Remembering that day so clearly
No more waiting
Time for the answer
Boy or girl?
Hoping for a girl
Big brother and baby sister
Time for ultrasound
Heart jumping for joy
Leaving doctor’s office
Calling my Mom
Squealing over the phone
“It’s a girl!”
Tag: family
As We Go
This past Friday was a rainy, inside recess kind of day. My last class of the day is 2nd grade. So I made a last minute change of plans and decided to teach them a game, Instrument Bingo. Fairly certain they would at least be familiar with the concept of Bingo, I began to explain this particular version.
Bingo cards are made up of musical instrument pictures, each one also identified by written names. Many types of instruments, representing all parts of the world, are shown on the cards. Students listen to recordings of the instruments being played and a voice also tells them the name. It’s a win, win kinda game.
I wanted this to be a fun learning activity-reminding them I did not expect them to already know all these instruments, and we would be learning them as we played the game. One sweet girl raised her hand, “You mean, we will all learn together as we go.” Yes! That is exactly what we will be doing!
That one statement from an innocent 2nd grader holds much wisdom. As I wrote it down on my “positives” list, I began to think about all the ways it applies to life. Being a spouse, parent, and teacher are perfect examples. Often our focus is on the big event-a wedding, birth of a baby, college graduation, our first teaching job-culminating in our suddenly taking on those identities.
Yes, those events are important and grant us that particular role or position in name, but time and experience are required for actual transformation. And that’s what true learning is-transformation. I need to remember this when feeling frustrated or disappointed with myself concerning my life responsibilities.
My goal should be learning from my own mistakes as well as from others who have more experience. Followed by a willingness to share what I learn with those who may have just begun their journey down a similar path. Always making sure to remember-we are all just learning together as we go.
As I Go
I am not the same wife I was
On my wedding day
I am not the same mom I was
On my first child’s birth day
So many people, places, events
Influenced who I am today
So many words, prayers, tears
Helped to light my way
As I continue walking along
This path we know as life
Will my desires be persistent
To become a better mom and wife
Should I choose to recognize
I am not alone in my strife
Transformation through lessons learned
Will prove worthy of sacrifice
Parent/Child Circle
Being both daughter and mom of a daughter creates a constant cycle of emotions and challenges. As a daughter, I did not truly appreciate the actions of my mom until becoming a mom myself. As a mom, I continually struggle with whether or not my parenting decisions were best for my children. It’s an unending, mixed up, beautiful circle.
There were times I certainly drove my mom crazy and surely caused her many sleepless nights. Thankfully she did not give up on me during my young adult years despite some poor choices on my part. Somehow we both survived. Although my children may not have supplied the same grief, I have experienced the worry and sleepless nights. Part of the job, I suppose.
In a recent conversation, my mom expressed some regret over some of her parenting choices-wishing she had talked more openly about certain subjects. You know the ones-uncomfortable ones we tend to avoid. Almost as if she thought my mistakes were her fault. Naturally, I reassured her that she was a great mom and that I made my own choices.
Truthfully, there comes a time when each of us is responsible for our own actions. My young adult choices were mine-good or bad, and I had to deal with their consequences. The older I become the more I understand how even those mistakes helped form this person I see in the mirror. Yes, they brought guilt and sorrow, but also allowed me to encounter life-changing forgiveness and grace. And that affects how I relate to the people in my life.
At first, I didn’t understand why my mom felt the way she did. How could she possibly think my mistakes were her fault? Then I began to reflect on my own parenting. From that perspective, I began to understand. Our children are part of us. One of our greatest responsibilities. And in some ways, part of our reflection. We want to see the best parts of ourselves in those reflections.
As parents, we love, worry, pray, and provide-but still feel like we’re falling short. Did we encourage enough? Or too much? Was our opinion expressed too strongly? Or not strongly enough? Did we efficiently equip our children to make good decisions? On the one hand feeling responsible for our children’s mistakes, on the other acknowledging our parents are not responsible for ours. Certainly a contradiction of ideas.
Logical or not, this crazy cycle goes on and on. Is this cause for concern? Something we need to change? I would argue no. This is the parent/child circle. You can’t be a parent without first being a child. You can’t be a child without first having a parent. Sounds simple, but it is beautifully complicated. As a parent I would say it is worth the worry and sleepless nights. And maybe if I stop to remember what it was like to be a child, I won’t be quite so hard on myself as a parent.
Going Home
Growing up, giving directions to my house was always interesting. It went something like this…”Drive past the Natural Steps sign and Moreland’s Grocery Store, go around a sharp curve, over a hill, then you’ll see a straight stretch of road. Right at the end of the straight stretch, turn left onto Mahar Road.” Mahar is my mom’s maiden name, hence the name of the road.
My husband likes to tell people that I grew up in a commune, but that is not the case. The quarter of a mile road, lined with trees on both sides, dead ends into a wide-open valley. My grandparent’s house was in the center, surrounded by several homes belonging to my aunts, uncles, and my parents. Huge oaks, towering pines, and grassy fields provided plenty of room for kids to run and play.
That’s where I spent my childhood-riding bikes, digging in the dirt, playing kickball and basketball with my cousins. And since my mom had six sisters and two brothers, there were always cousins around. They say I made them listen to me practice piano and violin…well, maybe a few times. But most of the time, we were outside. Distinct memories include singing at the top of my lungs while riding bicycles, trying to fool my uncle with mud pies, and playing “King of the Mountain” on Grandma’s front porch.
Almost thirty-three years have passed since I lived on Mahar Road. Even while typing I think surely that can’t be correct! Oh, but it is…despite the years gone by and having a family of my own, I still refer to this special place as home. I’m thankful to have grown up there-carefree, no worries about safety, room to let our imaginations run wild.
Of course, things have changed since I was a child. My grandparents are no longer living, cousins are all grown and many, just like me, have moved away. That doesn’t matter. Simply driving the route that leads to home causes any anxiety to melt away. My brain slows down, my body relaxes, and while there I truly rest. Sometimes I even feel like a kid again.
Thinking about my childhood reminds me that home is so much more than a house. It’s the people, the places, the memories. And sometimes…you just need to go home.
Life’s Roles
Daughter first
Sister second
Years later wife
Mom times three
Cousin, niece, aunt
Friend and teacher between
Each role gives purpose
Brings responsibility
Delivers sorrow
Causes growth
Provides joy
Creates life
I look ahead
The future unseen
New roles yet to come
Hopeful to embrace each one
Through smiles, laughter, or tears
And continue down this path to becoming me
House to Home
Our family has lived in our current home for fifteen years. Kids were nine, seven, and three when we moved in. Prior to that move we had lived in four different houses in three different cities, and two different states. I remember feeling so relieved to be settled.
As someone who spent the first seventeen years of my life (until I left for college) in the same house, all of our moves were challenging. I worried about how the kids would handle each new place. Would they make friends easily? Would I? Of course, we all adjusted in our own way.
This house has truly become home. It’s where our kids grew up. So many memories. For example, my concern that Ryan would fall down the stairs. He was so little when we moved in, and the kids bedrooms were all upstairs. As it turned out, the concern should have been for me! I was the first one to bounce down the stairs on my bottom.
Although there was the time Robert tumbled down the stairs. Apparently Robert, Rachel, and Ryan were playing the game “follow your siblings directions while wearing a sleeping bag over your head.” I’m sure you’ve all played that one before! Some friendly advice; make sure the sibling giving directions knows their right from their left…
Many of the memories involve celebrations-and food. Saturday morning pancakes, Sunday night Chinese take-out, Dad’s burgers on the grill, my chocolate chip cookies, yellow cake with chocolate frosting. Birthday parties, holiday dinners with extended family, graduation parties-so many things to celebrate.
Well…things are about to change. We currently have a high school senior and a college senior, and an already moved out and employed teacher. We know from experience these next few months will fly by. And though our nest won’t be immediately empty, that is the direction we are rapidly heading.
Gart and I have talked many times about preparing for this next stage in life. He would even joke and tell the kids we were going to buy a tiny house or move to a loft apartment downtown. Neither of those is going to happen, but we are preparing to buy another house and sell this one.
Right now my thoughts are mostly in the details-time frame, moving boxes, etc. But they unexpectedly drift and I find my eyes welling with tears. This happened while driving away from the home we eventually decided to buy. It’s a beautiful home, warm and cozy. I am excited. So why was I crying?
Change is like that. Even when the change is positive, it still comes with growing pains. Right now my growing pains involve how my role as a parent is changing. Since the majority of my parenting years took place in this house, leaving it will be emotional.
Sometimes when I’m at home alone, our once busy house feels like an empty shell. I’m thankful for the flood of memories that fills the empty spaces. Just as our family established traditions and made memories here, I must trust we will do the same in our new house. And as old memories travel with us and mix together with the new, a transformation will take place-one that will turn house to home.
The Rest of the Story
I have already shared events surrounding the birth of our first child, Robert, in two separate blog posts-Thankful and The Struggle for Control. You would certainly think those events provided enough excitement for one pregnancy…but that was before he actually arrived.
One month had passed since our car accident. My cracked ribs were beginning to heal, and I was ready to meet our baby boy. Despite reassurances from the doctors that he was fine, my worry would not completely disappear until we actually saw him. So a date to induce labor was set.
Gart and I arrived at the hospital early on December 1, 1994. All checked in, the process began. Doctors, nurses, monitors, IV…contractions. He would most likely arrive sometime before midnight. That’s what they thought-but they thought wrong. Midnight came and went. I was in active labor, but something wasn’t right. Of course, this was our first baby, so what did we know?!
At some point during the late night/early morning, the doctor came in and things changed quickly. Apparently, she should have been called much earlier. Once she arrived, the whole room transformed. Suddenly it was full of additional medical personnel-a neonatology team, nurses. Lighting in the room was adjusted, and the mood became extremely serious.
My mom and mother-n-law had been with us through the entire labor process. But as the room began to transform, they were asked to wait out in the hall. So they did.
We often see childbirth portrayed as an intense experience followed by this beautiful first moment. A pink, crying baby is handed to the new mom. She’s crying and the strong, supportive dad is leaning over-everyone is smiling and eternally happy. Photos capture the moment, assuring it will never be forgotten.
When Robert was finally born, I can remember waiting…waiting to hear him cry. Doctors and nurses were busy doing their jobs and there was nothing we could do but wait. There was a flurry of activity and none of it sounded good. It felt like an eternity. Then finally, a cry. The sweetest, tiniest little cry.
A nurse brought him over so we could see him-not hold him-only for a few seconds. He was pale, almost translucent, but that sweet face. I can close my eyes right now and still see that face. There are no pictures from that moment. Time and the seriousness of the situation did not allow for pictures. Just as quickly as we’d seen him, he was whisked out of the room. Gart followed.
Our moms, still waiting in the hall, did not know what was happening. They’d witnessed the influx of medical personnel and their quick exit with the baby, Gart following close behind. He was stopped at the nursery. The blinds were closed. Now he had no idea what was happening with our sweet boy.
Returning to the delivery room to check on me, he was once again stopped at the door. I had suffered third-degree trauma, and the doctor was with me. Poor Gart, it’s a miracle we ended up having two more children.
Finally, I was in a room. Family there. Waiting to see Robert. Four hours later, we held him for the first time. An IV had been placed in the top of his little head. He had lost a lot of fluid during the trauma of his birth but was going to be ok. Once again, we were thankful.
There were birthday gifts and cake later that day in the hospital room. Because not only was December 2, 1994, the birthdate of our son, Robert, it was also my twenty-seventh birthday. A birthday I will never forget!
I think I can safely say that is the rest of the story. At least for today!
Instant Friends
Have you ever experienced an instantaneous friendship? You meet someone for the first time, yet it seems as if you’ve always known them? That’s exactly what happened when I met Shannon. Both of our husbands had new jobs which brought us to Liberal, KS. She was the wife of a pastor and me the wife of a high school assistant principal. We both had young children and were navigating a new place, far away from old friends and family.
If you’ve never been to Liberal, well…there is an actual edge of town. You can see nothing but fields for miles and miles in all directions. The town had a Walmart, a few restaurants, and a small shopping center. We would drive an hour and a half to Garden City, KS just to eat at Applebees. Needless to say, it was quite an adjustment for both families.
Our move to Liberal was the second big move we’d made in nine years of marriage. Memories from previous moves brought images of tear-filled goodbyes with many dear friends. Some of those goodbyes turned into lifelong friendships, but in that actual moment of leaving it felt like our world was falling apart. As for me, the tears often continued as I adjusted and searched to figure out my place in a new location. Looking back now I understand that those lonely times strengthened our marriage and brought our family closer together, but oh were they hard.
Soon after we settled in our new home, I heard an advertisement on the radio for a MOPs (Moms of Preschoolers) group meeting. I’d never been to one of these before but was excited at the prospect of meeting other moms with small children. There was also a weekly storytime at the library. My two oldest would be starting school soon, so that would give Ryan (my youngest) and I a fun outing.
It’s funny looking back now, I can’t remember if I first met Shannon at the library or MOPs. I definitely noticed her at both events with her young kids. She had such a welcoming smile, maybe we would become friends! We introduced ourselves, and it wasn’t long before we had traded phone numbers. At least now there would be a familiar face at storytime and our MOPs meetings.
Not long after school started, Shannon asked if I’d like to go for a walk after we dropped our older kids off at school. Our youngest kids were the same age, and still enjoyed short stroller rides. That first walk remains etched in my memory. We chatted about our families, what had brought us to Liberal, our future plans. And then Shannon shared the most amazing thing. From the time they knew they would be moving, she had been praying that God would send her a friend. I will never forget her words, “I think you just might be the answer to my prayers.”
From that point on, we were inseparable. Playdates, family dinners, babysitting for eachother…things all young moms desperately need. I’m not sure how I would have survived that year without her. It felt like we had known each other our entire lives. She would even laugh and say she must have named her daughter Kelli after me before she even knew me. And to make the year even more exciting, she soon discovered they were expecting their third child! So much to plan and celebrate!
Telling Shannon that we would be moving back to Oklahoma for the following school year was not easy. I dreaded making that phone call. We were in Oklahoma for the interview and she was in Kansas, having just given birth to their sweet baby. Terrible timing, but I knew it couldn’t wait. Always gracious, she understood. Moving would eventually be part of their future as well. There were tears and promises to keep in touch. Despite having experienced this kind of goodbye with friends before-it was not any easier.
Although Shannon and I had become close friends in such a short time, I had no idea the lasting impact she would have on my life. After our move, there were regular phone calls in those first months and even a visit despite the distance between us. But our communications quickly took a different tone as Shannon was diagnosed with an aggressive form of breast cancer.
How could this be possible? A young mom of three, healthy, no family history…the wife of a pastor. She fought so hard. Surgery, treatments, more surgery…and so many prayers. I witnessed the outpouring of support from their family and friends past and present. There were also a few misguided individuals who thought if her faith was just strong enough, she would be healed. Most certainly they did not truly know Shannon.
If ever there was a time in life where I questioned my own faith, this was it.
I had the privilege of spending a week with Shannon and her family shortly before she died. Oh, my sweet friend-fighting with courage and grace I had never witnessed before. Her cancer had spread once again causing tremendous pain and weakness. But she was determined we would go shopping, and we did. She had also planned an outing for us at a lovely tea room, and we went. I watched as she pushed through, insisting on serving dinner and giving attention to her family-she loved them so much.
Shannon’s kindness as a friend, patience as a mom, and her unwavering faith in the face of terrible tragedy continues to impact my life. We may have only lived in the same town for one year, fifteen years ago, but I miss her. The grief that she is not here with her family remains. I keep a picture of the two of us on a shelf in my closet. When I look at this sweet photo, I think about the power and importance of friends. And remembering our instantaneous friendship, I am grateful.
Thankful
In an earlier blog post, The Struggle for Control, I shared the story of when my husband, Gart, and I were hit by a drunk driver. At the time of the accident, I was eight months pregnant with our first child, Robert. This story is multi-faceted, and I was not quite ready to share the following details in my earlier post. Honestly, I’m never quite sure how they will be received.
The week after our accident I was recovering at home. Being eight months pregnant with broken ribs was no fun. My mom was staying with us to help with cooking and housework, etc so Gart could go back to work. Although thankful we were all okay, there were many moments of worry and anger. Worry over the baby, anger at the driver who chose to drive drunk, anger at the establishment where he and his friends had been drinking the night before… negative emotions all around.
One afternoon my mom began to share that something strange had happened to her the night before the accident. She had not wanted to tell me before for fear of upsetting me further. Doctors orders were for rest and calm. Not an easy task when you’re feeling worried and angry! Looking back, her timing was perfect and helped me work through difficult feelings.
Our first baby shower was scheduled to take place the day our accident occurred. My mom and Aunt Linda were driving up from Arkansas, so it was not unusual that we spoke on the phone the night before. Last minute details, what time they were leaving, what time we would arrive at the shower-a normal phone call. Except for the added air of excitement as we said, “Love you! See you tomorrow!”
For my mom, however, what happened next was the furthest thing from normal.
Through her tears, mom explained that right after she hung up the phone that evening before the accident, she heard a voice. Clear and precise words, ‘That is the last time you will talk to Kelley.” Obviously, she was shaken and tried to put the thought out of her mind. Where did that come from? Why would she think such a thing? But the voice would not go away, so she began to pray.
Her prayers continued through the night and during the drive to Oklahoma the following day. Pulling in the driveway at my in-law’s house, she immediately noticed our car was not there-we should have already arrived. My brother-n-law came out to greet them and of course, she knew instantly something was wrong. It is difficult to imagine the fear my mom felt at that moment…
A picture was taken of our car after the accident. The driver’s side smashed, the trunk pushed in, the windshield broken…but my side of the car looked like it had never been touched-not even a scratch. I remember someone commenting, “It looks like an angel was guarding your door.”
Psalm 91:11 says, “For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways…”
I’m not sure how to adequately explain these events, yet I choose to believe. I believe my mom’s prayers were answered. I believe an angel was sent to protect. Did I actually see one? No. I don’t understand the how or why. Sometimes my thoughts wander, thinking about how differently things could have turned out. Truth is, none of us are guaranteed another breath, so I don’t dwell in that space for long.
“Why, you do not even know what will happen tomorrow. What is your life? You are a mist that appears for a little while and then vanishes.” James 4:14
Does this story impact the way I live my life each day? Not like it should, I’m afraid. As for today, I am thankful for my mom, who continues to be strong in her faith and persistent in her prayers. I am thankful for her wisdom in sharing her part of the story with me at just the right moment. And at this moment, maybe thankful is the best thing for me to be.
Robbing the Cradle
I’m sure you have heard the phrase “robbing the cradle.” Typically it refers to someone marrying a much younger person. People have teased me with that old saying upon discovering that I am two years older than my husband. Of course, he never lets me forget that fact, even though two years hardly qualifies in this case.
On a recent trip to the grocery store, my daughter and I met an older couple. As the wife turned around from the meat counter, she stumbled but caught herself. She came to a stop right in front of us. I asked if she was ok and said something like, “Oh, be careful!” Very helpful I’m sure, but she smiled and struck up a conversation.
We soon learned that this fashionably dressed, white-haired, make-up wearing woman was ninety-three years old! She shared her age proudly and thanked us as we commented on how amazing she looked. Obviously, this woman had some spunk.
As we continued to chat, her husband (I assumed) walked toward us. When something was mentioned about him watching out for her she laughed and said, “Oh yes he does. Well, I did rob the cradle.” Now mind you he was not a spring chicken and walked with a cane, but he had a precious smile. We chuckled as she shared that she was twelve years older than her husband. I quickly did the math in my head…so, that makes him eighty-one.
Just when I thought the story was finished, she shared more details. “I was married to my first husband for seventy years. And (pointing to her husband) we’ve only been married for three years.” It took a few minutes for my brain to wrap around what this precious lady was saying. Seventy years of marriage! What a story! I would imagine her current husband also had a story to tell, but he just smiled happily as she told hers.
Later I found myself wishing I could have spent more time with this sweet couple. Many questions came to my mind. How old was she when she first married? What had happened to her husband? Did she have any children? How did she meet her current husband? Answers I guess I will never have. Unless we happen to run into each other at the grocery store again…you can bet I will be keeping my eyes open.
Piano Girl 