thought she would scream, protest or profess eternal boredom. 

Wrong.

She's upstairs as I type, packing a back pack, sharpening pencils and giving The Dinosaur the 411 as to what home schooling looks like when your mom works a full time job.

Lord, this is only 3 weeks. 

3 weeks. 

Please?!

Camp

For the second year in a row, The Angel has spent a week at church camp.

The last night of camp is family night, where we are invited to come have dinner with the campers.

The Dino has asked EVERY. SINGLE. DAY. 

"Is it time to see her yet?"

I finally got to tell him YES tonight.

While she's had a blast and has exhausted herself with late nights, 

friends and junk food, our pack of four doesn't function with one missing.

Stoked to pick her up tomorrow afternoon.

To Pack or Unpack

I read her blog post this morning like I do most every morning. Today, I read it through tears. A night that ended in prayer and tears and hurt, wondering if I'm doing what He's asked of me carried over through her words on the other side of the world. And I couldn't stop sobbing.

Trips to Africa are easy for me. It's the daily grind on the plains of Oklahoma that wears me down. I can hug and love an orphaned child, but patience with my nine year old's laundry strains a mama's nerves all the tighter. Weary and travel worn after international trips leave me fulfilled and brimming with renewal, but find me at the end of a work week and I'm stressed and ungrateful for most everything.  

As I saw the pictures of one of my favorite places today, more than a twinge of malcontent flushed my brain. 

The longing to pack a bag, hop a plane, to return to my second home grew.
 

"I need to be there."

"I need to go."

"I'm best on African soil."

But as he often does, the whisper came. 

It begins at home.
 

Going for you is easy. 
 

It's the here that is hardest.
 

Learn it here.
 

Live it here.
 

Love me here.
 

Love me now. 

It hit harder than I thought. Truth usually does that. I am always better on the go. Staying proves hard for me. Consistency in living love here is a rocky, previously rutted road. 

So how does one daily live out love from behind a desk?
 

A kitchen counter?
 

Under neath piles of laundry?

The more I prayed, the more convicted I became. The list grew long, but short on execution:

Checking on a friend.
A walk through a garden.

 

Putting down my cell phone and playing another game of hide and seek.

 

Encouraging a co-worker who I know is struggling personally.

Continuing to practice the always tough "I'm sorry. Please forgive me?"

Complimenting the lady who served me lunch.

 

Pull out of the drive thru and pull up to our table for a home cooked meal. And yes, hot dogs and cheetos count as "home cooked" some days.

Turning off the T.V. and tuning into my husband's worries and stressors of the week.

 

 

Slowing our pace to where we not only hear each other but that we SEE one another.

 

Learning less about characters I'll never meet and digging more into the character of my children.

 

Continually, consistently, and sincerely giving thanks. "In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you" 1 Thessalonians 5:18

 

Documenting my #1000 gifts, one day at a time.

Writing our sponsorship children letters.

 

 

Closing the shoe sale window and opening up a list of needs of some of our favorite charities.

Writing a check to some of our favorite missionaries-no matter how small I see it to be.

 

Quit flipping through the latest magazine wanting some thing and flipping to the Psalms for what my soul needs.

While each one is small, no great thing was ever big without starting as lesser. Because to someone else, their perspective of size may be opposite of yours. I think that's why in Matthew He tells us to give someone a glass of water. A bucket is too much and a thimble requires too little of our effort. It's about the receiver and the giver, both receiving rewards from the gift and the gift giving. Pouring enough of ourselves into someone else to fill the need, no matter how small we see the need or our action. 

 

"I ask-ask the God of our Master, Jesus Christ, the God of glory-to make you intelligent and discerning in knowing him personally, your eyes focused and clear, so that you can see exactly what it is he is calling you to do, grasp the immensity of this glorious way of life he has for his followers, oh, the utter extravagance of his work in us who trust him-endless energy, boundless strength." Eph. 1:16-19, MSG 

This walk, the journey of grace and love and leaning on Him requires both the going and the staying, knowing when to pack and what to unpack. Rejoicing that someone's going is encouraging me in the staying and praying for the opportunity to return the favor for someone else. 

Praying for you all today, whether your are packing or unpacking, going or staying and praying that you are filled with endless energy and boundless strength to accept and grow in the place where you are.

 

Happy Father's Day

I'm not sure how other men handle years of infertility, struggling, begging God to have a baby.

I don't know how any other man deals with a crazy wife who dreams of adopting, not knowing where that road might lead.

Maybe there are better stories of heroism and bravery, but I haven't heard them.

I know that you held me when the sobs of despair had overtaken me.

I know that you breathed "yes" to adoption before it was every really an option for us.

I know that you followed Jesus day in and day out on our road to becoming a family.

I know we boarded a plane together as 2 and came back as a pack of 4.

I know that from the moment he met you, you were his "person" and he's been attached to you ever sense. 

I know that she sees strength and power in you and she relies on you for that. 

I know that you are teaching her how to be purely loved so that YOU are the standard she judges all other men by.

I don't know how other men handle tough situations in their lives, but I know how you handle yours.

And I couldn't be more honored to have my life validated by having you in it. 

Happy Father's Day to the most pure hearted, amazing Hero I know. 

Old & New Again Friends

I've been blogging for almost 4 years now. 

The kids have been home for over 3. 

Out of all the people in the adoption community we've "met" online and in person, there are still those couples who we think "would love to meet them. Would love to see our kids play togther.", etc.

One of those families is the Briggs family from Colorado Springs.

Through our adoption journey we learned we had a lot in common.

Early 30s. 

No biological children at the time of our first adoption.

And adopted two children at the same time, of almost exactly similar ages.

Our kids were even born in the same region of Ethiopia and

were together at their foster care in Ethiopia for a time.

So imagine our excitement when Juli emailed me and said they would be driving through Oklahoma on vacation and wanted to know if we could meet up for lunch.

We were thrilled.

The Angel has been asking for a sister for years and having her former buddy back for even a short while did nothing to diminish her desire.

What a beautiful short time with old friends who were made new again today.

To Be Loved Well

He's never been overtly kind to our dogs. He likes them and they try to tolerate him, but he's a boy and curious and hyper. And often with them he tries to be the boss. We're blessed both of our dogs are older and have lots of patience. More patience than I do some days.
But things were different when he met my sister's English Bulldog, Edith. I'm not sure if it is the fact that she's big, or whether it's that she mothers him like he's her own baby, but there is something about these two together that is beautiful to watch.
He asks about her all the time. Wants to buy her toys at Target so she'll have something to play with. She follows him every where. Sleeps near him when he sleeps at my sisters and refuses to go inside if he is still playing in the yard.

My sister went out of town last weekend and we were all to glad to have another four legged friend in the house. And The Dinosaur was on cloud 9 when we told him Edith was coming for the weekend.

Sometimes life's best teachers are the ones who never do much talking. The bible tells us that every good and perfect gift is from above and it's funny to think that a dog would be heaven sent, but all you have to do is see them together to know for sure.

You Guys Did It Again

LoPa Art was a project started by three adoption-orphan care-justice crazed women who were looking for a way to serve the least, the last and the lost of Ethiopia. The three of us were broken at different times, but all in the same way-we desired to use our talents to see restoration and grace permeate the people and the hearts of people we had grown to call family.




The basis for our business was simple. Buy fair-trade, handcrafted art work and leather goods, sell them to you beautiful people and fund a non-profit education and feeding center on a trash dump in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia. The three of us receive no salary, no percentage of the profits. We wanted transparency to be a clear as our passion.
Three years ago, we had over 100 kids in our program. We partnered with Children's HopeChest to find individual sponsors for our kids so that LoPa could focus more on funding projects to make this community sustainable.




This year we had over 210 kids accepted into our program and LoPa was able to re-focus on not sustaining the kids daily needs, but praying and funding their futures. Together with HopeChest we derived an amazing plan and a really lofty goal: Raise $60,000 to put our older aging-out boys to work in the construction business. We called it the Korah Brick Making projects.
HopeChest did the logistics of a website and we three LoPa girls hit the streets. And the boutiques. And the craft fair venues. And then we hit our knees.




We blogged, facebooked, tweeted, and held shows all over the country. We networked our social circles and brought you all beautiful jewelry and art work from our favorite artists and artisans.




And YOU all responded. By leaps and bounds you all have helped us spread our mission of love and justice for yet another year. We couldn't be more grateful. And today we are humbled and honored to announce that the LoPa Brick Project is 100% fully funded! We are over the moon and over joyed that God has used three women's lives to bring His glory and His justice. We simply cannot thank you enough.




We are in full swing preparing our 2013 calendar and praying over our next project. Please join us in praying His will over our mission and asking how you can further be involved. If you are interested in hosting a home show, please hurry and email us so that we can make arrangements. Our calendar is almost full. You can reach us at lopa3moms at gmail dot com





- Hugs n Love,

Lindsey

Near Miss

I wrote this a few weeks back and wrestled with whether or not to post it because really, I cannot think about this event without checking my pulse.

I've believed in Jesus since I was seven years old. As our relationship has deepened throughout my life, I have had several moments where I had a physical awareness that I was not alone. Moments that made no logical, scientific sense. Where I knew that He, the Lord of Angel Armies was present and I felt him.
I had another one today.
With The Dinosaur and The Angel being out of school, they've traveled back and forth to the office with me a lot this Christmas break. I know that it has been really boring because while most people are able to take vacation time around this time of year, being a family lawyer means that the holidays are a consistent hotbed for litigation. I can almost never gather more than a few hours away from the office during this season.
It really isn't too rough on them. I represent a lot of kids in my practice and one whole office is a dedicated play room. But for my two, they are definitely the outdoorsy type. Being in an office all day tests all of our creativity and ability to expend energy. Especially for The Dinosaur. He lives for our walks outside or running to the car for lunch. His quick little legs can bolt at just the crack of a door.
Today was no different. There were several other kids in the office today and he was dying for some fresh air. I knew it was going to be an early lunch. He needed to get outside. I rounded The Angel and the coats and my purse and all the "mom garbage" I think that I need. I had wrangled The Angel to put her shoes on, her coat and we were headed out the door. I told her just to meet me at the car when she got her stuff together. The Dinosaur was three paces in front of me, holding the door knob to his freedom, begging me to hurry up. I really was trying. I let him open the door and just as I have every day for almost three years each time he heads out, I shouted "Do not cross the parking lot!" My office does not sit in a busy area. There are not many cars during any part of the day. But I remind him at least three times a day regardless.
The air in his face and the pavement under his feet must have overloaded his senses because he never heard me. I was less than ten paces behind him when the whole world slowed. I remember the following details with specificity and horror. It must have happened in three seconds, but time suspended and I recall it all.
Black mustang.
Speeding.
The back of The Dinosaur's head heading toward our car.
His perfect stride of one foot pounding in front of the other.
Never stopping.
My voice screaming his name.
Me dropping every thing in my hands and running.
Him turning and taking one step back toward my voice.
The driver missing him by inches.
We were both hysterical when I reached him.
He jumped in my arms and screamed and cried and I screamed and cried.
The Angel missed the whole thing. Thank you Jesus!
I did not need a near death encounter as a reminder to hug my children today, but I'll tell you I haven't let either one of them too far out of my reach today either.
- Hugs n Love,
Lindsey

Painting this Season Differently

 

I've been thinking and praying for a while about how to do Christmas differently this year.

I want my kids (and myself) to feel the wonder of the season,

instead of just the pulse of MORE STUFF.

We've prayed about it as a family

and I've begged Jesus quietly on where the RESTART button

between Thanksgiving and the end of the year.

 

I told The Hero I even wanted our Christmas cards to look different.

We are not the sweater and chino matching type.

And even though I try so hard to try to keep up with that image,

we are never going to be a J. Crew family.

 

I saw a pin on Pinterest awhile back about a photo shoot that involved paint.

I knew in an instant it was for us.

The perfect start to a different kind of holiday.

I called my friend, turned photog-pro Vanessa at Dear Okie

and asked if she was crazy enough.

 

I think her exact quote was "HELL. Yes."

 

I found us all white shirts.

And we "looked" like we'd take average ole, "stand in front of the fireplace" pics.

 

You should have seen the kids' faces when Vanessa and I pulled out the paint.

 

 

Vanessa explained we were going to paint the canvas as a family.

I doled out the brushes and

The Hero set up the canvas.



The kids got busy chucking paint.



I got lost in just being together.



The Dinosaur almost hyperventilated when The Hero threw paint on him on purpose.

He was so worried about his shirt.

Until I tossed a brushful in his hair.

And begged he do it back to me.

 



 

We painted one another.

Then went back to the canvas.

We tossed paint and wrote on each other for the best part of two hours.

Laughing and screaming.



 

Letting the paint and joy drip all over.

 We covered paint on every inch of each of us.

Including Vanessa.

(thank God we spared her camera).

 

I've never seen The Dinosaur make this face before.

Here is the masterpiece we created:

 



 

Out of the 340 pictures Vanessa took, only five of them were of all four of us staring at the camera.

The rest were so perfect, we didn't need to be looking at the camera.

It was us in our glory and mess.

Just like every day.

 



But with free license to embrace who we are without all the expectations.
Be. Still. My. Heart.

 

Here is to you and yours this holiday season from a family who is trying to start our traditions all over again.

And praying that we paint it right this time,

while covered in love and joy.

 

If you haven't had a chance to buy my kid's book yet, go to the top of the blog and hit the "Buy Now" button for paypal. All proceeds from the book go to build a water well in honor of our sponsorship son through Children's HopeChest. There are only 1000 copies printed and we are praying they are sold as soon as possible. Thanks and God bless.