5 ways the enneagram has helped me grow

The enneagram, everyone’s current personality test obsession, has swept my social circles by storm, so I’m assuming you’ve probably encountered it, too. People either go crazy over it or roll their eyes at it—hungry for more information or resistant to the idea of being assigned a number and feeling boxed into a “type.”

I have personally gained much from learning about the enneagram. I don’t find it restrictive at all, and it’s provided a lot of freedom through self-awareness for me. I do think it can turn into more of a surface-level game of “What type do you think ____ is?” or a self-centered obsession, but if viewed as a tool for deep personal, relational and spiritual growth, the enneagram is incredibly helpful.

5 ways the enneagram has helped me grow

1. Self-awareness. Because the enneagram provides detailed descriptions of various levels of health for each type, I’ve learned so much about myself and what it looks like to be a healthy version of me vs. what I can watch for when I start treading into unhealthy territory. I just wrote the description of my type below and am amazed at how easy it was for me to type out lots of things I LOVE about myself in addition to those warning signs that tell me I’m not in a great place. When I start seeing those unhealthy traits come out, it’s time for some serious prayer, reflection and change.

I’m a Type 2, “The Helper.” 2s are warm, friendly, interpersonal, bold and… helpful! We live for coffee dates with friends, being the person our friends call for advice and assisting people in leadership roles to make things happen. A 2 will literally drop whatever we are doing to help a friend, and we feel incredibly honored when people feel close enough to us to ask for help. We make great assistants and confidants, but aren’t afraid to speak our minds or take the lead when we feel it is necessary. Authenticity is VERY important to 2s. As long as we feel someone is being genuine, we trust easily and love unconditionally. We thrive on affirmation—receiving AND giving it. If you ever need to be encouraged, find your nearest 2!

The dark side of the 2 is that we often derive our self-worth from being needed, which can create some really unhealthy, codependent habits in relationships. Unhealthy 2s can become workaholics (when our jobs are people-focused… watch out, 2s in any type of ministry or helping profession!), have trouble setting boundaries and often experience burnout as a result. We can be overbearing and bossy. 2s can fall into the trap of thinking they can win someone they admire’s friendship by helping them rather than allowing a natural friendship to develop. We tend to give advice or state our opinion (in the name of “helping”), while in reality people just want someone to listen to them and show empathy instead of jumping in to fix their problems. We can spiral into depression or rage when we feel we have given more than we are receiving, and rejection or criticism is crushing.

2. An end to the comparison struggle. I am so serious right now. My entire life I have always zeroed in on another person I wish I was more like. This is so serious that I could list people off to you going back to high school. It’s usually the strong, quiet-but-not-shy type who stays in their lane and is organized, responsible and consistent (Type 9s, probably). OR the crazy fun, spontaneous, cool girl who everyone just gravitates toward and loves to be around (Type 7s, definitely). AKA NOT ME. Not who God created me to be.

Understanding the enneagram has helped me get over this craziness. God made me a Type 2. It is SO FREEING to realize I was just not made to be a Type 7 or a 9. I was made to be the healthiest Type 2 I can be. So instead of focusing on another person’s strengths and wishing I had them, I can chalk it up to different types and call it a day! AND a bonus—I’ve realized many of the women I look up to as role models who make me feel like there is hope for me……. they are older, wiser Type 2s! How amazing!

3. Marriage. My husband isn’t really into the enneagram, but it has helped me understand his needs in a whole new way. He’s a Type 5, and I once read about 5s that while the rest of us begin our day at 100 percent battery life for social situations, Type 5s start at 25 percent. No wonder he’s always sneaking away for a nap at family gatherings! Studying my husband’s type has allowed me to accept some things I struggled to understand about his personality, and it’s helped us have some productive discussions about ways we can love each other better. I’ve also loved listening to podcasts about 5s and hearing all the positive traits and thinking “Oh my gosh, yes. Yes. That is why I love this man.” My favorite? A 5 NEVER uses emotions to manipulate people. Ever. So what they say is 100 percent honest all the time—his compliments are rare, but they are always tearjerkers because they’re so incredibly genuine. Also, Scott is my own personal Google because he knows a little bit about everything.

4. Work. Work relationships are often some of the hardest to navigate. Oh, how I wish I’d known about the enneagram in some of my previous work situations! I think it’s obvious by now how this could really impact work—knowing your coworkers’ Types and what they need to thrive, in addition to what shuts them down or gets on their nerves, really helps create a culture of openness and an all-around more harmonious work environment.

5. Appreciation of others’ strengths. When I was so busy comparing myself to others, appreciating their strengths and celebrating them felt too vulnerable. Like if everyone LOVES that about them and I’m not like that, then everyone must not love me. Gracious, that is VERY unhealthy. These days, I can marvel at others’ abilities instead of envy them. Here’s my favorite thing about each type that I haven’t already mentioned:

Type 1 | The Reformer | I love how Type 1s see details that others miss. They have tons of integrity and really just want to do every task to the VERY best of their ability. They don’t let anything fall through the cracks and are super responsible.

Type 3 | The Achiever | Type 3s are so driven and motivating. They are amazing in a work environment! If you’re on a team with a Type 3, they are going to lead well and inspire everyone around them to work hard to achieve a common goal.

Type 4 | The Individualist | Type 4s, please tell me all the cool bands I need to listen to and the best coffee shop in town! (((And someone please introduce me to more 4s because I don’t know many so my favorite thing for them stinks!)))

Type 6 | The Loyalist | So many of my best friends are 6s. My favorite thing about 6s is their unconditional love. A 6 scopes you out, decides you are trustworthy… and then you have a friend for LIFE. It does not matter what you do… the 6 will love you through it. They would take a bullet for their people, but also aren’t afraid to have hard conversations. The 6s in my life are the best initiators I know and make this 2 feel so loved and appreciated.

Type 7 | The Enthusiast | I just have a huge crush on 7s. I just think they are so cool and fun. Bob Goff is a 7 so there is that.

Type 8 | The Challenger | I love the directness and boldness of 8s. If an 8 is passionate about something, you will hear about it, and their strong, confident words will cause you to think and pray. I love how 8s are not afraid to say what needs to be said.

Type 9 | The Peacemaker | One of my very favorite friends is a Type 9. She is so easy to love and is always there for me. We can go a month without talking and then just pick up where we left off. 9s are amazing, low-maintenance friends who don’t get offended easily. LOVE THEM.

So there it is, people… My appreciation for the enneagram! What type are you? Any 4s out there? I really need to meet some 4s!

 

 

A Foodie’s Guide to Whole30

I’ve been eyeing Whole30 for a couple of years now, intrigued by the extreme nature of it and the stories I’d heard about discovering foods that trigger bad reactions, energy levels soaring, ailments suddenly disappearing, etc. And… I honestly just wanted to see if I could do it! Pregnancy and breastfeeding prevented me from attempting Whole30 for about two years, but after heavily feasting on every carb and sweet treat imaginable over the Christmas holidays, I was feeling bleh and decided to jump in for January 2019.

I was a little concerned about the “Whole30” recipes I was finding. We cook A LOT and we LOVE to eat. Some folks eat because they have to. When someone asks me what I do for fun, my answer is, “Cook. Eat.” I LOVE FOOD.

So I’m just really not interested in zucchini noodles and fake cheese made of cashews, you know? I like cheese and pasta, and I plan to continue eating cheese and pasta after this 30-day reset is over. So what’s a foodie to do for Whole30?

Not interested:

 

Here’s what has worked for us.

-Look at your normal go-to recipes and make modifications that make the recipe compliant. A TON of the recipes I already love to cook (most from Milk Street Magazine) are ALMOST Whole30 compliant. Take out a teaspoon of sugar, swap soy sauce for coconut aminos use cauliflower rice instead of regular… and voila! A familiar recipe turned Whole30.

One of our favorite recipes, stir fried chicken with snap peas and basil, just needed 1 tablespoon white sugar omitted.

-Make some sauces in advance: homemade mayo, sriracha if you are addicted to it like me, balsamic reduction, ghee, etc.

-Good olive oil. Essential. We get this Shoreline olive oil from the Food Pak in Mobile and have our tins refilled. It is really good oil AND it’s such a fun process.

Olive oil refilling.

-Roast vegetables in advance and heat them up when you’re ready to eat. This makes life so easy and delicious. Here’s a handy roasting guide I found in our Milk Street magazine that has changed my life forever! If you’re someone who is weird about leftovers or anything that feels like leftovers, I cannot help you. 😉

-On that same note, roast a TON of sweet potatoes whole when you’re doing the rest of your veggies. Scrub each potato, place on foil, poke a few holes, sprinkle generously with kosher salt and drizzle with good olive oil. Wrap in foil and put in the top rack of the oven. Leave them in throughout the duration of cooking your other veggies and then leave them for another 30 minutes or so after you turn the oven off. Sweet potatoes need to roast FOREVER to be delicious. Like, at least 45 minutes to an hour at 500 degrees, plus oven cool down time. Poke with a fork and there should be ZERO resistance. I PROMISE this will be amazing.

-Make a big portion of meat like a Boston butt, whole roasted chickens, etc. to go with your veggies for easy meals. Pull out meat. Pull out veggies. Microwave. Dinner is served!

-Have the same thing for breakfast every weekday. Save creativity for Saturdays. We do this normally anyway, so it wasn’t a huge mindset shift. When not Whole30-ing, we have yogurt and fruit along with an open-faced sandwich—a slice of Dave’s Killer Bread with cheese and 2 scrambled eggs on top. For Whole30, We have been mashing up half a roasted sweet potato (the skin slides right off and it mashes effortlessly) with ghee or olive oil and 2 fried eggs on top. Balsamic reduction drizzled on top if you’re feeling fancy. Fruit on the side.

-Make a big portion of tuna salad, chicken salad, egg roll in a bowl or whatever else for lunch and have it ready to go. Eat the first two as a salad or lettuce wraps with avocado to really fill up. You will fail if you have to make yourself lunch every day. Leftovers/prepping ahead is life.

–Homemade Larabars when you just need an easy snack or are feeling hungry between meals!! Find these baking dates (I get them at the Food Pak) and you can skip the whole soaking your dates in water step. They literally take 10 minutes or less. I’ve found putting them in cupcake liners helps make them a little more to-go friendly.

-Speaking of hunger, I decided at the beginning of this I was not ever gonna be hungry. I do not like to be hungry and this is not a diet. I eat whenever the heck I feel like it and I eat however much I want to. I’ve found I need to eat a lot more food on Whole30 as well as eat a lot more often (like 3 meals plus 3 substantial snacks plus some fruit here and there every day) to avoid the hanger.

-If you like kombucha, lots of GT Dave’s flavors are compliant. YAS.

-Cauliflower rice. It really is pretty good and you can buy it in the frozen section.

-Already peeled garlic and other shortcuts. With all this food prep, I need all the shortcuts I can get.

-Spices to have on hand: cumin, coriander, mustard powder, turmeric, smoked paprika, kosher salt, black pepper. Again, the Food Pak is where we purchase all of our spices!

-The Prepear app! It is sooooo helpful for recipe collection, meal planning and grocery lists! And free.

Overall, I have really enjoyed Whole30. Honestly the thing I’ve struggled with most is not being able to have my nightly ramekin of ice cream. And tacos.

 

 

 

 

A mother of a month

I know this blog post has been written 8 million times by mommy bloggers across the globe, but I’m not trying to be a mommy blogger; I’m just processing. 😉

I never knew the depths of love and joy I was capable of experiencing before becoming a mother. I also never knew the depths of fear, shame, guilt and anxiety that constantly mingle with the euphoria and pride you feel for this tiny little thing who grew from nothing inside your womb into a real person with a spirit, feelings, needs, a unique personality… and the propensity to get hurt, sick or damaged in so many ways.

The past month has been one sickness or accident after another at our house. Five day fever virus. Dog scratch that ended with stitches and antibiotics. And now, a nasty sinus and ear infection with more antibiotics. I’ve taken her temperature and watched it go up to 103.8 and rushed her to the tub to cool her down. I’ve held her down while a doctor stuck a sharp metal point in her perfect little face to stitch up a wound caused by 30 seconds of negligence. I’ve wiped crusty snot from her eyes and nose approximately 879 this week while she flailed and screamed. I’ve squirted nasty tasting antibiotics that give her horrible side effects down her throat, finished them and then received news that we’d have to do it again for 10 more days. I’ve worried whether doing antibiotics again is going to mess her gut up forever and give her IBS or candida overgrowth something while also desperately wanting her to feel better. It’s no wonder I spontaneously burst into tears during bath time tonight and again while I prayed over her while she nursed. I cannot even process what it must be like for mamas who have a child with ACTUAL medical issues.

The past month is the first time I’ve truly felt the weight of the responsibility side of this parent/child relationship. You really can’t fully experience the joy of ANY relationship without also going through some pain eventually. It’s just a fact of life. In motherhood, that truth seems to be intensified by a billion. When my husband is hurting, I empathize with him and truly do feel bad FOR him, but it’s not MY pain. It’s not MY responsibility—I serve as a support for him until he works through it, but at the end of the day, he is an adult and makes his own decisions and is responsible for his own feelings.

But with my daughter, her pain is my pain. I hurt WITH her. She is 100 percent dependent on her daddy and me to care for her. Because I’m the primary parent during the day-to-day stuff, I think I feel the weight of this more heavily. I am her advocate, her protector, her nurse, her caretaker. I decide when she eats and what she eats. What she wears. If she consumes media. Who takes care of her if we can’t. When she goes to the doctor and when she gets medication. What time she goes to bed. Everything in her life is decided for her… by her parents. And of course, there are SO MANY opinions, books and blogs out there with contradicting information. Some days, like today (obviously), the self-doubt I feel when pondering whether we’re making the right decisions for this human we love more than life itself is crippling.

Then, OF COURSE, I start thinking about the social/emotional/spiritual impact I’ll have on my child and how hard I’ve been trying since she was born to be the one parent in the history of the world to not damage my child in some way. 😉 😉 Should I be working? If I’m going to work should I get childcare so I’m not constantly frustrated about not being able to get work done while also feeling guilty that she isn’t getting my full attention? I’m on my phone/computer too much. Am I being intentional enough about teaching her things? Do we read enough books? Is it bad the lullaby I sing to her is a Beatles song and not Jesus Loves Me? She still wakes up three times a night—WHAT THE HECK am I doing wrong?

Most days these thoughts aren’t at the forefront of my mind. But they’re always simmering under the surface, aren’t they, mamas? And on a day like today when I’ve reached my breaking point, the dam busts wide open and all these insecurities and fears come flooding into my mind at once. After I hit “publish,” I’ll dig into my Bible, pray, do some yoga and eat some Ben & Jerry’s, and all will be well. But I wanted to share this moment with you because I don’t think this side of motherhood is discussed enough. It’s glamorized on social media, and then when we have these seasons that aren’t AMAZING, we wonder if we’re the only one. I know I’m not the only one, and I’m confident enough to let you peek into my brain so you’ll know you’re not alone.

“There is nothing in nature that blooms all year long. So don’t expect yourself to do so either.” Or, if you prefer a Scripture reference, “The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.”

It was a hard day. It’s been a hard month. I cried. I wrote. I feel better. Back to blooming. New mercies tomorrow. ❤

 

 

 

 

 

Love letter

I’m no trophy wife, and you’re not romantic. It annoys me that it annoys you that I can’t figure out how to fold your socks correctly. So I don’t fold your socks, because that’s how I roll. I disappear into my phone when you’re driving, even when you’ve asked me not to so many times.

We’re not perfect, you and I.

But God, I love you. I love you to the end of me.

There are no superficial physical boundaries between us—no gas too smelly or morning breath too gross to change the way we see each other. The stretch marks I have all over my body after having your baby don’t seem to bother you. I don’t care when you pick your nose in front of me or when you stink after a workout. It’s like we are two parts of one person, completely at ease, completely familiar, completely accepting.

But you still find ways to surprise me and impress me after all these years. I am still learning you, still uncovering parts of your personality. We’re growing and changing, and we’ll never stop discovering one another. Big, tearful realizations after long talks and tiny, unspoken details like the way your hair curls in the front now that it’s cut short or how you don’t like too much jelly on your PB&J.

I’ll never stop cheering for you. We are each other’s sounding boards. We are each other’s career coaches and confidants. You have all the answers to my random questions—my own personal Google. I trust you infinitely.

I guess all that is why I had such a big lump in my throat when we went to the concert and heard that song for the first time—

“It’s knowing that this can’t go on forever
Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone
Maybe we’ll get forty years together
But one day I’ll be gone or one day you’ll be gone”

We looked at each other in the dim light and I just didn’t have the words. You didn’t either, I could tell. Finally, you made a joke: “Yep, I’m dying first.”

Our running fake argument.

“How many times have we discussed this—I cannot possibly take care of myself without you. You’re the responsible adult. I’m definitely dying first.”

I don’t know what either of us will do. But I’ll cherish these days while we have them. I’ll do my best to be present in each moment and not waste this gift.

“If we were vampires and death was a joke
We’d go out on the sidewalk and smoke
And laugh at all the lovers and their plans
I wouldn’t feel the need to hold your hand

Maybe time running out is a gift
I’ll work hard ’til the end of my shift
And give you every second I can find
And hope it isn’t me who’s left behind”

Julia Clair Gentry {12.1.17}

 

For most of my life, pregnancy, labor and infants were something I feared—a means to the end of becoming a mom to what would one day become a walking, talking, interactive human. The pain! The risk! The screaming baby! Leaky boobs! The sleep deprivation! The loss of freedom! How would I survive?

Then at 28, everything changed. Scott and I fostered two little girls for 7 months. Caring for those two little girls is so intricately tied to my identity as a mom that I can’t tell Julia’s birth story without mentioning how it completely shifted my mindset, perspective and even my personality. He used those girls to transform a selfish, immature, insecure young woman into a confident, content and grateful mama. Pregnancy, birth and this first month of parenthood would have been so different without the lessons God taught us through those girls. I am eternally grateful for them and for God’s sovereign hand in our story.

Our lifestyle had already adjusted to parenthood through fostering (social life and other out-of-home obligations…bye Felicia!), so in June when the girls left to reunite with family, we were able to spend tons of time preparing for Julia while also reconnecting with each other after our placement. Scott and I spent so much time in our home from June to December that being cooped up with a newborn this month (flu season!) has not felt restrictive at all. I remember a time when we spent almost every evening out of the house with friends, volunteering or attending a church event. We were so busy, always searching for connection and fulfillment outside our home and outside of each other (I should be transparent here and say I was 100 percent the driving force of all this busyness. Scott is, and always has been, a super content and confident guy). During foster care and pregnancy, I learned to treasure a slower pace and a quieter life, and I truly believe it made all the difference. I also lost my job in November, and that turned out to be a huge blessing! I am so thankful for the simple rhythm we have settled into that has allowed us to make space in our lives and hearts for our little girl. Slowing down and simplifying to prepare for and anticipate our baby was such a gift.

All that to say, I was incredibly blessed to enter into labor and delivery in a very good place physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually because of the time we were able to set aside to prepare for Julia’s arrival. I know that this isn’t everyone’s story and couldn’t possibly be. However, I feel the need to document and share the goodness of God in our lives—my hope is that by being a positive voice about pregnancy, birth and motherhood, I might provide some comfort and confidence to someone who is anxious about the whole thing like I was for YEARS.

The way we anticipate and prepare for something can influence the way it turns out. Why not believe birth is a beautiful thing God created us to do and see it as a “get to” rather than a “have to?”

“Whether you believe you can do a thing or not, you are right.” —Henry Ford 

DISCLAIMER: The rest of this post contains a birth story, which involves details about birth. If that grosses you out, don’t continue! 😉

December 1, 2017, 2:30 a.m. · 40 weeks, 3 days gestation

I woke up with a contraction. It was not intensely painful, but strong enough to wake me up. I laid in bed for a few minutes and another one came. I got out of bed and started drinking a glass of water and walking around a little bit. For the next couple hours, I read articles on my phone and had random contractions. I wanted to make sure I was truly in labor before waking up my sleep-loving husband.

4:30 a.m.

I woke Scott up to let him know I was in labor. My contractions had become more regular and closer together—about 7 minutes apart and lasting 45 to 60 seconds each. They still weren’t intense, but I was more comfortable standing up and started having to focus through them.

5:15 a.m.

I texted our doula, Jennifer, to let her know contractions were 5-7 minutes apart and 45 seconds long. I really thought we’d head to the hospital by 7 a.m., but Jennifer encouraged me to hang out at home until contractions were consistently less than 5 minutes apart. I told her I’d let her know when we wanted her to come to the house to help us through contractions.

6:30 a.m.

Contractions began to get more intense, but hovered at 5-7 minutes apart and 45 seconds long. I started getting more tired in between each one and propped up some pillows on either side of me so I could fully relax between contractions. Every few minutes, I would have a less intense contraction that only lasted about 20 seconds. We passed the time by watching several episodes of The Office!

8:30 a.m.

I wanted a change of scenery and was no longer in the mood to watch TV, so we moved to the nursery. I used the rocking chair to get through several contractions. The downward motion of the rocking felt really good. By this time I realized that for a 45 second contraction, you only have to focus and work for about 25 seconds—contractions are like a bell curve and have a peak of intensity in the middle. I worked really hard to maintain a positive attitude and said to myself and out loud that I could do ANYTHING for 45 seconds. I thought about interval training during running or HIIT workouts, when you force yourself to work hard for an interval and then rest for an interval. Or when you have a stomach bug and you feel pretty good in between waves of nausea. I obviously have had a few stomach bugs in my lifetime… ha. I loved that I got several minutes to rest between contractions—what a gift that the painful part is much shorter than the periods of rest!

11 a.m.

Jennifer arrived to try and help us get labor going. I was still having 45 second contractions every 5-7 minutes, and when she checked me, I was 4 cm dilated (I was 3 cm at my doctor’s appointment the Tuesday before, so this was not a ton of progress in 8 hours). Jennifer suggested we take a walk around the block, so the three of us left the house to get some fresh air—me in my floral labor dress stopping every few minutes to cling to a tree as I endured a contraction, Scott in normal clothes and Jennifer in her scrubs. We were a sight to be had, I’m sure. After the first time around the block, Jennifer went inside while Scott and I took a second lap. We ran into a neighbor as he was getting out of his car. “I’m in labor!!!!” “What? Cool! That’s so exciting! Congrats, guys!” We stopped to pet the friendly cats who live around the corner, which was a treat because I love kitties. 😉

12 p.m.

Labor had not really progressed, so we tried several different positions to find what was most comfortable for me. Sitting or laying down was NOT an option at this point. I was laying on the bed resting when I felt a contraction coming, and I didn’t get up in time. Once it begins, its impossible to get up, so I had to ride it out laying down. That was the first and last time I laid down through a contraction! I also tried leaning over the labor ball and bouncing on the labor ball. Neither of those were as comfortable as standing up. I worked through most of my contractions grabbing onto the side of Julia’s crib or dresser.

When they got more intense, I wrapped my arms around Scott, and he and Jennifer coached me through each one with the most encouraging words! I remember Jennifer telling me to picture my cervix opening up like a flower and to imagine the baby getting lower and lower. She also told me that each contraction was productive and was bringing us closer to meeting our baby—and one less I had to get through! At some point I also started utilizing deep vocalization (basically making an “uhhhhhhhhh” sound in the deepest possible register), which was AMAZING. Something about the vibration of my voice, the distraction of doing something else with my body and the way it forced my muscles to relax helped immensely.

1:30 p.m.

My family arrived! This was an unexpected, but meaningful twist. I texted them early in the morning when I naively thought we’d have a baby, or at least be at the hospital, in just a few hours. My mom, stepdad and sister hopped in the car and started the 5-hour trip immediately. When they arrived, I was still in good spirits between contractions, but definitely having to focus during them to get through each one. I’m so glad my family got to witness a little bit of labor with us. Contractions were about 5 minutes apart and lasting 60 seconds at this point.

2:30 p.m. (12 hours in labor)

Jennifer asked if I’d like to try applying the essential oil Clary Sage to my feet to get things going a little faster. I said yes.

3 p.m.

Scott’s parents stopped by just to give us a hug. They had been in the area for several hours waiting for the word to head to the hospital and just couldn’t wait anymore to check in on us. Things were getting REAL at this point, and my contractions were about a minute and a half long and 5 minutes apart (the Clary Sage worked!), so I don’t even really remember them getting there. I started feeling the baby drop even lower and thought it was about time to go to the hospital. During a pretty intense contraction, I felt a tiny pop and some moisture in my undies. I thought my water might have broken, so I went to the bathroom to check. It was a tiny bit of blood. Jennifer said this was a good sign of progress and offered to check me again. When she did, I saw her eyes get big and she said, “OK, you’re past 6 cm; I think it’s time to go ahead and go!” She told me later I was already at least 8 cm dilated! We were all surprised, because I should’ve been in a worse mood and my contractions should’ve been closer together by this time!

3:15 p.m.

We got in the car to head to the hospital, which is about a 10 minute drive in normal traffic and 15-20 during the after school rush. Having to sit down in the car through six contractions in 15 minutes was super painful, but the adrenaline of the moment and Scott’s encouraging words carried me through. I called my doctor’s office to let them know we were headed to the hospital and asked if they’d let my doctor know I was going to have this baby soon!

When we arrived at the hospital, there was a man and woman standing at the ER desk. The man took a look at me and said “She needs to go first!” We got checked in quickly and the security guard got me a wheelchair. I didn’t want to sit down during contractions, but you have to be wheeled in for liability purposes, I guess. A nurse came down and wheeled us into the tiny elevator.I  had a contraction in the elevator, and for the first time, felt the urge to push. The nurse told me not to, for obvious reasons.

When we got to the room, Jennifer got her diffuser going with lavender and ylang ylang, and the nurses busily accomplished all their tasks in between contractions—they checked baby’s heart rate, checked my blood pressure, put in a hep-lock in case IV fluids were needed, did a cervical check (10 cm and ready to push) and prepped the room for delivery. Shortly after all this was done, Dr. Lambrecht arrived. She was AMAZINGLY calm and directed everything so beautifully. I immediately felt peaceful and focused when she got there and I was given permission to begin pushing.

I tried to push in the typical back down, legs up position, but it was extremely uncomfortable. In our birth classes, I remember Jennifer telling us our body would take over and we would just know what position felt right during pushing. This was so true in my case. The hospital bed was set up like a chair, and Jennifer asked if I wanted to lay it down and push on all fours. “No, I want to lay over the back of the bed.” So I got on my knees and put my arms over the back of the bed (which was vertical). Scott stood behind the bed so we were eye to eye the entire time.

I can’t remember specifically all he said to me, but his coaching and encouragement, along with a nurse who stood on my right side and reminded me not to hyperventilate and to take deep breaths in between contractions, kept me going. At first, I was doing a lot of grunting while pushing, but Dr. Lambrecht told me it’s more effective to hold your breath while pushing, which was very true. Jennifer held a warm compress down there and told me to push toward the warmth, which also helped. Dr. Lambrecht and Jennifer worked seamlessly together, and both of their tips and coaching helped me stay focused. I pushed through about 6 or 7 contractions in this position, getting three or four pushes in with each contraction. Dr. Lambrecht told me to hold the pressure on the baby between pushes (the baby comes down with pushing and kind of goes back up in between if you don’t maintain a little pressure). This tip probably saved us a good bit of pushing time—I could really feel a difference after starting to do this.

I felt like we were almost there, so naturally I asked, “Are we close?” Dr. Lambrecht said yes. I decided I wanted to turn around so I could use the mirror to watch her arrive, so I tried to sitting with my legs out again, but it was still uncomfortable. I knew another contraction was coming soon, so I just laid on my side and asked them to lower the back of the bed. “Can someone just hold my left leg up?” Yes. (I love how everyone just followed my lead throughout labor. I never felt bossed around or discouraged from doing anything.) I pushed three times while laying on my side. I felt the contraction subsiding, but we were SO CLOSE, so I just kept pushing without the contraction. Three more pushes later, she was here—4:29 p.m., 14 hours after that first contraction early in the morning.

We did not find out the gender during pregnancy, so about 30 seconds after Julia was born, I was staring at her, but unable to discern if she was a boy or girl (I think her leg was in the way), so I said, “Is it a boy or girl?” Dr. Lambrecht turned her around and said, “It’s a girl! I’m so sorry! We never get to do the big reveal at birth anymore!” Jennifer told me later that a few of the nurses were wiping tears away during this moment because it’s so rare to witness a family finding out the gender at birth! How fun and special that moment was!

Scott cut the cord and they put Julia Clair Gentry on my chest, which was the most amazing moment I’ve ever experienced. My legs were shaking a bit from going from sitting to standing every 5 minutes for 14 hours and using those muscles to push for 35 minutes! Dr. Lambrecht used a local anesthetic to numb me up down there and put in a few stitches, and then they gave me a tiny bit of pitocin to help deliver the placenta. After that, most everyone left. We spent an hour or so just soaking in our baby girl. The lactation consultant, Eileen, stopped by and helped me get Julia to latch on for her first feeding.

Scott had his skin-to-skin time with her after she ate, and a nurse helped me in the bathroom (humbling!) while another nurse changed the sheets and put a comfy topper on the mattress. Our families came up to meet her and were there for her first measurements. We had a hilarious nurse who had been caring for babies and moms for 42 years. She helped me a little more with breastfeeding in the middle of the night and gave Julia her first bath in the wee hours of the morning.

 

 

We spent one night in the hospital, and the next day the on-call doctor cleared us to go home just 24 hours after Julia was born! We have loved getting to know our baby girl since then. She is a precious baby, eats well and loves to snuggle. The sleep deprivation is not nearly as bad as I imagined, although I do look forward to the day I can sleep through the night again!

I’ve never felt more strong, beautiful or empowered than I did throughout pregnancy and giving birth. I’m so glad we took classes, hired a doula and found a doctor who supported our desire to have an unmedicated birth even though it’s pretty uncommon in our region. It was a beautiful day and I loved the experience. More than anything, I’m thankful for my and Julia’s health and safety. God is good!

 

 

 

 

 

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Gratitude

It’s fitting that this baby’s due date is five days after Thanksgiving. I’ve joked the entire pregnancy that Thanksgiving is my favorite holiday, so Baby better come before or after, but not that day—because Mama’s gotta eat.

But when I reflect on this pregnancy and what it’s meant to me, I would not be one bit surprised (or disappointed) if Baby’s birthday ends up being November 23. After all, Thanksgiving is all about gratitude, and that is the word that has overtaken my heart and soul the past 9 months, the sweet takeaway from this experience of becoming a mother.

When I found out we were expecting, there was a lot going on around us. Just a few days before, we found out the girls we were fostering would not be leaving our home on the date we expected. That was in March, and they stayed with us until June, which happened to be right around the time I exited the first trimester of pregnancy. What I thought at first was a bit of unfortunate timing turned out to be a showing of God’s perfect sovereignty and the beginning of a beautiful, humbling season of gratitude and grace.

Foster care comes with a lot of challenges along with lots of gifts. One of the greatest gifts is perspective—through the training, through the kids, through their families and even through other families we met during our foster care journey. Several people I connected with, either in person, online or through blogs, had walked through struggles with infertility and pregnancy loss and felt called to pursue foster care and adoption as a result. I also knew family, close friends and acquaintances at that time who were struggling, too. Soon after finding out I was pregnant, I began to think a lot about these precious families, especially the women longing for babies, mourning the loss of a child or feeling hopeless about ever finding someone with whom to create a family. I almost felt guilty about getting pregnant, and it pained me to think about my pregnancy adding even an ounce of pain to their hearts. I began to pray and think a lot about these women—specific women I know as well as others who I will never meet. I knew this was not something I could fix. My words would not be helpful. But I also knew the guilty feelings I had were not from God. So I just prayed.

The answer I received was gratitude. That’s how to honor these families and these women. Don’t waste one second of this gift you’ve been given on grumbling, complaining or whining about pregnancy and some of its less glamorous aspects. Don’t be flippant or entitled about this baby. Pregnancy and motherhood is not something you earned or deserved—it is a heavy, special, important gift that should not be taken for granted, even for one second. 

So I set an intention early on to honor God and honor these women with my attitude. I sought to embrace pregnancy, which I had been previously a little apprehensive about, with my entire heart, soul, mind and body. In addition to thinking about the women I loved who couldn’t share in this experience, God reminded me of all the children my heart beats for in foster care who have experienced trauma in the womb and beyond. While I cannot fix all the world’s problems that lead to children being abused and neglected, I could honor them by caring for my body and my baby. Since June, gratitude has been what God has called me to do—and not much else.

Several years ago, I would have seen this mindset and this season of rest as a copout. Action was all that mattered to me. In my mind, obedience equaled results and improvement. Lives changed. People fixed. Kids saved. Having a baby? What a selfish desire—there are so many kids who need homes! I’d be fine if I couldn’t get pregnant. We’d just adopt.

Seriously. That was my mindset. I’m pretty sure I have said those words out loud more than once (cringe). Talk about arrogance. Talk about a hero complex. Talk about a sinful, prideful heart. Lord, I repent. Friends, I repent.

Action does not equal obedience. Obedience is always about our hearts and our beliefs about God and ourselves. Sometimes that leads to hard action and ridiculous adventures in faith. Sometimes it leads to seasons of private, internal sanctification.

I had the order backward for many, many years. I believed God needed my help. I believed my attitude did not matter as much as my actions. Like some religious leaders 2,000 years ago, I was a whitewashed tomb—looking good and doing good on the outside, but so arrogant and prideful on the inside.

Through the two girls who lived in our home for 7 months and this baby growing inside me for the past 9 months, God has gently, graciously begun to deconstruct my pride (begun…definitely have a long way to go) through teaching me about the power of gratitude. I cannot adequately explain how humbled, yet joyful, I am today for the opportunity to carry this child and become his or her mother in just a few short weeks. I’m humbled that I have a husband who loves, cares for and provides for us. I live in a home with nutritious food in a refrigerator. There are two cars in my driveway. A nursery packed with diapers and onesies and furniture we did not pay for because we are surrounded by so much love and support. My cup runneth over, and I don’t deserve one drop of these blessings.

This incredible gift has brought me to my knees and taught me that sometimes, obedience is simply accepting God’s beauty and his gifts and embracing the season in which he’s placed me.

Today, obedience looks like learning how to pray and learning how to listen. It looks like enjoying this baby, enjoying my precious husband and community, and most of all, enjoying God and holding his blessings with open hands—always willing to accept what is given and give what is asked.

Today, as well as on Thanksgiving Day, baby’s birthday, and hopefully every day moving forward, I give thanks—regardless of circumstances and regardless of some long, hard days ahead on this parenting journey.

 

 

 

Less is more

Every morning for the past month, I’ve woken up to the sound of my husband grinding coffee and scrambling eggs. I hear the toaster pop and know it’s time. I drag myself from the bed and we sit together and eat this same meal at the same time we did the day before. Black coffee, whole wheat toast with two squares of cheddar cheese topped with perfect scrambled eggs, kosher salt and black pepper. The residual heat transferred from the hot cast iron pan to the eggs melts the cheese just slightly.

It’s a simple meal; nothing fancy. Not especially healthy or impressive. Not Insta-worthy. But it’s perfect. It’s the best breakfast and I look forward to it every night as I fall asleep.

On Saturdays we sleep until we wake up. We usually get to the farmer’s market around 10 a.m. and buy as many vegetables as we can with exactly $25 cash—okra, zipper peas, cherry tomatoes, eggplant, butternut squash, three ears of corn for a dollar—then I pick up various meats at the store, and grocery shopping for the week is done.

Cooking these vegetables is so simple. Grill the corn and eggplant. Add bold spices to the okra and cook in a skillet. Combine the zipper peas in a big pot with other vegetables. Eat the cherry tomatoes like candy. There’s no need for a lot of recipes or experimentation during summer. It’s all so simple and so routine, and it’s beautiful. Every now and then, friends join us for dinner. We’re always ready for them, never worried the food won’t be good or the recipe won’t turn out. How can you possibly ruin a fresh ear of summer corn?

Routines used to scare me. I was so afraid of being boxed into a routine and allowing 50 years to pass, one day waking up to ask myself, “What did this life mean?” I spent most of my teens and 20s feeling like I had to create a meaningful life by looking outside my home, outside the relationships that came naturally to me and beyond my natural gifts or limitations. I was always scheduling lunch with an acquaintance wondering if she’d be my new best friend or inviting people over in hopes of finally finding that natural, easy “community” you read about in all the Jen Hatmaker and Shauna Niequist books. I picked up new causes like some pick up books to read, searching for the “calling” that would make me feel like my life meant something. And I lost myself for a while in all that seeking.

The simplicity and relaxation of this new life full of easy routines, less hustling and fewer commitments has done something I did not expect. This practice of embracing “less” is cultivating a spirit of abundance that has touched every piece of our lives in the best way. Each day has a similar, familiar structure with enough margin built in to give us the capacity to savor moments instead of rushing through them on the way to the next one. I’m learning I’m allowed to guard my time and say no to lunch so I can stay home and sit on the couch with my cat and listen to music or have a long quiet time. I’m learning food can be simple and fresh instead of elaborate and impressive. By being home long enough to enjoy his presence, I see my husband in an entirely new light. This slower pace is allowing me to learn how to be a much better listener and friend. I’m looking around and seeing a community form that I did not create by force.

Routines aren’t scary to me anymore. They’re God breathed. Chaos is not in his character, and it doesn’t have to be in mine, either. Simplicity is just fine.

“The Lord preserves the simple; when I was brought low, he saved me.” –Psalm 116:6

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Let it be.

 

Today I walked my dog to the coffee shop and talked about music with the baristas and listened to music on the walk home.

Yesterday I drove two hours to see friends and then drove two hours back today.

Lately I’ve been watching a lot of Law and Order SVU and started the House of Cards saga. We’re about halfway through Season 3 of Unbreakable Kimmy Schmidt.

I’ve exercised almost daily and spent hours creating a baby registry. I’ve had a few long quiet times and have pondered God and truth and life in silent moments. My husband and I have had long conversations, visited the farmers’ market and cooked together.

Just fifteen days ago, life was so very different. Days were filled with caring for two high-needs children. I won’t go into all that entails, but it took everything we had to get through each and every day. Everything. There was no energy left at the end of the day to stay awake for 45 minutes of TV. There was no motivation or focus to study Scripture. There was no desire to enjoy the small, joyful things. It was survival, plain and simple.

But survive we did. And 15 days later, I’m soaking in those small joys. I’m surprised at how clearheaded I am, how the depression rushed out of my body and mind and was replaced with an overwhelming gratefulness for each breath, each quiet moment, each shared laugh with the partner God saw fit for me to have in this life.

I teared up writing that last part about Scott. You get married and think your spouse is the most wonderful human. And then you do hard things together and you realize God designed this person for you as so much more than someone to be infatuated with. Scott is my support, my sounding board, my accountability, my sanity. We are a team and we take care of each other. Nothing can reveal the core of who a person is like suffering. On the other side of shared pain and hardship comes a deep, deep respect for one another.

We entered into foster parenting because we felt compelled to make a difference. If I’m honest, I’ve always had a bit of a savior complex. I’ve always pushed my own needs and issues to the side in the name of living out the Gospel in a tangible way. I still believe that, of course, but I’m realizing God doesn’t really call us to do hard things so we can change the world, or even so we can change one life. Only He does that. He calls us to hard things to change us.

That sounds very cliché. If I was the reader in this situation I’d probably roll my eyes and click away. I’m not sure how else to communicate it, though. I am forever changed. My perspective on God, myself, my spouse, ministry, friendship and the world will never, ever be the same. I’m no longer a crusader or an activist here to tell you to do more for Jesus. I’m a humbled, grateful recipient of grace. A child on a walk with my savior content to just enjoy my surroundings and let him tell me where we’re going next.

I remember talking to my therapist about things a year ago that are no longer on my radar as issues. Will I be a good mom? Pregnancy freaks me out. I’m gonna mess up my kids. I don’t fit in with other people my age and I always feel like the weirdest person in the room. I feel like I genuinely like other people and they just tolerate me. Certain family members are hard to deal with. Today I can truly say every single one of those anxieties have vanished. I am overjoyed to be pregnant. I trust God will make me into the mother I need to be. I am loved and accepted by the people who God has created me to click with, and I value the quality of a few lasting friendships as well as the beauty of alone time rather than simply surrounding myself with as many people as possible to avoid what I perceived as loneliness and rejection. I see the humanity and redeeming qualities in family members I have held in disdain for decades.

God sent us into the Wilderness to heal our hearts and brings us back to Him. Idols are tricky things. I worshipped at the feet of Social Justice. I worshipped my own works. I was addicted to admiration and approval. I never would have admitted this, but the idols in my life came down to a central idea: I didn’t need Jesus. Jesus needed me. So He ordained an assignment that would show me the Truth about me and the Truth about Him. He gave me a task that was too much for me. And despite it being too much for me to fix, I’m flooded with peace about the kids and their future—not because of any difference we made, but because I’ve seen and tasted the sovereignty of the Lord who is their Father as much as He is mine.

See, I missed the point. I missed the part about Abraham being chosen as the father of God’s people before there was a law to follow. I missed that Moses fumbled and bumbled his way through the Exodus and that God is the only faithful party in every relationship he’s had throughout history. I saw myself as God’s helper, not His child. If I don’t do it, who will? If I don’t fix this atrocity or earn that person’s respect or make that relationship right or make sure this person knows Jesus, I’ve failed. 

But what I learned through two little people with big hurts, a broken system and being thrown into the midst of parenting during the elementary years is this: I. Am. Not. God. I am not enough. I am not strong. I am not impressive. I am not a hero. I am not a world changer. I am not, I am not, I am not God.

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My music was on shuffle recently at the gym and “Let it Be” by the Beatles began playing as I cooled down. As it played, tears streamed down my face and I felt like Jesus sat on the yoga mat next to me and gave me permission to Let All of It Just Be. To trust Him to fix, to heal, to ordain, to comfort. I am given one assignment at a time. For about four years now, He’s been breaking my heart for the Least of These so he could show me who He is, not so he could tell me to fix them. Faithfulness, not results, is what He’s seeking. And I’m learning that faithfulness has a whole lot more to do with acceptance of what is rather than dreaming about what could be. That joy is not only permissible, but contagious and reflective of His character. So today, I choose joy over guilt. I choose rest over burnout. I choose trust over control. I choose vulnerability over strength. I choose grace over striving.

And I am infinitely thankful for this truth:

“We rejoice in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit who has been given to us. For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly.” Romans 5:3-6

When I find myself in times of trouble
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

And in my hour of darkness
She is standing right in front of me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

Oh, let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the broken hearted people
Living in the world agree
There will be an answer, let it be

For though they may be parted
There is still a chance that they will see
There will be an answer, let it be

Oh, let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
And there will be an answer, let it be

Oh, let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

Oh, let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be

And when the night is cloudy
There is still a light that shines on me
Shine on until tomorrow, let it be

I wake up to the sound of music
Mother Mary comes to me
Speaking words of wisdom, let it be

 

 

 

#BASIC black hair tips

I’m pretty #basic. I’ll admit it. Leggings as pants, Taylor Swift, excited about fall. You know.

But I’m also a first-time (foster) mama to to two beautiful black girls, ages 6 and 10. Side note: why “black” and not “African-American?” My girls and pretty much every other black person I know call themselves black, so that’s what I say, too. 🙂

Anyway, fortunately, I’ve had a great community, including their mama, helping me learn about hair! We go to a multiracial church, and I can’t tell you how many people have given me advice, products and encouragement along the way. In addition, being friendly with their mom and taking them to her once a week to get their hair done has been a great way to ease into caring for their hair while we care for them for a few months. I still don’t know a whole lot and half the time their hair looks crazy, but I’m getting better thanks to all my teachers.

However, not everyone has this kind of support, so I wanted to put some straightforward information out there that I have not been able to find on the Internet.

What I HAVE found on the Internet is TOO MUCH INFORMATION. Everyone has a different regimen, uses different products and emphasizes different techniques. You can easily spend hundreds of dollars on hair products if you follow the advice of every blogger or YouTuber out there. The reason there is so much information is that there is not ONE way to care for black hair — because black hair is DIVERSE. Yes, diverse! There are so many different curl patterns, textures and hair types. Each head of hair, no matter your race, is unique.

BUT. There are some basics that will help us #basic girls get started and ensure that our sweet girls’ hair doesn’t fall out of their head because of a lack of knowledge on our part. I’m going to make this very simple and avoid lots of nuances. You should research your child’s specific hair type / curl pattern for more detailed information.

If you have more BASIC tips to add or want to correct one of mine (by all means, please do), comment and I’ll edit the post!

Washing & Moisturizing

1. Don’t over wash. As a general rule, we wash hair every two weeks. When you wash, comb it out with a wide-toothed comb. Apply lots of conditioner, comb again. Let it sit for 10-15 minutes while they play in the tub. Rinse. Apply a leave-in conditioner or oil if you’d like. Style as desired.
2. OK let’s break down the point above. Wash-rinse-condition-rinse is the same as your process except add combing during all the steps and leave the conditioner in for a while. Leave-in conditioner is optional (is your child’s hair dry? Use a leave-in) and self-explanatory. So that leaves OIL. I like to put coconut oil in our girls’ hair when it’s wet. You can also use jojoba or castor oil. A friend recently recommended mixing castor oil and water in a spray bottle and spraying down their hair after washing and before putting in a protective style (we’ll get to that- see ponytails below). From what I can tell, oil after washing just helps lock in moisture and protects ends from damage. It’s also great for the scalp. There are a million other products out there to add during this process, but I just haven’t waded into those waters yet.

3. Use hair products specifically made for black hair. We have Carol’s Daughter shampoo and conditioner. I’ve also heard great things about Shea Moisture. Target has a great selection as does Walmart. And don’t be afraid to go into a hair store and ask for advice there, too!

4. Grease their scalp occasionally, especially during the winter, to prevent dry, itchy scalp. Grease can be found at the hair store.

Styling

You will need: a wide-toothed comb (do not brush that baby’s hair with a white people brush), small black rubber bands, styling pudding, either gel or a specific styling cream for edges, and barrettes (we pronounce it boe-rettes at our house). **You MUST buy rubber bands and barrettes at a hair store. The ones they sell at Walmart and Target are crap.**

OK. There are 85,000,000 ways to style hair. I’m gonna tell you about our two styles: out and ponytails. We are not gonna get into weave, braids, cornrows or any of that because I can’t do it.

1. Wearing hair out: This is like a one-day thing because you don’t want that beautiful hair to get dried out and damaged. If your child has pretty curls just spray with water (or water and oil) and put some kind of styling product in it to define the curls (I use Miss Jessie’s Coily Custard), add a head wrap, headband, bow or whatever and you’re good to go. I also like to put a little coconut oil on the ends. Make sure the hair is clean and moisturized. You can also research twist-out styles and Bantu knots. We have not done this yet.
   I can’t find a good photo of her hair out, but this is it pulled back in a ponytail. You can imagine how awesome it is all the way out. Her hair is looking kind of dry here, so obviously I have not arrived at supreme hair knowledge yet.

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1. Ponytails. This is your go-to style, mama.The first step is to part the hair. The easiest way to do this if you’ve never done it before is to part it right down the middle and do three or four ponytails on each side. As you get more confident, you can do more fun parting patterns, but we’ll go with the most BASIC way to do this. Here’s a great video to get a visual. She’s doing a little bit of a different style than I’m describing here, but you’ll get the point. 
   1. First, use the tip of your wide-toothed comb (or if you want bonus points, get a parting comb- see photo) to part right down the middle. Then, you want to SECTION that hair. Use a rubber band or a hair styling clip to pull one half of the hair out of the way.
   2. Next, make three to four equal sections with straight parts. Apply styling pudding generously and put one of your small black rubber bands around each section of hair. Divide each ponytail into two strands and pull tight to secure the rubber band.
   3. Now, you can either do twists or braids with each section. Twists = two strands twisted around each other. Braids = three strands braided. Braids generally last a little longer before getting frizzy. 
   4. When you get to the end, you’ll use a barrette to secure the twist or braid. Take the end of the hair and wrap it around the hinge of the barrette 2-3 times (see photo). Snap together. Done! I have one child whose hair will stay using this method. The other one I have to wrap a rubber band around the end of the hair and then put the barrette into one of the band’s loops to keep the barrette from falling out.

      

      Clacker balls.

   5. Do this for all of your ponytails. Optional: Add clacker balls. Twist one end of the clacker ball around the pony tail, wrap the other end around until it’s tight and secure. That was a horrible explanation of that, but it’s hard to put into words. Check out the aforementioned video for a visual. I’m sure there’s an official name for clacker balls, but I make a point to use the terms my kids use when it comes to hair.

6. Edges.
First of all, what are edges? It’s the baby hair on the…  you guessed it… edges of your child’s hairline. The parts that don’t go up into the style. For the longest, edges were not even on my radar because I was in survival mode. Some days, I still don’t fool with them. But when our mornings are going well and/or the girls ask me to fix them, I now know how to do edges. WITH A TOOTHBRUSH. Just get a toothbrush, dip it in gel or an edge styling cream and brush them until they lay down. I have one child with a hair type that allows me to push the edges back into her ponytails, and one with a hair type that does better when the edges are laid down on her skin (see photo). I’m still not sure if I really do this correctly, but the kids are always happy with it, so whatever.

7. Maintenance. Some hair types require less upkeep. Our 6-year-old’s hair will stay in ponytails for a week and I don’t have to touch it. Our 10-year-old’s hair needs to be re-styled (take down and redo ponytails, but keep the parts in) every two days. If it looks frizzy and messy, time to re-do.

So there you have it, #basic mamas. Basic tips for black hair! Remember, the goal here is to make your kids love their hair, not to impress other moms or teachers or random people in the grocery store with your skills. If your kids feel good walking out of the door, you are right on track. You are doing a great job just by trying to learn. Press on!

 

 

 

Becoming a mom

My journey to motherhood has not been simple. Something inside of me has always wanted to have kids, yet wrestled with envisioning myself as a mom. Whether it was the idea of growing a human inside my body (seriously? so weird), losing freedom and individuality, or fear that children would negatively affect our marriage, the thought of becoming a mom has pretty much terrified me for years. The desire just was not there in a “I need a baby right now” kind of way. I always thought “Of course we’ll have kids one day… a long time from now.” And I’ve always felt kind of ashamed and insecure about that.

So it was kind of strange when we felt God’s call to become foster parents and I became absolutely obsessed with making it happen. What would possess someone so insecure about motherhood to pursue mothering someone else’s children? What would cause a woman who doubted her ability to be a good parent to a typical child to take on kids with trauma-related issues?

Jesus is my only answer.

Here’s how it went down:

After over a year of classes, preparation, home renovations and more, we said yes to two little girls, ages 6 and 10, and they came to live with us a little over a month ago. What’s interesting is that having a full-time placement was NOT the plan. Over the summer, I had actually finally become OK with the idea of trying to have a baby in the next year, so we decided we would provide respite care to foster parents (meaning we would have short-term placements for no more than 2 weeks) until we had a baby and got used to being parents. We had our first respite placement in July, and those girls are the ones who ended up coming to live with us. Their former foster mom was older, and she was getting tired. DHR approached us about taking the girls, so we prayed. Scott made the call: yes.

So here we are, temporary, but full-time and fully involved parents to two elementary aged girls. At this point, we have put off the idea of having a baby until after this placement is over because that would be insane. But you know, God is funny, so we’ll see what happens. Never say never is probably the No. 1 lesson I’ve learned through this journey thus far.

So what’s the verdict on motherhood? All I can say is I am so thankful for this experience. What a privilege to be entrusted with the physical, emotional and spiritual care of two amazing human beings. Even though they are not ours forever, we didn’t have any part in creating them and we will only parent them for a short time, I cannot adequately describe how much I love caring for them. It is the hardest, most rewarding experience of my life.

Welcoming these two girls into our home has calmed my trepidation about motherhood. It’s difficult, yes. I have probably cried more in the past six weeks than in the last six years combined! I have never been so tired! I have been humbled daily! I am desperate for Jesus to get me through each day! But… it is also beautiful and precious. I can truly, honestly say I am so looking forward to a lifetime of motherhood, whether it’s through fostering, adoption or having biological children. God has completely changed my attitude.

I think something that made me fear motherhood was all the blogs I read describing , in detail, the challenging parts of mothering. It’s kind of a trend to let it all hang out there and vent about your kids on the Internet, and while I so appreciate transparency and realness, it can be overwhelming for someone who is anxious about becoming a mom to read all of these stories without also reading about the sweet moments. So I want to share some of my favorite things about being a mom in hopes of encouraging someone who was in my position (and to record these memories).

• Probably my favorite moment of each day is when M (6 years old) wakes up and comes to find me sitting in the living room. She rubs her eyes and stretches. She climbs into my lap and gives me a big hug. We talk and snuggle for a few minutes.
• Little girls in pajamas. The cuteness. That is all.
• I love riding in the car listening to music with the girls. We listen to Andy Mineo a ton, and it’s so great to be able to explain the lyrics to them and talk about Jesus while listening to rap music. When I first started running a little over a year ago, I listened to Andy almost every time I ran — it’s neat to be able to share music so close to my heart with them.
• Every Monday, A (10 years old) and I go to BSF. I love having her help me and letting her feel important. She so looks forward to pressing the button to change the slides while we sing hymns, and she gets to turn all the lights on and off. I also love when I go pick her up at the end and catch her playing with other kids. She smiles big and says “I like BSF” as we are leaving the classroom.
• When I do something funny or silly, I love the wide grins and starry eyes the girls give me. I love to make them laugh.
• I love when the girls connect lessons we’ve tried to teach them to situations in the heat of the moment. We deal a lot with how to handle disappointments or being told “no” in a healthy way. I’ve told them over and over that they get to choose to have a good day or a bad day. That when they get upset, they can bounce back and we can all move on, etc. The other day, we had a rough segment of the day, and then the girls bounced back and went about their business. We were riding in the car and A said, “I’m so glad we bounced back and we are having a good day now.” Win!
• I love providing for their basic needs: cooking for them, washing their clothes, making sure they brush their teeth, making doctor’s appointments. We take these things for granted, but they are so important, and not all kids have a safe adult in their life to ensure these tasks get done.
• I love talking to them about Jesus and trying to answer their questions. I love hearing them pray. I love when they understand a spiritual truth. I love seeing their hearts start to heal.
• I love seeing my husband be a daddy. Last night after I tucked M in I found him coloring with A. I love watching him learn how to do this, too.
• Although it is a long process, I love bedtime. I love talking with them and going over the victories of the day. I love reading to them and having them read to me (although real talk: budget some time for a 6yo to read to you… oh. my. gah.). I love that moment when they go from being awake and fidgety to out like a light, knowing they felt safe falling asleep because I was lying next to them. I am looking forward to the day when they feel safe enough to fall asleep on their own, but for now, it’s what we do. 🙂
• I love when they are creative and come up with games to play and use their imaginations. I love when they dance.
• I love the Elf on the Shelf and how excited M is about it every day. She bounces out of bed looking for her elf and prays for the elf every night before we go to bed. The other day she asked her sister why the elf was always smiling, and A said, “Because she knows this is a good home.” After all the words A has said indicating the contrary, overhearing that conversation made my heart so happy.
• I love when A makes the effort to have a good attitude and make good choices and she looks at me and says, “We are having a good day!” YEP! 🙂
• I love how I seem to more fully understand the Gospel through caring for these kids.

So there it is — my journey to embracing motherhood. I’m grateful for every step of the way!