My Favorite Thing…Sleep

I’m a horrible cuddler.

Let me specify. When I first go to bed at night, I can’t do the falling asleep in someone’s arms thing. I need my space. Sorry, honey!

So it’s a bit unusual that one of my favorite things has been sleeping with my kids. In our bed.

Uh-oh! I’ve likely unleashed some parenting judgment. The clicking of the tongue (tsk tsk), the gasps of horror that we bring the kids into our bed…

I’ve heard all about ruining my child’s ability to be a long-term, healthy sleeper. That they need to learn to sleep, wake, and fall back to sleep again by themselves. And I totally get it – it’s valid. I’m throwing a different perspective out there anyway.

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Let me explain that our toddler has never been a good sleeper. Never. If you’ve ever experienced a bad sleeper, you’re probably already nodding your head in understanding. To those parents – hopefully, this post will remind you that you’re not alone and to not feel so bad about bringing them into bed with you at times.

Thank goodness, his sleeping has improved. He naps beautifully! Sleeps soundly for a good two hours, wakes, rolls out of his bed, and simply walks down the hall to reunite with his family.

But nighttime can be a different story. In my blog about choking out weeds, I shared how my toddler has vivid dreams, often of trivial conflicts. He talks in his sleep, and his dreams wake him with distress at times. Being jolted from sleep 3-4 times a night was just too much for us parents, so we’ve learned to be flexible. He always starts in his own bed, but he may not always remain there.

It’s funny…when he has his toddler tantrums during the day, my method is to leave him in his room to calm down and work it out for himself. He comes out when his tantrum is over, saying, “I’m done, Mama.” It’s not always quick, but he gets there. My hubby, on the other hand, tells me I need to console him, distract him, and he’ll calm down easier.

Different methods – I’m not sure which is better, but I do feel differently at night about the whole “let him work it out himself.” And yes, we have tried the crying it out thing. It worked…not so much.

There were times I could feel my frustration meter skyrocket when he woke at night. I blame it on sleep deprivation. Even if I didn’t show it, I could feel it. There were grumblings under my breath of Just. Go. To Sleep! and Please God, help him stop crying! I’d try to stay firm about him remaining in bed. But he could feel my frustration, too, and that just caused more crying.

At 2 am, you want a quick fix. How can I remove this head-pounding wail, avoid my 8-year old from being disturbed, and return the household to sleepyland as quickly as possible?

Hence, the decisions at times to pull him into bed with us.

The good thing about his sleep-talk is that he also sleep-listens. When he wakes from a dream lying next to us, we can lull him back to sleep with ease. Sometimes it’s as simple as answering him, “No, your brother isn’t in the room anymore, so he can’t take your toy car.” Wallah! Dream-conflict solved, and he’s back to sleep.

Honestly, I’m not worried about our toddler’s future ability to sleep on his own. When my oldest was a toddler, he slept with us now and then. And he’s the best sleeper of the family now! Out like a light the entire night. The only time he wakes is if he has a nightmare, which is seldom. When it happens, though, one of us doesn’t hesitate to lie down with him. I want him to know we’ll always be there to help, comfort, protect him, if need be.

Let me assure you we did not sleep with our newborns. The risk of rolling over onto them was too scary. But the odds of us harming our toddler is null. There’s a greater chance of him hurting us.

We’ve been kicked, whacked, shoved, poked, head-butted – I even got a puffy upper lip once from an elbow at just the right angle. 🙂 Some nights we’d wake at the risk of leaving the very edges of our King-sized bed while our toddler slept sideways between us – head in the crook of my side and feet digging into hubby’s back. BTW – What’s bigger than a King? A California King doesn’t cut it. I need more width, not length. Does anyone make an Emperor bed?

By being flexible with the sleeping, I truly believe we’re meeting his need at this stage in his life. When he wakes in the middle of the night feeling upset, he needs consoling. If lying between mom and dad offers him the comfort he needs to return to a peaceful sleep, I’m okay with that. He won’t be asking to do that when he’s fourteen, so I know it’s temporary. And along the way, I hope it builds confidence in him with a strong support system of love.


     Praise be to the God and Father
     of our Lord Jesus Christ, the
Father of compassion and the God
of all comfort, who comforts us in all
our troubles, so that we can comfort
those in any trouble with the comfort
we ourselves receive from God. 

                                       2 Corinthians: 3-4


I’ll be honest, having him next to me is one of my favorite things. As a baby, my oldest used to nap on my chest on his tummy. I’d lay there with a physical feeling of peace. My body would feel relaxed, warm, and still. Nothing in the world felt more peaceful than his little body’s soft breathing. It was pure comfort. I missed that with my youngest – he just didn’t sleep like that with me. But I’ve learned that he, too, feels peace sleeping near us.

The other night I avoided frustration over his cries by reminding myself that I’m the person he relies on to comfort him – he needs me for this, not to lay down the law in the middle of the dark night. So, when he calmed a bit, I asked how I could help him.

  • [Me: Did you have a bad dream, sweetie?]
  • [Him: No.]
  • [Me: Are you upset that you woke up and still feel sleepy?]
  • [Him: Yes.]
  • [Me: What can I do to help?]
  • [Him: I want to go in the big bed with you and Dadda.]
  • [Me: Why do you want to go in the big bed, honey?]
  • [Him: (in his sweet, groggy, sleep-filled, small voice) Because it’s my favorite thing.] How can you say no to that? 🙂

Mine too, buddy! Come on – I’ll carry you!

Side note: I don’t blame my sleep deprivation on kids alone. Most times, it’s just my brain that refuses to shut down. When I woke one night at 1:00 am, resulting in insomnia, I laid there actually writing this post in my head. I resorted to getting up to write it down before I lost my thoughts. So I have my own sleep troubles at times. And no, my parents did NOT let me sleep with them. 🙂

 


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(Don’t) Put Me In, Coach!

There wasn’t much I did well in gym class. I never ran a 12-minute mile, never made it up the rope, and was worried I’d get my face smashed by the volleyball.

But I could do the Arm Hang like no other!

Is that a sport, you ask? It is when you’re one of the skinniest, lankiest girls in her 7th grade class, underweight by at least 20 pounds. Hold my chin (and the rest of my body) above that bar with my undefined biceps and triceps? I wondered if I’d even get my forehead up there.

I sat on the blue mats with my classmates, nervous sweat on my palms. BTW – that does not help when hanging from a slippery steel bar. I watched each of the boys make it – some for 5 seconds, 10 seconds, 17 seconds. A few girls with close times. If I remember correctly (and granted, this was eons ago), no one much above 30 or so. Then it was my turn. I glanced at my gym teacher (bless her, she was tough). Her face was neutral – I don’t think she expected any difference from the last 12 kids.

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I decided that steel bar wouldn’t take me down. I was going to stay up there as long as my breath would hold. (Oh, wait, we were supposed to keep breathing.) I was determined, stubborn – it was me and the bar. I was better than the bar. It was my moment. Like Rocky running up the stairs to his theme song. Except it was dead silent in that weight room…until the seconds started passing. Then, I faintly heard my gym teacher – keep it up, you can do it – and my classmates, too. Only faintly, though, because it was mostly just me and the bar.

I stayed up there…for 59 seconds.

That’s right! Skinny girl whooped that bar! You may not think that’s long, but after a little web surfing, I found the 50th percentile (for girls) is only 9 seconds. I think I surprised my teacher. I’ll never forget her grin. And I definitely surprised myself. It pays to be a stubborn, skinny girl.

I hate strongly dislike sports analogies. Not because they don’t work. Just because they’re everywhere. Business, motivational speakers, magazine articles, even our church sermons regularly refer to our NFL team.

But here I am using a sports analogy. I dislike myself right now. 🙂

I blame this on my son’s school ceremony I attended last week. They recognized six teachers retiring at year end, and one was the gym teacher. I was taken down memory lane.

Gym and team sports weren’t my thing. I preferred competing alone. If I was going to let anyone down, it would simply be me.

There is something to be said for accomplishing things on your own through self-motivation and sheer determination. But I can’t ignore the fact that I am, in fact, now on a team. A permanent one. My family.

And my role as coach is one of the many facets of my motherhood title. As my 2-year old reminded me.

  • [Me: Hmmm, what should I do next?] I was doing chores around the house…and talking to myself.
  • [Him: You’re going to change the basketball player.] As in, his diaper, which he had asked me to change several minutes earlier as I was multi-tasking. 🙂
  • [Me: Oh, yes. Thank you, basketball player.]
  • [Him: You’re welcome, coach!]

Using this terminology was unexpected. I didn’t even know he knew what a coach was. And he was using it in the right context.

And he’s right. There are times I’m the family coach. The thing is I’ve been taking the role too seriously. I need to remember I’m not just a coach, I’m not the only coach, and I’m certainly not the head coach.

Just a Coach: I have dual roles – coach and player – but am too focused on my role as coach. I make sure the team is well-rested, uniforms are clean, snacks are made, lists are checked, and instructions tossed around. I forget to be a player. I forget to have fun with my teammates.

Some mornings it feels like I’m reviewing the same game plan 5 times – eat your breakfast, brush your teeth, pack your snack, make your bed, grab a sweatshirt – be ready for school before doing anything else. This morning, I could have reminded my son of all this. Instead, I played ball with my toddler. Guess what? We still got out the door on time.

Only Coach: I’m not playing this parenting game solo. Yet, there are days I place all the responsibilities on my shoulders alone. Why? It won’t do my hubby any good to not know the game. How can he help coach the team if he doesn’t have the playbook? And let’s be honest. I’m not his coach. I should be running the plays by him beforehand. There are times I need to take the role of assistant coach.

I’m so bad at this, I’m having a hard time thinking of a recent situation where I did this. 🙂

Head Coach: Speaking of assistant coach, I’m not the head honcho. It’s really God’s playing field, not mine. Sometimes I don’t even know the rules. The good news is I may blunder some plays, but he won’t take me out of the game for it. And if the rules change, he’ll coach me through. I just need to listen and wait.

Waiting for a baby was definitely one of those times I tried to coach my own way. Ovulation tests, calendar monitoring, temperature checks. I thought if I did all the right things, I’d score eventually. But when you hit the 1-year mark, you’re on the rocky cliff of giving up or trying harder. That’s when I submitted. “Okay, God,” I said. “I obviously can’t do this myself. I’ll just keep doing what I can and leave the rest up to you.” And six months later, I finally saw those two pink lines I was sure I’d never see. Some games go into major overtime!


Now, if you’re as sick of sports analogies as I am, please forgive me. And if you think sports analogies are the only way to go, I forgive you. Just kidding – forgive my sports rebellion.

My family members are my teammates, and I don’t want to disappoint them. If I’m not fully engaged in the game, stop going up to bat, and instead throw in the towel (oops, more sports metaphors!), then I’ve definitely let my team down. I have to keep playing and trying my best. I have to be player and coach, navigating the difference. And never forget who’s head coach in this game of life.

With His help, the steely bar above my head will not get the best of me!

Heart Monitor: The past two days have been really great. I’m back on green, friends!! But wow, this post’s photo shows how white I am – I need some sun!


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That’s Not My Monster!

We have a well-enjoyed book with this same title. It’s a touch-and-feel book with bobbly noses and fuzzy ears. The friendliest monsters you’d ever wish to see under your bed. But the ones nipping at my heels are not always friendly.

One is lurking in the bathroom – the Pee-Pee Monster. It was garbage day recently. When I grabbed the small trash can from the main bathroom, I was pretty sure I smelled pee. Sniffing the can didn’t confirm it, so I checked inside the potty training chair. Nope, none there. I checked the big boy toilet. Sure enough, someone’s aim was off, and the back of the toilet seat was no longer white. The Pee-Pee Monster wanted to march out to my son to demand a cleaning.

Another is lurking in the living room – the Toy Monster. Last month, I attempted to re-organize the toy area…again. Lego people were mixed with cars, monster trucks with play food, and every type of play thing stuck under the shelf unit. No wonder they can’t find anything, and yet still have everything. The Toy Monster raises my temperature, darn sure it had put away that ocean puzzle just an hour ago. I ask for an organizational  rescue and get the look, You want me to do what?

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Still another is lurking in the laundry room – the Sock Monster. Sorting the laundry, I found a balled up sock. I unrolled it, turned it right-side out so it could be washed. Digging in the hamper, I found its partner, also rolled into a tight ball. By the time I got through the pile, I had unrolled 6 pairs of socks. I was pretty sure I could smell the feet sweat in between my fingers. I don’t understand how removing a sock is all that complicated. How do they end up as a ball? It seems to be a guy thing. Is it the basketball-like hamper-tossing that causes it, or did my hubby teach them to roll them off the heel that way? I don’t know of any woman who would put them in the laundry like that, knowing it can’t possibly get clean all scrunched together. The Sock Monster whispers in my ear. Let them get washed and dried that way, it says. They can grab it from their drawer later to find it’s still damp. Such a nasty Sock Monster!

While I’d like to think these monsters are hiding out in the rooms of my house, they are actually inside me. All rolled into one – the Nag Monster.

The Nag Monster has shown its ugly head many times. Its talent is rolling one thing off my tongue after another in a matter of minutes like a Krispy Kreme donut line. “There’s a pile of markers left on the floor… granola bar wrappers belong in the garbage can, not my sofa table… who went into the fridge and didn’t close the door all the way?”

Oh, I have perfectly good reasons for each of them. But it does no good. The Nag Monster is put on mute by my kids. Not purposely. They just can’t keep up with that many complaints.

Pick your battles, my mother always said. And it’s true. Nagging doesn’t work. Just because it’s nagging me doesn’t mean I have to nag them. If I truly want them to do something differently, I have to choose when and how I ask them. Select one or two at a time. Not expect them to fix the seven things I just rattled off like a machine gun.

Plus, nagging is a funny thing. It’s more than just annoying. It actually has a way of causing harm, even with the best of intentions.

A trusted friend shared a story with me about her daughter years ago. She would sweetly say, “Let’s try to keep your shoes off the couch, dear,” and “Uh-oh, let’s wipe up the drink you spilled on the table.” Her reminders were always given in a calm and loving way. Or so she thought. Imagine her surprise when one day, the tween daughter blew up. “You’re always nagging me. Always pointing out what I do wrong. I feel like I can’t do anything right!” All the time my friend thought she was being super patient trying to encourage good habits, she was actually making her daughter feel like a failure.

I thought this was incredibly insightful. Nagging can actually be damaging…beating down your child’s confidence. And your relationship.

One of the things I hope for my kids is strength. That they feel they can accomplish anything. They have confidence to go after their dreams, no matter how far off they seem. And at the same time, they have strength to accept failures along the way, but not lose hope for the next time. Will my nagging help that? Not at all!

Now, rather than let the Nag Monster prevail, I’m pursuing the Love Monster.

It’s there in the mornings when I catch my oldest son’s sleepy-eyed face stumbling to the bathroom and saying, “Morning, Mama” to me. One day, his mornings will be spent elsewhere.

It’s there in the imaginative destruction of my living room where pillows, tissue boxes, and Are those my new Tupperware containers? build a dirt bike track over my couches. I hope they enjoy this freedom and comfort in their own homes.

Yes, it’s even in the laundry room, where I realize that someday all the socks for the three most important men in my life will be the same size. I’ll miss these miniature versions. And the ability to know which is whose. 🙂

We’re not perfect. Never will be. Never CAN be. Our best is to keep trying. To improve.


        Let us not become weary in doing
        good, for at the proper time we will
reap a harvest if we do not give up.
Galatians 6:9


I started this journey to a yell-free home 48 days ago. I’ve had some successful days (the first 9 were fantastic!) and some not so good days (any day I attempt to clean the house). The journey to date has definitely not been 100%, but I didn’t expect it to be. I won’t beat myself up over it either.

Because in this journey I’ve discovered things that have led to good. Little things. Smiling more. Whispering to get their attention. Asking why they are upset rather than asking them to stop crying. Picking my battles. Most things I was aware of before, but I had gotten out of practice remembering them. And more importantly…using them.

In our minds, we see failures too often. We must look at ourselves through our kids’ eyes. They will recognize a failure, but our failures are forgiven. And most days, they see perfection.

It’s time I see their perfection more than their failures. When I stop to look at them…truly look at them…they are miraculous. The biggest blessing I’m not sure I always deserve. I remind myself that God chose them for me, and me for them. And He always knows what He’s doing.

Your child is perfect in so many ways, too. I’d love to hear about them!


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More Cheeto Fingers, Please!

I love Cheetos. So do my kids. Not sure if it’s a genetics thing, or Cheetos are just THAT good.

I’m in awe of how quickly they devour them. And how despite the fact that you only need one hand to eat them, that cheese powder is clinging to all ten fingers when they’re done.

As I watch my 2-year old…yes, I let him eat Cheetos now and then. Seriously, you need to see his joyous grin and hear his giggle when I give him this treat. It’s this low chuckle like an evil scientist plotting taking over the world. He should rub his hands together and throw his head back just to match the image with the sound. It’s the funniest thing – you would give him Cheetos, too, just to hear it. Trust me.

Anyway, he stuffs his cheeks two halves at a time, licks each finger, and dives in the bag for more. Here’s what I imagine he’s thinking.

  • [Mmmm, Cheetos are yummy.]
  • [Hey, my fingers are orange.]
  • [Oh, that’s cheese, too. I better lick that.]
  • [Wait. There are more in the bag.]
  • [Mmmm, I love Cheetos.]

I am in total agreement with him. Except the licking part. I’ve managed to keep my cheese-finger coverage to a minimum because I stuff them in my mouth whole. 🙂

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BTW – If anyone who works for FritoLay ends up reading this, I have a question. Why did the Cheetos Puffs get BIGGER? They used to be the perfect pop-in-your-mouth size. Never did I think to myself, Gee, these should be bigger so I can feel like an even bigger PIG trying to stuff them in my mouth. If I were honest, they are a little too big. I really have to cram them in. Come on, FritoLay. Don’t you realize I’d pop them in my mouth faster and probably eat more if they were smaller? Well…at least you don’t wrap them individually, like my other love, Dove chocolates. I’d devour more of those if I didn’t have to unwrap each one (probably a good thing).

Now, when my little one has finished his helping and comes at me with those ten cheese-lovin digits, I balk. “Stop! You have Cheeto fingers!” I say.

He has a face of bewilderment. But is patient as I use a diaper wipe on his pudgy hands (hey, those things are good for more than just butts).

He’s not thinking about his fingers. Or the couch arm he just touched as he does a quick jump in the air from his cheese dust high. Or my pants leg as he reaches up to whisper in my ear, “I love you, Mama.” (I just gave him Cheetos after all.)

He is simply in a moment of joy. This moment. Right now.

In the past, I know I’ve grown frustrated about those cheesy fingers. Wondering if I should try cleaning my pants or just give up and throw them in the wash. I’m sure I’ve shown this irritation to him.

Who am I to ruin his simple joy by getting flustered over his fingers? And, God forbid, causing him to think he’s doing something wrong? After all, I gave him the Cheetos.

I want to be more like him. Less uptight about things like this. To be in the moment. To savor the joy before thinking about what’s next. Forget the “what ifs.” No predicting what might come.

Do you remember the biblical story of Martha and Mary? Martha was uptight about taking care of their guests, while Mary simply sat down to enjoy the teachings from Jesus.


        “Martha, Martha,” the Lord answered,
“you are worried and upset about

        many things, but few things are
needed. Mary has chosen what is better,
and it will not be taken away from her.”

                                                          Luke 10:41-42


Now, my cheesy situation is not exactly similar. Jesus wasn’t talking about Mary enjoying her favorite treat – like Cheetos. But this scripture gives a lesson about Martha’s distractions and forgetting what’s important at the moment. I see this in other areas of my life, too.

When I get home from work, my little guy routinely grabs my neck, and says, “I missed you Mama. Let’s play ball.”

I acknowledge and respond, “I missed you, too. I love you.” But then my brain immediately runs a tally of what’s next. What to do for dinner. The mortgage payment I need to make that night. Starting a load of laundry because I’m wearing my last clean bra.

He hasn’t seen me all day. Why can’t I stop and spend 15 minutes asking about his day and tossing the baseball to him?

Because I have things to do. It’s my job to keep things moving in this home. It never ends.

But that’s the point. It never ends. It never will.

But this WILL end. This sweet, innocent, toddler stage. I need to soak it in.

So is it really my job to always tackle the list? Or is my job to be in his world right now?

Another blogger, Hands Free Mama, hit me in the forehead with an incredibly perceptive statement. BTW – If you haven’t read her, she’s fantastic!

She reminded her readers that, You can’t kiss a moving target.

Woah! That’s me! I’m on hyperdrive. How are my kids ever going to connect with me? (Not to mention, my hubby.)

So I need to make an effort to stop more, be present in the now, not get irritated by messes I’ll have to clean up later, not take away from their enjoyment by nagging at them to eat over their plates. Just enjoy their joy…because they Grow. So. Fast.

Hopefully I can learn to love Cheeto fingers, too. Granted, I’m still popping them in my mouth whole to avoid my own cheesy mess, but I don’t need to worry about his so much.

His joy is something to be savored…just like the Cheetos!

YOUR joy is something to be savored. Take the time to enjoy the joy.

Darn this post. Now I’m hungry for Cheetos. And I may top it off with some chocolate. What’s for dinner? 🙂

Heart Monitor: Ups and downs this week. Friday was great! Today not so good – trying to clean the house always gets me (ugh)!


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DAY 18 – Oh. No. He. Didn’t!

This post is for my hubby. A thank you.

I hadn’t clued him in to this blog right away. I knew his reaction. In my head, it went something like this.

  • [Me: Hey, honey, I’ve started writing a blog.]
  • [Him: What?] Usually, he’s multi-tasking, so half listening the first time around.
  • [Me: A blog. I’m writing about parenting, funny things the kids say, how I’m trying not to yell anymore, stuff like that.]
  • [Him: No yelling, huh?] Yes, there would be skepticism there.
  • [Me: Don’t even go there. I’m working on it.]
  • [Him: Is that on Facebook?]
  • [Me: No, it’s different. It’s like a website, really.]
  • [Him: Are you serious?]
  • [Me: Ummmm…maybe.]

Knowing his opinion of Facebook being a waste of time, I figured this would make even less sense to him. I worried he would be concerned about the time factor – just as I was, honestly – with me adding one more “thing” to my TO DO list.

That he might either be concerned about where I get my content – like am I writing about him – or not get the point of it at all.

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I honestly wasn’t sure if it would possibly turn into an argument. So I kept it to myself while crafting it. I figured I’d find out just how against it he was before really putting it out there.

I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I need to preface this story by telling you that my husband is not a snoop. We respect each other’s privacy. We trust each other. Like if I bring home a new dress, he doesn’t ask how much I spent. He doesn’t question the five others in my closet. He doesn’t say a word. Except maybe that I look nice if I’m wearing it for the first time. He knows he doesn’t have to worry about these things. He knows I don’t make decisions without care.

All the more reason why this story is…surprising.

The other day we had a discussion about a decision neither one of us was quite sure about. He felt one way; I felt another. We each saw both sides, but couldn’t quite come to a conclusion. We decided to sit on it for a while; honestly, we were both a bit agitated and needed to cool. Just as he left to run an errand, he quietly said this.

“Maybe you should write about it in your blog.”

HUH?!?!?!?!?!

I had left the house in a rush that afternoon to meet a friend for lunch. My Word doc with my blog posts was still open on our home computer screen. At first, I figured he had just seen the name Blog in the document title and was putting two and two together…and likely wondering what the heck it was.

But I found out otherwise tonight when he came up and circled my waist.

  • [Him: I need to apologize.]
  • Me silent. I wasn’t interrupting this for anything.
  • [Him: Earlier I made a comment I shouldn’t have. About writing on your blog. And I have to admit to you that I read them.]
  • [Me: ALL of them?!?] I’m shocked at this moment.
  • [Him: Yes, all of them. And they’re incredible. You are so talented, and I forget that sometimes…]

At this point, I’m sobbing. I can’t tell you with certainty what else he said. Something about the newspaper, better writing than what he reads daily, funny, made him tear up, etc, etc. Honestly, I wish I had been paying more attention. But in between my sniffles, all I heard was, I believe in you.

Nothing at all against my husband, but it’s been a while since he’s given me such a meaningful compliment. I’m just as guilty about not doing the same for him. We forget to do this. It meant the world to me.

  • [Me: You have no idea how much that means to me. (sniff, sniff, sniff – that stuttery kind of sob that escapes after a hard cry) You really think they’re good?]
  • [Him: I really do.]
  • [Me: Really?]
  • [Him: ‘No, really.’] As in the title of my Day 17 post! He can be a funny man, by the way.

When did we forget to be each other’s friend? Ah, yes, parenthood. Some days we’re just trying to survive among work schedules, soccer practice, homework, nighttime rituals, 20-minute required reading, and eventually I enter the bedroom to one sound, snoring, sleeping husband.

(sigh) A wake-up call to put more time into our relationship. More consideration. More support. A little more faith in my partner.


Let us encourage one another – 
        and all the more as you see the day approaching.
                                                          Hebrews 10:25


I truly believe things happen for a reason. This one’s no exception. I thank God for taking my husband so far out of his norm – for making him snoop today.

It’s my turn to remind him of his talents.

  • He’s made me laugh so hard before, I’ve peed my pants (not a talent, but still true)
  • His ability to sketch intricate drawings amazes me (so thankful he passed this on to our son)
  • He can get us anywhere with no directions (while I can’t get myself out of a closet)
  • He deals with countless stress at work and still comes home with a smile (most days)
  • He never fails me when I really need him (never)

Thanks, honey. You mean the world to me, too. Not just your words.

Day 18 – Sorry, I totally don’t even remember today’s success rate. I was too floored by this other event! BTW – Totally got hubby’s permission to post this! 🙂


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Furniture makeovers, vintage treasures, gathering in my "soul shed", and teaching everyday women to DIY.