Fear and First-Borns.

There's this story about me that my mom can clearly remember when I was about ten years old......I wanted some more ketchup to go with my french fries at McDonald's and she was busy with my sister......the place was empty.......so she just casually mentioned to me, "Just go up to the counter and ask for a few more packets."

I was paralyzed with fear over that.  I went without ketchup.

Another time we were vacationing with my parents friends up north at a lake and I was about eight or nine.  My moms friend was floating in an inner tube at the end of the dock.  I don't know what she asked me to do, what I was contemplating doing, or what the context of the conversation was but I remember so clearly that she laughed at me and in an annoyed voice said, "Seriously, Maggie--don't be such a worry-wart."

I hear her voice over and over on a regular basis whenever I'm afraid to do something new.

Back in kindergarten we had a guest speaker one day.  I remember exactly where I was sitting, what it smelled like in the room, and that everyone else in the class thought the guest speaker was awesome.  My teacher announced that we were going to take a trip to Japan!  We were going to learn about what Japanese people ate, wore, did for fun, and what their houses looked like.  It was going to be a great trip.  The guest speaker started clicking through slides of Japan.  I sat in my seat crying silently.  I was sweating, my heart was pounding, and I wanted to raise my hand to call home but I was too scared.  I literally thought we were going to go to Japan.  My mom and dad didn't know. Who would tell them?  I didn't want to go.  And I can honestly conjure up some of the anxiety that I felt right now as I type this.

Note to kindergarten teachers everywhere--some kids take you seriously....very seriously. Be careful.

My freshman year of high school everyone had to take a semester of swimming.  Nothing a fourteen year old girl likes better than being initiated into high school with a fourth hour co-ed swimming class in which you get to listen to the boys make comments under their breath about which girls had the best butts and which ones didn't.  Awesome.  But, I could swim pretty good, so I held my own.  And then they sprung the backward dive on us.  I wasn't about that.  I remember standing on the end of the diving board in front of thirty of my class-mates refusing to dive backwards into the pool off the high dive.  I was terrified.  And I couldn't force myself to do it despite the fact that I had to take a shameful walk back off the diving board and down the ladder as everyone moved out of the way for me.

I still won't do a backwards dive and I've been pretty successful despite it.

As a thirty five year old there isn't much, in general, I'm too scared of anymore.  Sure, there might be internal battles involving trepidation and self-doubt, and risk, but I don't frequently let them show and I don't stand at the end of high dives crying or shake in fear at the mention of an analogous trip across the Pacific.  And it's easy to forget that I once was.......that scared girl......who was afraid to take risks and who could work herself into a ball of nerves over condiments for french fries, but that is buried deep inside me and I've had to get to know that girl again lately.

For my daughter.

Because my daughter is that girl.

Slides.  She's terrified of them--even after a year of pre-school and watching other kids do it every day.  Today at the McDonald's play-land (clearly, McDonald's and terrifying situations run deep for us) she sat trapped in a tube crying as other kids pushed around her to laugh and shriek as they went down the slide.  Kids younger than her and her good friend tried to coax her down the slide.  She physically and mentally couldn't get herself to do it.  I waited for her at the bottom, telling her she could do it and wishing I could wedge myself up into that purple plastic petri dish to help her down.  But she wouldn't do it.

She won't run through sprinklers.  She can watch kid after kid run screaming through streams of water and she'll stand back and watch.  I'll run through it; in my clothes.  She's not convinced.  There is nothing I can do to make her think that sprinklers are fun.  To her, they are an instrument of torture and an unnecessary summer pastime.

When she was three we went to gymnastics class--for toddlers.  She clung to my leg like a vice while everyone else climbed over mats, did somersaults, and swung on rope swings that were an inch off the floor.

And I've spent a lot of time being really frustrated about this fear of hers.  I didn't get it.  These things weren't scary.  Nothing traumatic has happened to her in the midst of any of these things to make them taboo.  I never have just thrown her into anything without warning.

She's just fearful.
She's just careful.
She's just easily prone to anxiety.

She's just like me.  Just like me.

And I need to learn to be okay with it. Because people were okay with it for me.
It's interesting.....the longer I parent the more I realize how much of 'us' our kids glean even if we don't think we're overtly displaying certain character traits; even if they've been latent in us for a long time.....they inherit them because they probably seep through our cracks more than we realize.

I certainly don't believe that I should never push Georgia out of her comfort zone.  I must, as her parent. But it means that when she has real fear of something.....like slides, or sprinklers, or gymnastics class,  I need to ask myself how I can help her through this or just let it go, let her be who she is and be okay with the fact that she might not ever slide down a potato sack slide at a carnival, do a round-off, or spend hours in a sprinkler on hot summer days.....and really, it's no big deal.  Just like me not doing a backwards dive--who cares?

She's tried.  A lot.  It's not for her.  At least not right now.
She does a lot of stuff that is hard for other four year olds--and she does it well.

It's so easy to get frustrated when our kids are afraid to do something.  And it's so common for kids to be afraid to do something.  But one thing I've learned is that they'll never do it faster or better or quicker or......ever,  if I get frustrated with the fact that it's not happening on my time-line.....or when other kids do it.

Some things......can just wait.  Some things......don't need to get done.

Because some things......just don't matter.
There's plenty that do.  And that's what I'm concentrating on.

For the mama's.

We all know a lot of incredible women.  Astounding in fact.  A few that have made an impact on my life this year.....and a list that is by no means exhaustive.........

My mom....

For showing me what intentional, selfless, creative, and unconditional mothering looks like.  From the projects she made up to do with us to the lunches she packed for us everyday through high school to the thoughtful family vacations she planned to the way she showed me how to be a mom.  She is my most revered role-model.

Rachel.....

Because I see her almost everyday, I use her as my benchmark. She's done more parenting than me and she helps me feel sane....and like I'm actually a normal, just like everybody else parent. If she's not getting ruffled by something kid related, I should probably relax too.  If she's taking time to get to the bottom of a behavior, I should too.  She tempers me.......and that's so good for me.

Liz...........

Maybe one of the most atypical first time moms I've ever known (even though she has two kids now). Liz is logical and calm, and things that first time moms (like me) get upset about she just lets roll off her shoulders.  I can ask her anything and I know I'll get a thoughtful, clear, and applicable answer.  I can't imagine 'momming' without her.

Georgia and Liz's daughter Emma last summer.

Mandie......

My friend Mandie is probably the most patient, calm mom I've ever known.  When I watch her with her kids I learn how to be a better mom, even if it's just a five minute interaction.  The peace that she instills in her home because of her demeanor is a gift to her family.  No matter how many things she has going on--and with four kids--it's always a lot, she is calm.  Way calmer than I could ever imagine being.  She is one of the most genuine, authentic, kind, and inspirational people I know.

Karen........

Adoptive moms know, even though we won't readily admit it, that our kids are not our own until a judge says so.  But as every mama knows, when you bring that baby home from the hospital and spend sleepless nights with her, when he's crying and only stops when you pick him up, when her first smile is directed at you, when you spend hours trying to figure out his sleeping pattern, when you realize instantly that you'd throw yourself in front of a bus for a little life that you just met...........they are yours--no matter how many people tell you to hold loosely.  Adoptive mamas throw all caution to the wind and love those babies unconditionally even though we know the risk of getting our hearts ripped out is looming.  It's what moms do.  And this year, my friend Karen learned how to hold loosely and tightly all at the same time.  Her stamina, grace, faith, tenderness, and love for a child were tested and refined through a contested adoption.  She asked herself hard questions and prepared for heart-break.  She taught me how to be strong and confirmed for me how powerful the prayers of many can be for our children.  Her adoption was finalized in March and she deserves this Mother's Day one hundred times over.

Lyndsey........

Lyndsey's older sister passed away in 2008, leaving two amazing little girls behind.  Lyndsey is an aunt to them like none other as well as being a fantastic mom to her own two kiddos.  She goes out of her way to do special things with her nieces, spend any free time she can with them, make countless trips across the state to be with them--if even just for an afternoon--, and she regularly asks herself what more she could be doing for them.  Her example of sacrifice and love to those little girls is inspiring to me as a mom.  

Tarah.......

If you've been here long, you know that Tarah is Georgia's birth-mom.  When I look at pictures of the two of them I am overwhelmed with gratitude and love and am so honored to know this amazing woman.  I am thankful every day that she picked us and sacrificed so much to allow me the opportunity to be Georgia's mom.  I am thrilled that Georgia gets to have such an incredible role-model in her life.  

And I could go on and on......

Heather, for being such a hard-working mom, listening to my four-year old issues and providing me affirmation that I'm not doing it wrong--and for being a great boss too.

Jaren, for living in the moment with her kiddos and soaking in every detail of them.

Marci, for being so flexible.  You don't get worked up about kid stuff--you just let it happen and adapt to it.  I need more of that.

Cathy, you're such an intentional grandma to Georgia and you go out of your way on a regular basis to make things so fun for your grand kids....you work tirelessly at it.

Lianne, you think hard about what is best for your kids and want to do what you know is right even when people around you might question a decision or two........oh.......your kids will thank you for it one day.

Julie, your road to motherhood is so inspiring.  It's not the path you might have imagined it would take--but it's so incredible.....and to hear how you pour into your kids lives and soak up every moment that you are given with them is amazing.  You are absolutely the step-mother every Disney princess really wanted.

Danielle, a mom for one week so far and the newest member I know in one of the best clubs around--the adoptive mama club--your story and your patience and your determination are the makings of many proud parenting moments to come!

And if you know someone who wants a Mother's Day to be for them one day soon and it's just taking a long time to arrive-- give them an extra hug tomorrow, some extra grace, and some extra space if they need it.

Happy Mother's Day.  Happy Mother's Day. Happy Mother's Day. 

Isabella Rossellini. She's pretty smart.

"Adoption has the dimension of connection--not only to your own tribe, but beyond, widening the scope of what constitutes love, ties, and family. It is a larger embrace. By adopting, we stretch past our immediate circles and, by reaching out, find an unexpected sense of belonging with others." -- Isabella Rossellini

Oh, how true that is.  If Isabella was a preacher and I was sitting in her congregation I would shout a confident "Amen."  I might even throw in a "preach it sister." When I consider all the AMAZING women I have 'met' as a result of adoption--women that are far beyond my immediate circle--I stand in awe, again, of adoption.  Some of these women I would consider close friends....and I hope that one day.....I can actually hug them so hard (and I'm not a hugger) and kiss their kiddos and tell them thank-you for their friendship.  Friendship that stretched over hundreds of miles, different family backgrounds, different kinds of adoption, different results, different.............but the same.  Because the experience of adoption unites us.  With a deep, thick cord that can never be cut.  With people we never would have known otherwise. 




I think about my friend Amber.  Her son is the same age as Georgia.  And they are spit-fires like none other.  I think if we ever did meet we'd need to make sure there was a track available so our kids could just run laps together.  We've talked about adoption, stubborn four year olds, blogging, and more.  I never would have met her had it not been for adoption.

I met someone named Beth this year.  She's incredible.  So strong.  It was such an emotional year for her and now.....she has this amazing little girl that is perfect and......hers.  She lives far away from me and I've never heard her voice.  But her little girls birth announcement hangs on my fridge and I look at it every day and I'm so thankful for adoption and that she e-mailed me back in October with a question about domestic adoption that we were able to turn into so many e-mails back and forth sharing struggles and victories.   

Karen.  I grew up with her and knew her through church but I was older than her and while we were friendly with each other.....we just had different groups of friends and went to different schools. But after high school I really didn't see her.  She moved to Georgia and that was that.  And then, she started the adoption process and to be honest.....she takes my breath away now and her friendship is one of the greatest treasures God has ever given me.  I hold it so dear.  Her world was rocked this winter, thinking her adoption was falling apart, and I spent so many sleepless hours between two and four in the morning crying for her and praying for her and wanting to hug her.  I'm so glad adoption brought us back together.  And we have some line-dancing (or something else truly Texan) in our near future.  

And it seems like every few weeks, I'm meeting someone else who shares their adoption story with me.   And I love to hear these stories.  They teach me more about adoption and what it means for everyone. They encourage me and inspire me and challenge me and restore a lot of faith in humanity that is so easy to lose sight of.  Some of their stories are hard and sad and heart-breaking.  Some of their stories are similar to mine. Some are vastly different.  Some are still turning into an adoption story; I love those. No matter what they are.....they provide a sense of belonging.  Adoption can be a lonely club, or it can be a tight knit supportive one.  We have to seek out the belonging---it's there, waiting for us. 

I think we all have something in our lives that brings with it a deep sense of belonging; belonging to something different than we'd ever expected to belong to.  Belonging, like Isabella said, with something outside our immediate circles.  I think it's important to look for those far reaching circles.  They generally can open our eyes to something great that we never would have experienced had we stayed safe, and private, and to ourselves. So whether it's an adoption circle, or another one....seek them out.  Those circles can be some of the most rewarding experiences of your life. 


Cheers.  To stretching past our immediate circles. 

Infertility.

That's a happy little title.

But, it's National Infertility Awareness Week.  And while it's easy to have an aversion to "National 'Let's Focus on Something Else Sad' Weeks," I do think it's helpful when people take the time to be honest about how they want others to to interact with them when it comes to what they're dealing with; their thing.

Before adoption was my thing, infertility was my thing.  And when infertility is your thing you have a bigger chip on your shoulder and feel a lot snappier (as in meaner--not as in perky) talking about it with people.  It's not like this flag that you want to wave because you're so proud of it and you want to be its new poster child.  Generally you're aware that people get weary of hearing about it, you assume they must be trying to guess what's wrong with you and why it's so hard to get pregnant--because let's be honest--you probably did the same thing with other people in your shoes before they were your shoes too, and a lot of stuff annoys you about babies and pregnant people and baby showers and Gap Kids, and older well-intentioned (I'm giving them the benefit of the doubt) women.

Infertility is that thing that you never truly believe will happen to you.  You know someone who couldn't get pregnant but they'd always had horribly irregular periods growing up so it's no shock--that's not you.  You know someone who got really sick in college and had to have surgery and treatment and were told they might never get pregnant--that's not you.  You know someone who took birth control for a hundred years and had a hard time getting pregnant--that's not you.  And there are a million "that's not you" scenarios.

And all of a sudden it is you.  For NO reason.  No medical reason.  Doctors are baffled.  Every test shows you should be getting pregnant.  EVERY SINGLE ONE. Specialists deliver the news that you are in that 20% of infertile couples where there is no reason that you're not conceiving naturally or with treatment. Idiopathic is what they call it.  Which is a good word because at the end of infertility treatments it all feels idiotic and you want to scratch your eyes out.

I can remember a handful of occasions while going through infertility treatments when I really had a meltdown--like really cried. 

When my husband and I went to see United 91 we had to leave the theater because I started having a panic attack.  I'd never had one before so didn't really know what was happening.  I couldn't breath, I was crying, I felt like screaming, I was scared of the movie, I literally felt like an alien was going to erupt out of my body and I couldn't do anything about it. I was on drugs at the time and then when I figured out what had brought on the attack I was so angry that I even had to be taking these drugs to try and get pregnant that I got more upset. 

Another time my husband was out of town and I took a pregnancy test before work; negative as usual.  I hadn't really had a firm inclination that I was pregnant to begin with so I don't know why I got so upset.  I called my friend Liz at 6:00 in the morning sobbing and told her to tell our boss I'd be late to work--I just needed to pull it together. 

And then another time one of my middle school students talked back to me in class.  Imagine.  A middle school student talking back to their teacher.  I fell apart.  Huge, ridiculous, insane, I should be committed sobs.  Again--the drugs.  They totally dictate all normal functioning of your body and turn you into a robot.  And that made me mad. 

One time I walked into work and someone was waving their strip of ultrasound pictures around like a ribbon dancer and I pulled them out of her hand, ripped them into a hundred pieces, and stomped on them.  That's not true.  But I wanted to.  Kind of. 

And that's the hard part of going through infertility.  I never begrudged the fact that someone else was pregnant.  I really didn't.  I didn't want everyone else to be infertile too.  I just wanted to not be.  I went to baby showers and was happy for my friends.  I wished that I could have one too, but I truly was happy for them.  Once or twice I turned down an invitation for one because I just didn't feel up to to it, but it had nothing to do with my friends.  It just doesn't feel good to feel jealous so I needed a reprieve.  The other hard thing is that you can't always predict who can talk to you about your infertility and who can't.  Some people are just better sounding boards than others and you can't even put your finger on why--they just are.  You just gel with some people.  Their advice doesn't annoy you, seem cliche, or make you want to kick them. 

So here's the thing--if you have a friend or child struggling with infertility you need to try and figure out how much space they need; ask them how they'd like you to talk about their infertility, do they want to talk about it at all, do they want you to wait to talk about it until they bring it up, do they want you to ignore it completely?   Maybe even tell them that if you're not someone they feel like they can talk to about it, you understand, no big deal, but you'd still love to go shopping with them, have coffee, and see a movie.  Give them that freedom.  And don't take it personally if they don't want to attend a baby shower or two, decorate your baby room with you, or help you find maternity jeans. They're probably as sad about not being pregnant as you are excited about being pregnant.


Additionally, if you have a friend struggling with infertility please don't tell them things like,

"I bet when you're least expecting it, you'll get pregnant." PLEASE STOP SAYING THIS.  PLEASE. 
"Have you tried_______________________ (and you could fill in the blank with anything here)?"
"Just be thankful you don't have to deal with ___________________________ (fill in the blank with any pregnancy related malady)."  You think I'm kidding that people don't say this to those of us trying to get pregnant?  Ask ANY of your friends dealing with infertility if this has happened to them and they'll confirm it with a resounding yes. 
"How much longer do you think you'll try until..............?" Until what?  I was asked this so many times and I never really knew what the other person was getting at. 


On the flip side, if you're struggling with infertility you need to figure out how much space you need and communicate that to people you love--they're not mind-readers--just like you aren't. Chances are they've known someone else dealing with infertility that has handled it very different from you.  And that's not wrong, it's just different.  You also can't assume that just because your good friend asks you to flip through a baby name book with her she's being insensitive.  She's just excited--and that's a good thing.  If it's really too uncomfortable or sad for you, tell her.  Tell her you're happy for her but you just can't do it right now--it's too hard and you hope she'll understand.

This whole living with and understanding infertility is a two way street.  It takes sensitivity, common sense, and grace on both sides.  Let's all give it to each other.

Thank heaven for retro one-piece bathing suits.......

I swear.  I'm so in love with retro bathing suits that even if I was a size "I'm ready to compete on the Bachelorette" I'd wear one.  I bought my first one from Popina about two years ago (it's that red one below--but in yellow) and pretty much haven't looked back.

Granted, the one I bought from Popina takes about ten minutes to shimmy into and you had best be prepared to not go to the bathroom for about five hours (or do and just don't tell anyone....what?  I didn't say that) because once that thing's wet and you pull it down it's never going back up.......it's still my favorite bathing suit I've ever owned.

I've acquired a few more since then....and I've got my eye on that amazing black and white ruffled Albion Fit beauty below.  Summer's on the way (I think) and in case you're in the market for a new suit....here are some of my favorites!

Big Brave Adults

I've thought a lot about writing this post or not.  It's one of the first stories about Georgia that I've really considered not writing, out of respect for her.  I think about that more frequently as she's getting older and older and I wrestle with which stories are mine to tell and which stories are hers.  Ultimately, I decided that I wanted to write this story for her though. To let her know that being scared is okay.  There is no one who isn't scared sometimes, a lot of times, and that feeling is normal........and okay. And at one time or another in our lives......we've all failed.......we've all fallen short on something we've really wanted......and again, that's okay.

Georgia has wanted to get her ears pierced in the biggest way for about a month.  She talks about it almost everyday.  Multiple times.  She even plays ear piercing store with her stuffed animals and some kitchen tongs. I have never brought this topic up.  It's all her.  She initiated it and she continued it.  Chris and I have no magic age in our heads that we deem ear piercing appropriate or not and told her we were happy to take her to get it done if she really wanted to do it.  I was honest with her in telling her that sure, it hurts a little bit, but then the hurt goes away quickly and you look in the mirror and you're so excited that you have little sparkles on your ears.  She seemed okay with that.

Last Saturday she announced that she wanted to head to the mall after church on Sunday and do the deed. She was firm.  She couldn't wait to go to bed on Saturday night so she'd wake up faster and we could go to church quicker and then we'd go to the mall.  Come Sunday morning I didn't bring it up.  I truly wanted this to be her decision.  But sure enough within a half n'hour of being up Georgia shrieked that this was the day she was getting her ears pierced.  And she repeated that shriek every ten minutes or so until we pulled into a parking spot at the mall.  She practically sprinted to Claire's laughing the whole way.  Chris and I kept giving each other little looks that said, "Do you really think she'll do it?"  "She's surprised us before." "We'll be so proud of her." And I was telling myself, "She'll look so darn cute!"

We picked out earrings, little sparkle pink flowers, and hopped up in the chair.  No crack in the armor.

She told Chris to take a picture of her ears.  Her ears for the last time without any holes in them.

As the earrings got taken out of their packaging, the sterile wipes came out, and Georgia saw the white guns placed on the counter she started to falter a little bit. 

And I expected that.  Getting your ears pierced is a 'big deal rite of passage' for little girls and as ready as you are to get it done, it's scary, and there will be tears, and last minute hesitations, and I knew that as her mom I'd probably need to do a little coaxing when it came right down to it.  I knew she'd be happy in the end and we all need encouragement sometimes to do scary things that those who have gone before us know aren't really all that scary when it comes right down to it.  

But she started to cry harder.  That kind of cry where it's hard to catch your breath.  And she told me she wanted me to hug her the whole time they were piercing her ears.  I told her I couldn't do that.  And she cried harder and said she wanted to get down.  So I helped her down.  And she cried harder.  Too hard to get your ears pierced.  We walked out of the store for a bit to see if she'd calm down and it just got worse.  

When we told Georgia that it was okay, she didn't have to get her ears pierced, it was no big deal, it infuriated her.  The thought that we believed she wasn't brave or couldn't do something was more than she could handle and she fell apart.  And as her parents we decided that she wasn't ready....at least not that day. We scooped her up and carried her out to the car and she kept crying, huge sobs.  And it broke my heart. It's the first time I've seen her truly upset that she wasn't able to do something.  Not because she was physically incapable but emotionally and mentally.  She couldn't get herself there and the defeat that she felt was too much for her.  

She calmed down over the course of the car ride home and we quickly involved her in a game of hide and seek when walked in the door.  I asked her about two hours later how she was feeling about her ears.  She told me that she'd stopped thinking about it and she wanted to talk to me about it tomorrow.  I gave her that space. 

On Monday she asked me, "Mommy, when I'm a brave adult like you I won't be scared to do things will I?  Like get my ears pierced.  I'll never be afraid of something when I get big and I can't wait for that." 

I kissed her on the head and replied,"Georgia.  Everyone is afraid of something.  Everyone.  Even grown-ups.  I'm afraid of something almost everyday.  And sometimes I ignore that fear and just do the thing I'm afraid of.  And sometimes I'm too afraid and decide not to do that thing.  And both are okay."  

She wanted an example. 

I told her I was afraid to bring her to swimming lessons because it made me sad to see her cry about it--and nothing makes a mommy sad like seeing her little girl sad, but I did it anyway because I wanted her to be safe in the water and it is a good thing for little girls to know how to swim.  And now?  I reminded her how she could go under water by herself. She smiled at that.

"So grown ups aren't always brave?  Is that really true?," she confirmed. 

"Right. There is no one that is brave all the time. But a lot of times scary things are worth it.  However, if you decide that it's just too scary don't do it, and that's okay, it's completely okay and you don't need to be mad at yourself for it."

I continued to explain that she needed to stop being upset with herself for not getting her ears pierced; for being too scared.  There would be so many opportunities to try it again and that daddy and I would take her whenever she felt ready. 

She says she wants to try it again on Friday.  And I'm happy to help her try. 

I'm also happy to walk next to her if it doesn't go well.  To help her see that not accomplishing a goal, failing at something, is okay sometimes.  It's not the end of the world.  It's not an opportunity to beat yourself up.  And in the end we all do it.  And goodness.....we're not going to have a meltdown over it. 

All this seems easy.  It's ear piercing.  But one day it will be a strained friendship, not making a team, not receiving an award, making a bad decision about a social situation, not getting into the college of her dreams, not landing that perfect job, or working through a problem with her own children..........the list of things we can fall short on never ends and I have to show her in these early formative years how to fall short, how to deal with it, and how to get back up.  Sometimes over and over. 

We might find ourselves back in this chair tomorrow.  If we do........fantastic.  If we don't.........eh........we're learning how to fail, how to be scared, and how to say, "right now just isn't the right time...........and that's okay."

Because none of us....none of us are 'big brave adults' all the time, and our kids need to know that. 

I am a builder.

Fighting.  I feel like I'm getting really good at fighting with my four year old.  Actually, that's not true.  I suck at it.  And no matter how many times I say the proverbial parent line, "I'm not arguing with you about this.  Mommy is deciding," or the  Love & Logic moniker, "I love you too much to argue with you," we fight.  And it is exhausting.

We fight about socks, jeans that look like boy jeans, jeans that look like mom jeans (seriously--she called a pair of jeans 'mom jeans' today--I own no such thing), where I brush her hair after a bath, the volume on her music before bed, why she can't eat brownies for breakfast, why she can't eat cereal out of a box in the car--the actual cereal box, why I don't know the answer to how big a beaver dam is (that's right ,keep laughing--it's real funny when you're the one explaining how beavers knock down trees for the thousandth time and the explanation is still not sufficing), and on it goes.

And one of the most frustrating pieces of advice triviality that people tell new parents is "pick your battles."  Yeah, I think we all get it.  I'm not going to fight over what bow Georgia wants to wear in her hair, what pair of (reasonable) shoes she wants to wear, how long she wants to hang out in the bathtub, what pajamas she chooses, or how many stuffed animals she wants piled in her bed every night.....but some things........they're not going to be battles because the outcome isn't negotiable.

Enter.......the inevitable fight.  The growing pains.  The hard work.  And I'm choosing to clutch tightly to the other thing everyone tells first-time parents, "It's just a phase."  That this head-butting of sorts will pass and something else will take its place until more head-butting of the tween variety sets in.

I say all that to say that in the process of these little moments (which makes them sound cuter) I have to remember that I am a builder.  I so badly want to say things to my daughter in the midst of these disputes out of frustration, anger, irritation, and sheer humanity.......but I have to bite my tongue.  Does that mean no correction? No consequences? No hard lessons? Definitely not.

But it means I need to watch my words.  Because frequently the words that we, that our children, remember with the most accuracy and clarity out of all the amazing ones that will ever be spoken to them are the ones that cut.

I can distinctly remember three different comments made to me while growing up, all before the age of ten that hurt.  A lot.  I remember who said them to me, where I was when they were said, what it smelled like, what I'd done right before they were said, what I was wearing........everything.......because they were hard comments.  Unnecessary.  They didn't build me up.  They weren't constructive.  They hurt. And I carry the ramifications of them as a thirty five year old.

And if you're honest--I bet you have them too.
And I'm not naive enough to think that my daughter won't have them.
I'd just like to do my best to reduce the amount of them she attributes to me.
I want to be her builder.
And building is hard work.  Things need to be readjusted, taken apart, reevaluated, secured, repaired, and contemplated.  A good builder doesn't destroy their project mid-stream because something is frustrating about it, not going well, a little different than originally envisioned, or taking longer than originally thought.  A good builder keeps plugging along.  Making intentional decisions and consistent progress.

I'm her builder.
And I write this today more of a reminder for myself than for anyone else.  Getting it out.  Hitting publish.  It's for me.  I need to feel convicted of it in the midst of an embattled week.........

If you're there too, you're not alone.  Just remember......we're builders.  And sometimes it's really hard.