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In today’s world, I don’t think we can over emphasize the importance of dads. I am grateful for the father that Dave has become. Being an only child, he was not expecting to be a dad (and a stand-in dad) to five children. But yet I watch as he hands the Alan Wrench to 2-year-old Emme to help fix the wobbly table, as he says “NO WAY’ to skirts too short for our teenagers, wrestles with martial arts intensity with Ty, and empties the dishwasher every morning – the job that is the most hated in our household. He doesn’t understand periods, or nail polish, or how one girl can get to 15,000 texts in one month… but he still sits by in a sea of 11 years olds and exclaims, “that is sooooooooooo cute” as Lily opens all her birthday gifts and gives “how to get out of a goodnight kiss” advice to Jade on her first date (which wasn’t really a date, she says). He raps in public. He listens to Justin Bieber. He is actually giddy that Jade will be taking chemistry next year. He is the first to hold a crying girl when the emotions are just too much (and we have a lot, and I do mean A LOT of emotions in this house!). He dodges blaster fire from 6 year old boys. He builds inventions with Ty. He changes poopie diapers. He handles bath and bedtimes every single night. He has learned to make pasta, quesadillas, and a killer grilled cheese sandwich. And he never yells at the kids. Ever.
Oh, and have I mentioned that he has amazing biceps?
I look at the men in our neighborhood, my friends’ husbands who coach their kids’ teams, host bbqs, show up to school open houses, cook dinners, stay home with the kids so their wife can go to work, stay home with the kids so the women can go away for a whole. entire. 24. hours. And I am blown away. We ask them the do all this (and so much more!) and also to be proficient at careers, providing some, most, or all of the income for their families. These men not only take it all on, but they do it pretty darn well…considering that they are not women.
There are days when I think I could simply get by without a man in my life. I mean, who needs another freakin day of tripping over those giant shoes in my kitchen. Or of explaining that cream cheese does not go in the freezer. Or of sharing a bathroom with someone with that much hair.
But I get over it.
So, today I celebrate the dads I know: Dave, Steve, Jim, both Ryans, Ben, Tom, Darin, Mike, Jonathan, and all the others that have turned Father’s Day into something to really celebrate.
Happy Father’s Day!
Happy Anniversary to Me! It was one year ago today that I launced my first post here on MamaBloo. 298 people visited my blog that day!!! Since that first post, MamaBloo has published 129 more posts on this blog and received over 425 comments. MamaBloo has had over 17,300 page views and those views come from all 6 continents. But not Antartica. No penguins here.
But more than the numbers, this past year has been one of exploration for me. One that first day when I went “out there” and live with my blog, I have placed a part of myself in my reader’s hands. It was not easy for me to open myself up through my craft — to expose my writing and my life to anyone and everyone. I have struggled with what it means to talk about kids on a public forum — to put their names nad faces out into the world for anyone to see (some may say that once we appeared on national TV the horse was outta the barn on that one!!). I have to face my own inner demons of what kind of approval I have needed from my own readership, soaking up comments like a comment-glutton. I have studied Google Analytics (which tells one how many people are visiting one’s blog) and I have also walked away from statistics and fasted for months — not knowing if anyone anywhere ever read a word I was writing — and contemplating whether or not that was even important. I have been pursued by advetisers, product reviews, even other bloggers, to put up posts about what they want.
But a year ago blogging wasn’t really an option. I mean, I had to start this blog. I was bursting to write, to document my family, to put my thoughts “out there.” I knew that starting a blog was a MUST the day Dave decided to perform a dubious (at best) home surgery. A few years back we discovered that much like Chandler on the show Friends it seemed that Dave had grown, well, a third nipple. He liked to call it his “love bump.” So, one day he got tired of it and asked the family at the dinner table, “Who would like to cut off my love bump??” The look on my face communicated, what kind of freakin question is that to ask of these lovely, genteel children? But, I was wrong. Lily (age 7 at the time) was all for it. So, the two of them grabbed the fingernail clippers and scurried down the hall to the bathroom, where all home-surgeries are performed. The rest of us hid under a blanket. I then knew that I needed a blog.
But more than the personal rewards that come with writing, it has been a good discipline for me to write regularly. Some weeks I have to force myself to sit down and try to come up with something to say. Some weeks stories just burst out of me. I have had to be very open to the process of creation through writing. And that process has opened me up to myself.
But now it is more of an option. I sit here tonight wrestling with where to go from here. I feel pulled to both keep the blog going and to stop and take a break. I honestly cannot say which is right for me. I keep looking for a sign to tell me where to go. When I was younger, I used to ask God for signs that went something like this, God if you want me to do this thing, make a blue bird land on my windowsill in the next 10 seconds. Yeah, seriously. I can picture God listening to me and saying, “Yeah, seriously? I am not a performing pony. But I like your creativity.” The blue bird never seemed to come and I have learned since that “signs” do not usually come on demand. Instead they require an atuned ear to the universe that is sometimes hard to muster inbetween diaper changes, band concerts, dinners, clean ups, and sore feet. But I do trust that the path will be revealed.
But no matter what happens, on this lovely first birthday slash anniversary, I want to say THANK YOU to all my readers. Your comments have meant so much. You subscriptions have meant so much. Just knowing that there are people “out there” reading my words has meant so much. Truly. Each reader has been a blessing to me in his or her own way. I really have such a great group of readers — some of you I knew before, some of you I have met since I started this journey. You have all treated me with kindness and honestly, and I love you all.
So, here’s to all of YOU! The thousands of you who have shared this last year with me. Thank you and Cheers!!!!
When Izzy was born, she was taken into the recovery room and we all had to whisper, turn the lights down low, and she simply settled in to the sound of her daddy’s voice. Now, here we are…13 years later.
In a lot of cultures and religions there are rites of passage that mark the passing from childhood to adulthood — the bar mitzva, the quinceanera, etc. But the it seems like this ritual is missing from so many of our lives. Especially for girls.
Enter the 13.
This idea was thought up by a friend of a friend and a former co-youth leader of mine that noticed this deficit and decided to do something about it. It goes like this. When a girls turns 13, she gets a party. But not a party full of other teens brimming with emotions and hormones. A party full of adult women. Women who will say to her: you are valued, we are with you, we love you. Think The Red Tent but in the suburbs.
So, last weekend was Izzy’s 13. She had been looking forward to this weekend away since her big sister turned 13 a year and a half ago.
Fourteen of us packed up and drove to the mountains and nestled into a cabin.
We then told her of her value, her worth. We formed a circle of women around her. We read to her the Word of God. We gave her gifts. We prayed. We showered her with advice. We cried.
And then we partied. We ate lots and lots of carbs. We played party games. We decorated our hands and feet with henna. We created an art project so she could carry this weekend with her forever. We laughed until our sides and our faces hurt. And we kept it PG-13…barely. When we got in the van to leave, Izzy burst out with “That was SOOOOOOOOOOOOO much fun!” It was like she had been waiting all weekend to tell me that; to get Jade and me alone so she could reveal how awesome everything was. And it was. We not only told her that she was wonderful, we showed her what it was like to be a woman. To cook together. To talk about the things WE wanted to talk about. To sit all huddled in front of the fire. To show her the sisterhood that will, indeed, get you through your life intact.
When it was my turn in the circle, I reminder her of the words of Jesus, “You are the Light of the World.”
And she is.
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To see more pictures from the weekend, click here to go to Christiana Childers Photography.
One of my good growing up memories of my father is when we would lie on the big master bed in the big master bedroom at our house in Glendale, California. We would lie there on the turquoise and brown bedspread (hey, it was the 70′s) and he would teach me words in Spanish or repeat huge vocabulary words and have me say them and then teach me the meaning of those words. I must have been about five or six at the time. I have to say that it introduced a love of language that I still have today.
A few years back I introduced my own version of the vocabulary game.
Each year, I pick a word or phrase that is organically grown out of our everyday language at home. By this I mean, that I actually have used this word in front of my kids and then said kids look at me askance, wrinkle their browns, and say,”huh?” Anyway, I pick a word and challenge them to use it when speaking to an adult in their lives. IF they can do so, they win the game. At first I thought about delivering some sort of prize to any kid who can pull this off. But, soon it became apparent that the legendary status that comes with using the yearly challenge word appropriately with a teacher or coach is reward enough for my sweet little nerds.
So, a few years back the challenge phrase was “CARTE BLANCHE” — you should have heard the story of Jade going up to her then 5th grade teacher asking her for “Carte Blanche bathroom priveledges.”
In case you were wondering, the answer was “no!”
Last year I picked a phrase I heard Dr. Phil use one time, “No matter how flat you make a pancake, it still has two sides!” Seriously, the kids had to weave that into a conversation with a grown up? Yup. The winner? Izzy. She used it in a book report over the book Swindle
when the protagonists had to break the law, but for a good reason — her 6th grade teacher was there, so it counts. Well done, Izzy, well done.
This year the word is REMISS.
I mean, THAT is a great word.
Think of all the real-word applications. “So sorry, I have been remiss at feeding my fish and, thus, it has perished.” “Excuse me, but I have been remiss in informing you that I need a ride to soccer practice tomorrow.” “Mrs. Smith, I fear you have been remiss in giving me that grade I deserve.” Okay, maybe not that last one.
Or maybe the example I just used moments ago when talking to Izzy, “I have been remiss in telling you that this year’s word is… remiss.”
Nevertheless, my kids will be out there looking for reasons to use the word REMISS. Watch out, they could be looking for you! So, try not to judge them too harshly when they point out that you have been… well… remiss.
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