Core Truths

One night this past week our six-year-old showed up to our bedroom door at 4:00 in the morning.  You know how this is going to turn out… “Mom….Mom….” “Yes? Huh? What?” “I threw up in my bed.” Of course you did. I immediately jumped up out of bed, flicked on a lamp, got her into my bathroom, and got the shower turned on.  I pulled her out of her yucky pajamas, tried to keep her contaminated hair out of her face, and then got her into the shower.  I made sure to keep the door to our bedroom closed as to not wake up my hubby whose alarm would be going off in just a couple of hours for work.  I stayed with her for several minutes to make sure she felt ok and had everything she needed to take care of herself.  My next thought was to creep out of the bathroom while she was showering so I could go strip her bed and get everything into the wash. Amid all this craziness, I was reminded of a piece of marriage advice I like to give.  Well, may...

Then there was that time cleaning the kitchen tried to kill me. Ok, maybe that is being a bit dramatic, but the whole ordeal was one of the more traumatic experiences of my life. Ok, maybe that is a bit dramatic as well.   It all started several weeks ago when I was “ tidying up .” You know, KonMari style. Although it ended up being more like “If You Give a Mouse a Cookie” style than anything else.   I followed all the KonMari Method rules: I started with my clothes then kids’ clothes, then toys, then books, then bathrooms, then personal items, then pantry, then kitchen, then cleaning the oven.  Ok, cleaning the oven isn’t necessarily on the KonMari list, but I was on such a roll, why stop? That’s when it happened.  I will tell you, the event itself really isn’t the moral of this story, in fact, it isn’t even the climax.  The real kicker here is what I learned from this one small freak accident. So there I was, cleaning the oven.  N...

I have already shared about my “ inside voice ” and how it keeps me from saying things aloud when they are better off kept quiet.  But there is another voice inside my head, one that I have to be very careful whether I will listen to or not. I remember there was this little song we would sing at VBS when we were kids.  It was something like, “Be careful little eyes what you see” and “Be careful little feet where you go” and “Be careful little words what you say.” I would like to add on to that last part…what I think it should say is “Be careful little words what you say…to YOURSELF!”   I think there is a great deal of importance put on the things we say to others.  We grow up being told to be nice, if you can’t say anything nice then don’t say anything at all, and words hurt.  As kids, anytime we would say something mean or unkind to someone else we would be scolded and told to apologize to the other person.  That’s all good stuff and all valua...

As a parent, I get asked a lot of questions.  Like so many.  Nonstop.  It’s all the time questions.  I feel like for the most part I do a pretty good job of listening and answering and listening and answering and listening and answering.  The questions come in all shapes and sizes: Where are my socks? Do we have any crackers? Can you bring me a towel? Can I sit in the front seat? Can you wake me up early? Have you seen my charger? When are we leaving? Does she have to come with us? Can my friend come home with me? When are you washing clothes? Where is my uniform?  So. Many. Questions. But in all honesty, I can handle these questions, no problem.  There is only one—one question—that is like the mother of all questions. The one that I just never want to hear and that I really never know what to do with.   “What’s for dinner?” AAAAGGGHHH! That one question gets me every single time.  I know it’s coming, I know they are going to...