The very first time I went home with Lee Stuart, I heard all the stories about him. I heard about how he didn’t go anywhere without a basketball in his hand; how he could be found asleep at night, his arm slung over his dirty ball; how he had to be reminded to set the basketball down at the dinner table and actually sit in a chair.
I heard the stories, and I laughed, imagining that dirty little boy who loved the rhythmic sound of the ball hitting pavement. But I didn’t really understand who that little boy was because I couldn’t merge him with the grown man I married.
I couldn’t, that is, until Landon came along.
It took us a long time to find the right name for Landon. We’d had one all picked out, stored in our arsenal after Tia surprised us with all her girliness upon arrival. But by the time Landon came along, too many others had discovered our treasured name and it no longer felt special, so we went back to the drawing board.
For months we went back and forth until we finally settled on Landon as the first name. Then it came time to pick a middle name. We tried combinations of Landon with our father’s and grandfather’s names, and it never seemed to fit just right. Then one night, shortly before he was born, I sat up in bed and looked at Lee.
“What about your name?” I asked.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Landon Lee,” he said, and we both knew that was it.
Lee was pleased with our choice for the obvious reason. What man doesn’t feel a twinge of pride at the thought of his son bearing his own name?
I was pleased for other reasons. First, I found a sort of comical sweetness in Landon carrying Lee’s name given that Lee was so shocked by this surprise third pregnancy that he didn’t talk to me for two days after I told him.
As if I was the sole culprit in our rapidly expanding family.
Second, I just liked the ring of it: Landon Lee. It sounded strong and manly, and the two names slid together like a puzzle piece.
Today, we celebrate Landon Lee’s 8th birthday, and more and more as this child grows I see evidence of the fact that we really had nothing to do with his naming. This was the name chosen for him from the beginning of time – we had only to stumble upon it, and how glad I am that we did.
See, Landon bears more than his dad’s name – he also possesses a great deal of his dad’s personality.
As I watch Landon maneuver around the house, I think back on those stories I’ve so often heard of Lee as a boy, and I see now who my husband must have been as a child.
Delightful.
Funny.
Passionate about sports.
A jokester.
People Pleaser.
Unable to function without a ball nearby.
Landon’s chosen sport (of late) is soccer. He lives, eats, and breathes the sport, and when things settle down, and the corners of our house fill with blissful silence, it won’t be long before you hear, or see, Landon kicking a ball against the wall.
He spends hours each day outside, often by himself, kicking the ball into the soccer net, roaring through the yard as he wins yet another World Cup. It’s all in his mind, of course, but it plays out like a vivid dream for the rest of us to enjoy alongside him.
Though he looks the most like me, he bears his father’s spirit. And so it is that Landon Lee was the perfect name for this delightful boy with the twinkly blue eyes. He plays hard, sleeps hard, laughs hard, and wakes up each day to do it again.
And I’m the one with a sideline view as he grows up.
I was twenty-five years old, a brand new mom, and I rolled slowly to a stop in front of her house. I picked up my weeks old baby boy and walked to the front door, loaded down with an overstuffed diaper bag, several blankets, and a deep need for someone to tell me I would survive.
When Laura opened the door, she whisked the baby from my arms and bounced up and down with him while I set up the pack and play in a nearby bedroom. Once he was settled and sleeping peacefully, little bum up in the air, she and I sat on the couch, and we just talked.
Her kids were all off at school, and for the first time since she’d become a mom herself, she had extended periods of time alone. Her youngest had just begun first grade, and now all three were in school full days. She and I were both in transition.
Laura was looking at her free time and evaluating how she would fill it. Would she go back to work? Would she get another degree? Would she stay home? She had a lot of options, and just as I was adjusting to life with a newborn, she was adjusting to life with quiet spaces.
For the next eight years, Laura and her husband, Tom, would pour faithfully into Lee and I. They, and another couple at our church who also had children one step ahead of ours, were instrumental in our understanding of what it looks like to raise children in a Christ-centered home.
In fact, outside of our own parents, the greatest impact on our lives since we’ve been married has come from the Hughes and Krosley families.
Last night, Lee and I and the kids sat in front of the TV and watched, sometimes with tears in our eyes, as Tom and Laura’s youngest son, the little boy who had just started first grade on that day so long ago, stood up on a stage and received the Wendy’s Heisman award.
We were as proud as we possibly could have been.
Not just of Zach, though of course we’re proud of him. He’s grown from a squirrelly little boy into a young man who looks out for the needs of others, and who is one of the hardest working kids we’ve ever known.
But we were also so proud of Tom and Laura. They’ve raised three amazing kids – kids who aren’t just talented, though every single one of them are just that – but they’re also kind, loving, giving, humble, smart, and hard working.
I can boast the same things of Kevin and Pam Krosley, the other couple to mentor us through the early stages of parenting. Their (five!) kids are growing into amazing, talented, godly young people who look out for the needs of others. They’re raising world changers, and I couldn’t be more grateful for the impact these families had in our lives at such an early stage.
Even after we moved away, the Krosleys and the Hughes have continued to invest in us through phone calls, visits, and encouragement. They are still two of the couples we look to for advice, and though we’re watching from farther away, we continue to observe how they raise their kids.
Our children are now the same ages that the Hughes and Krosley kids were when we first met them. We’re in the trenches, and some days I’m certain that I’m failing miserably. Other days I take, perhaps, a little too much pride in my children’s outward talents, forgetting that the character of the heart matters above all else.
But we constantly come back to the lessons we learned from the Hughes and the Krosleys. We learned from them the value of focusing on who God has created each one of these children to be, beyond their gifts and abilities. We’ve learned to focus on the fruits that we see developing in our kids: the compassion, and mercy, love for others, and hearts for service.
Were it not for these two families who invested in Lee and I as parents, I’m not sure where we would be. I think back to the days when those dear friends were in the same trench that we now find ourselves, and I remember that it wasn’t always easy or pretty.
They fought for their kids, they prayed over them, and they dug their heels into the process, all the while letting us see what it takes to raise our own world changers. Transparency goes a long way in mentorship, and we hope to pass that torch along to others who may be a step behind us in child rearing.
And so this is my public thank you to the couples who have shaped and molded us, who have loved our kids and let us be a part of their journey. We’re proud to be called your friends.
It seemed to be so, anyway. As I walked down the sidewalk, in the beginning, I felt proud of myself for the suggestion. This wasn’t just a good idea – it was a great one.
Those happy thoughts lasted all of thirty seconds.
It was a beautiful evening yesterday. It was the kind of Florida evening that we live for down here in the sunshine state. Now that the heat has broken, we are blessed with that perfect, 70 degree air that bathes the skin in delight.
After an afternoon spent relaxing, baby napping, kids playing their electronics, I felt that it was time for everyone to get outside and breathe in the perfect night. So I suggested a walk.
“We need to get out,” I told the family as everyone pushed their feet into flip flops. I plopped the baby into her stroller, and Lee and I together walked down the sidewalk, and I thought this was such a good thing to suggest. We were together, as a family, enjoying a beautiful Florida evening.
What could go wrong?
By the time we finally rolled back into the driveway, I sincerely regretted suggesting the walk. The children fought and bickered the whole time. They hung on Lee and I, tripping us constantly. Nothing about it was relaxing…or really even remotely fun.
I was frustrated.
As we entered the house, everyone made a beeline for their respective electronics again. Sloan grabbed his phone, Landon grabbed my phone, and Tia grabbed my computer. Before I could even get my shoes off, they were back in their solitary corners, eyes alit by the glow of the screens.
With a huff, I demanded all electronics be turned off for the duration of the evening. “This is ridiculous!” I cried, and everyone sort of laughed at me because they thought I was joking. But I was serious.
And yet…
Part of me wanted to just throw my hands up and say, “Screw it!” Because, honestly, the most pleasant, relaxing moments of my days are when they’re all occupied with their screens. It’s just so easy to let them sink into the games, and the videos. Screen time drastically reduces arguing.
But it also drastically reduces imagination, bonding, interaction, and basic togetherness.
Sometimes I feel completely oppressed by electronics. I feel like I’m in a war zone. I’m charging up the banks of Normandy with a water gun in my hand.
I’m losing the battle.
And I’m not innocent in the matter. I’m as drawn to the screen as the rest of my people. It’s always there, begging me to pop it open, to check the news, Facebook, Instagram, email.
Everything is waiting for me, and it’s so easy to get pulled in. No wonder the children enjoy it so much. It requires so little of them. And it requires so little of me.
As moms, we’re constantly told to pick and choose our battles. Know when to fight, and know when to let things go. This maintains a healthy balance inside the home, and I fully and wholeheartedly embrace that wisdom.
But the fight against electronics is not one I want to lose.
We simply must teach our children the art of balance. In a world that’s growing increasingly more isolated, despite the many, many ways to remain connected, it’s not worth it to me to throw in the towel. It’s a battle worth fighting, even on the days when I don’t feel like fighting it.
[Tweet “Limiting kid’s screen time is a battle worth fighting.”]
But it’s hard, this battle we’re fighting as parents. And maybe you feel beaten down by it all like I do. Can I offer a challenge?
Put the screens away.
How will this look for your family?
A couple of years ago, Lee and I instituted ‘No TV during the school week’. It’s a good rule. It eliminates at least one temptation daily. But sometimes (most of the time?) I feel like it’s not enough. Because the PlayStation, the iPhones, the computer – they’re all there waiting for little eyes to latch on.
So what will we do?
I’m not sure yet. I’m chewing on it. But as we head into the Christmas season, I do know that I’m feeling so battle weary. We could all use a break from the war. Perhaps, we could even learn to be in the same room together joyfully, without electronics occupying us.
Because I’m tired of being alone together with my family.
How do you combat in the electronic battle? What rules do you have in place to keep your family from being overrun by screens? I’m up for suggestions!
It’s 5:30, and I am up early, tapping away at my computer long before the sun rises. This is the only time my house is quiet, but it’s grown increasingly difficult for me to get up at this time, because when my house is quiet I WANT TO SLEEP!
We’ve officially been in the crazy time of life for a couple of years now, but I feel like it’s all starting to swirl together and crash on top of me. Between soccer and gymnastics, homeschool and middle school, and the active (dare I say ornery?) toddler in the midst of it all, most days I barely have time to catch my breath.
We jump from one activity to the next, and we don’t stop jumping until the house silences again at night, and I look around and wonder how on earth it’s already bedtime again, and have I had any water today? What about any real food? Did I eat an actual meal, or simply graze the half eaten plates of the tiny people all day?
I CANNOT REMEMBER!
When we brought our first born home from the hospital, I felt the confidence that only comes from inexperience. I immediately got him on a schedule, and felt such pride at my Mom-ing abilities.
Yes – I just used “Mom” as a verb. It’s the most active thing a woman could do, so it only makes sense. Frankly, I can’t believe we haven’t officially made it a verb before now.
When Sloan was around 18 months old, I remember noticing the first chink in my mom armor. My angelic little toe-headed cherub didn’t seem to want to follow my directions anymore. He had a will, a strong one, and it was all his own. It was at this point that I lamented my loss of daily freedoms.
“I’m just so busy!” I wailed to my husband one evening after a particularly rough day of Mom-ing. “The only free time I have are the three hours he’s sleeping in the afternoon, and then the rest of the day I’m at his beck and call.”
I think back to that younger version of me – sweet little fresh-faced girl who felt certain her life was being swallowed up by her baby. I want to give her a hug…and maybe a little chocolate. I want to whisper in her ear that she will never have so much time to herself again.
It is now twelve years, and three more babies later. Gone are those three hours stretches of alone time in the afternoons. Gone are the early bedtimes and precious evenings alone with my husband. This house is filled with noise and chaos. It’s always dirty.
Always.
I eek out slivers of stolen moments here and there throughout the day. I grossly underestimate how much I can actually accomplish on a daily basis, and am constantly overcommitting myself, because I still forget that Mom-ing four kids takes every waking moment of the day.
In the midst of it all, I wonder if I’m doing okay. Did I do the right thing yesterday? Did I feed them any vegetables? Fruit? Meat? Tell me they didn’t just eat bread and candy.
Mom-ing is hard.
Most days I’m sort of feeling my way through the dark, but I’ve convinced myself of one very important thing:
At the end of the day, if I can tally up a few shared moments of laughter, and obvious displays of love, then I did alright.
Last week, I took the kids to the beach during a day off school. As we made our way down the road that leads to our favorite stretch of sand, Sloan put on Lacrae, rolled down the windows, and messed with the sound settings until he had the bass pumped at full volume.
Shrieks of delighted laughter floated up and out of my pumpin’ minivan as we literally rattled the windows of the cars next to us. The kids rapped and I laughed, and people definitely stared, but who cares. Because I was Mom-ing the heck out of that one moment.
Moms, you’re feeling buried under the weight of it all. I know that you are. Maybe some of you have some silence built into your days as kids go to school, or young ones take naps. Or maybe, like me, the only silence you’re offered is in the dark hours of the early mornings.
Either way, I know it’s a lot. Mom-ing takes all of us, and so I want you to know that I see you, and I offer this encouragement:
Roll down the windows of your (smokin’ hot) minivan. Fling open the doors of your home, and put on a little Lecrae. Rattle the windows with your pumping bass, and let the world know that despite the insanity and never ending to-do list, you are Mom-ing the heck out of life.
[Tweet “Pump the bass, and let the world know you’re Mom-ing the heck out of this life. #momlikeaboss”]
Find moments of each day for laughter, and dole out as many hugs and kisses as you’re allowed. And when your head finally hits the pillow at the end of the day, whisper into the blessed silence, “I Mom’ed like a boss today.”
I’ve been her mom for 365 days. I’ve been looking at her face, memorizing it daily, locking up all the unique nuances that make her so special for one year. When I close my eyes, I can see her perfectly. I hear her voice, the way she jabbers constantly. She sounds like a turkey half the time, and I know the words.
I know when she’s fussing at me, and when she’s just trying to communicate.
I know that she reserves her smiles for only those times when they are warranted and deserved. She won’t just give a smile away, and she’s endearing for it.
I know her laugh, the way it gets stuck in her throat and comes out a tangled mess of joy.
I know when she’s excited, the way her mouth forms a perfect ‘O’ and her feet kick in anticipation.
I know that she doesn’t care for most foods unless they are fruits. And cake, apparently.
I know that she prefers being awake to sleeping.
I know that she lights up when her big brother comes into the room. He’s her protector, I can already tell.
I know that she gives her sister knowing smiles, like they already share a secret to which the rest of us will never be privy.
I know that her other brother, the one who used to be baby until she came along, is her very favorite playmate.
I’ve learned a lot in 365 days. I’ve found that our family is better as a unit of six. I’ve found that I’m stronger and more capable than I thought as I managed this household with a traveling husband and no grandparents around to help out.
I’ve learned that I really prefer to have grandparents around to help.
I’ve learned that having a baby with older kids is quite lovely. Everyone should try it. *wink*
And above all that I’ve found in these 365 days that I just cannot imagine life without her.
Today we celebrate Annika, and the joy that it is to calls her ours.
Life is very full these days. From sun up to sun down, each moment of my day is parceled out in not so generous sums, and I’m slowly working my way to next Thursday when I will release all the strain, shut my eyes, and sleep for four whole days.
Lee and I leave next week for a much needed getaway. We’ve both been under pressure, me with two major book deadlines, and him with a hefty travel schedule. And in between all that we have these four little people who offer heaps of patience and grace (well, three of the four are offering patience. The baby is terribly demanding…).
And so it is that I stumble through each day, moving from one task to the next with little time to stop in between. This has, naturally, led to a bit of distraction, upon which my kids have capitalized and exploited in the most unfair of ways.
It seems they’ve grown quite thrilled with their ability to scare me. Normally it’s not that easy to make me jump because they’re loud, and they’re not really that good at waiting quietly in the shadows. Little giggles give them away, and so I’m usually prepared for their delighted BOO! I feign shock, and we all laugh.
HA HA HA!
But two things have occurred in the last few weeks: The first is the above mentioned distraction, which has left me vulnerable to attack. I’m all caught up inside my head, constantly sifting through all the thoughts that bounce around inside my overworked brain.
The second is that these kids of mine have become somewhat adept at hiding. I should be proud because they’ve really upped their game. But lately I find myself mumbling each time I round a corner, “If one of you jumps out at me I’m going to drop kick you into tomorrow.”
Mad parenting skillz.
This little game of scare-the-pants-off-mom rose to a whole new level last week when Lee was out of town. After a long day, I put the kids to bed then headed to my bedroom where I spent an hour after bedtime cleaning up, trying to find my floor under all the clothes that had buried it.
Around 10:00, I made my way to the kitchen to grab a drink before closing down the house for the night. Just as I rounded the corner, Sloan stepped out from the shadows with a whispered, “Hey there!”
Friends, I’m not a cuss word kind of girl. In general four letter words do not fit very nicely on my tongue, so I don’t often say them save for very rare occasions. This was one such occasion.
I swung my fist through the air and yelped “AAAAAHHH – Whaaaaaat the H$#@!”
This was the moment that Sloan slid to the floor in laughter while I clutched my chest to make sure my heart started beating again.
WHY WAS HE NOT IN BED?!
WHY DID HE DO THAT?!
WHAT IS WRONG WITH THAT CHILD?!
These are questions left unanswered. And honestly, I blame his father for everything that is wrong with him, and all the other ones like him.
“Oooooh my gosh, that was SO funny, Mom!” Sloan squealed, rolling on the floor. He sat up and wiped his eyes. “I mean, I literally scared the H-E-L-L out of you!” he laughed.
I tried to brush it off and be all, “Well, I mean ‘Hell’ isn’t really a bad word. It’s a place. A place. It’s a noun, cause it’s a place!”
“Not the way you used it,” he said, cackling now.
Ha.Ha.Ha.Haaaaaaaaaaaa……
Since that day, it appears that the kids are on a quest to make my life a living H-E-L-L by jumping out at me at all times during the day, forcing me to prepare myself each and every time I round a corner. People of the world, I do not have time for these shenanigans!
This morning I got up early and let the dog outside. As I walked back into the house, Landon stepped from behind the curtains. “Hello,” he rasped in his little morning voice, and I screamed bloody murder. It’s really a testament to my INSANE self control that I didn’t end up punching him in the tiny little freckled nose.
He, of course, fell over laughing, then stood back up and wiped his eyes.
“Aw, man,” he said. “I thought I was gonna get you to say the “H” word again. Or maybe even the “SH” word this time.”
Join me next week for my online seminar: How to Be an Awesome Mom in Two Easy Steps.
Be aware that if you see me in public, and I appear to have a nervous tic, it’s because life and my psycho children are all conspiring to make sure I end up in an early grave.
