Learning from Melissa

The week of Labor Day, my sweet husband took us on our first family vacation. I had no idea where we were going; he wanted desperately to make it a surprise, and I intentionally let him do all the planning, avoiding the urge to figure out where we were headed.

It was indeed a great surprise to see my sweet friend, Melissa standing in the restaurant parking lot when we arrived at our destination.

Please excuse the crazed looks! It had been a long day for all of us.

Melissa and I met through blogging. 

Her girls are five months older than Brynne and Hadley, so I've sought her insight a lot, because, in most instances, she's dealt with it; been there, done that with her girls. In the process we've become great friends. We share our faith. We share our lives. We encourage one another.

Following our trip, Melissa wrote a telling post about all she's learned through our friendship.

If you've taken a moment to read it, you'll see that we are, indeed, very different people. And our parenting styles are in many ways night and day different.

I was telling a friend, a long time ago, about my friendship with Melissa. Her comment was that really, this is the best way to get to know someone. Instead of seeing what kind car she drives, or what her home looks like, or how she dresses, or how how her children behave--I saw her heart.

That is where the foundation of our friendship was built, and on that, there is great grace and love for one another.

Her words ring true. It's easy to judge and discount mamas who do things differently than what works for us, and maybe we should not be so quick to do so. There could be a beautiful friendship (and much to learn) amidst the different feeding, diapering and discipline styles.

My efforts in parenting our children focus greatly around health and safety. Admittedly, obsessive in some instances.

I battle to find the line between letting the girls experience life fully in a safe and healthy way while teaching them to obey and exercise appropriate caution. When I say battle, I really do battle/debate/question everything. Sometimes it's exhausting.

Stop.
Breathe.
Pray.
Repeat.

As Melissa has learned from me, I too have learned much from her. Learned and put into practice! Mostly, it involves relaxing a little bit. It's good to relax, and to let the girls relax.

Going barefoot. Before our visit to South Carolina, I don't think our girls had ever gone barefoot outside (unless they were in their strollers). This is a regular occurrence at Melissa's house.  

My girls kinda love it!

Letting the girls bake with us in the kitchen. Kitchens make me nervous. There are about 103 ways a kid can get hurt in the kitchen. Once, my little sister was helping me make some brownies. I was a dumb high school kid, who didn't pay enough attention in chemistry. I poured water over burning butter, which then exploded in my face, sending me to the ER. Thankfully, my sister didn't get burned. But--the thought that she could have been makes me all kinds of nervous, which is why our kitchen is completely off limits to the girls.

Melissa lets her girls bake with her in the kitchen all the time. That sounds like so much fun! I want my girls to decorate sugar cookies, help me stir, and be part of food preparations where appropriate.

So...under careful supervision, our girls did get to help their papa make banana bread (no burning butter involved). They had so much fun! Definitely something we'll do with them again!

Family Dinners. Most of the time, Brad and I wait to eat our dinner after the girls go to bed, and the girls have the leftovers for their dinner the following night. Melissa's family eats dinner together as a family. Lately, one or two nights a week we've been doing family dinners. It's chaotic sometimes, but I love that the girls are part of our meal together. I look forward to more of those meals together in the future.

Appetizer Dinners. Most of the time I plan out just a plain old meal. Melissa does "appetizer nights" at her house. How fun! Are you guys on Pinterest? I caution, you, time spent there is like a black hole, even worse than facebook. But--there are some pretty amazing recipes to be found, and you can park them right there in your own Pinterest folder, so that they're easy for you to find. I've found some great appetizers for appetizer night that way. Appetizer night at our house is definitely a family dinner. Fun food enjoyed by all!

Climbing. Melissa's girls are climbers! Oh my are they ever! This was something Brad and I are just not used to at all. We stood in awe as Aeralind and Bronwyn climbed onto the roof of the car, and Melissa and Derek didn't even bat an eye. Our girls have never really been climbers. They climb up on the couch, but that's about the extent of it. So, this is a new adventure for us, and it makes me nervous. Climbing = falling. But--I let this go on long enough to snap a picture this past weekend:

Heaven, help me!

Why I Will Never Live in Texas Again

A snake. A potty. And lots of screaming.

Sounds like a horror movie, or just a bad movie. Snakes on a Plane, without the plane or Samuel L. Jackson?

Nope. Sorry to disappoint. Snake/potty/screaming = my first memory.

Maybe this revelation clears a few things up for you.

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I grew up in Texas, just outside of Dallas. We lived next to a big cattle ranch. We had an orchard full of pear trees, a few chickens, and got our milk at a local dairy. It sounds quite lovely doesn't it? Don't be fooled.

I have memories of going to get my papa, and his thick-soled shoes, to step on a scorpion that was scurrying across our kitchen floor *shudder*. This alone is a good reason never to live in Texas. You just never know where those suckers might hiding.

One day, little me, barely potty trained, was sitting on the toilet minding (and doing) my business. When suddenly a snake came out from behind the sink. It was a big snake, and I was little, and on the potty. Two factors that fostered pure helplessness. So, I let out a blood-curdling scream, to which my parents came running. I'm  pretty sure my bladder emptied too.

I remember that my papa picked the snake up with a wire hanger, and dropped it in the bathtub. We watched all four feet of it, hissing angrily and writhing around on the white porcelain while he determined the best way to go about killing the beast.

After it's demise, Papa fed it to our chickens. I think maybe he thought it would be therapeutic to watch something so terrifying being pecked into nothingness. I'm not sure it was....

So, Texas, you can have your mild winters, The Alamo, your scorpions, your snakes and your obsession with high school football. You grow everything bigger there, and that's great, but I'll take the Midwest with our puny, pencil-sized grass snakes any day.
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A few weeks back Natalie from Mommy of a Monster & Twins wrote a post about how her poor dog was attacked by a rattlesnake in their backyard. I sent her an email commiserating about just how much I hated snakes too, briefly gave a description of my first memory as to why, and sent her a picture of this Gary Larson cartoon:

 

I think Gary might be on to something.

Anyway, Natalie replied that I should write about my memory. I didn't think much of it. I mean--it was hazy, since I was probably two-ish. Still, the idea has stuck with me, because I've been thinking a lot about memories lately.

The girls will soon be at an age where something they experience will be significant enough to stick with them for the rest of their lives. Someday, we'll be kicking back drinking wine, and the girls will tell tales of remembering their mama standing naked in the bathroom or something.

Gasp, I know. Time to invest in a robe! Hopefully it won't be that traumatic.

Do you remember your first memory?

The Rocking Chair

I love walking into my daughters' room and seeing it sitting there.

Over 30 years ago my mama crafted it to sit in my nursery. Seeing it sitting there conjures beautiful thoughts of a young woman with a small round belly, hair tied back in a scarf, running a paintbrush full of yellow paint over the rocker blades. She sits on the floor, brow furrowed in concentration as she weaves the seat where her unborn child will sit one day. A smile flickers on her lips as the mural of a blue bird perched on some prairie grasses comes to life to adorn the place where that child's back will rest.

Those images are pregnant with emotion for me. As that woman's child, I feel loved. Cherished. Treasured. 

When I brought the chair out of storage it was, I thought, hopelessly dirty and dusty. I set to work cleaning it. The warm September sun gently dried the fibers of the freshly shampooed seat. My dust rag lingered over the mural that was lovingly painted so many years ago. It gave me great joy getting that rocker ready for the nursery. Now my babies sit where I once sat. My heart is full.

(I promise I didn't pose Hadley this way--her legs are in the same position mine were)