986 Rules for Life

I’ve noticed that parents with blogs usually post some sort of rules for raising kids or something along those lines. Sadly, they are all wrong. It’s a good thing for the rest of you that I’m here to set everyone straight. Here are my 986 rules for life.

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Give lots of unsolicited advice. Clearly, my kids are total rock stars, and I’m hitting it out of the park on a daily basis; therefore, I’m an expert on how you should be running your life. You may not know this, so I’m going to help you out by just telling you how you should be doing things. Yes, you’re welcome.

Spend more money. I’m appalled by this recent trend towards thriftiness. This is America people! We don’t want the world to think we’re cheap! Seriously, do you want your kids going to school in non-designer clothing? Imagine what that’s going to do to their emotional development. Hire more household help. It’s good for the economy. Haven’t you seen Downton Abbey? Nothing says classy like a butler at your door and a maid in a starched apron. And for the love of all things holy, quit it with these coupons. If I’m handed one more coupon at the grocery store cash register, I am just going to vomit.

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Raise the bar. If you’re succeeding at your life, then truly you are failing. Your bar is set far too low. Develop some unattainable expectations, such as: polished, manicured nails for your toddler, permanent ice sculpture installation in your dining room, 2% body fat, etc. If you are a frazzled, neurotic, twitching shell of a person, then you’re close, so close, to doing it right.

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Model yourself after your favorite TV Show. TV producers spend a lot of time studying behavior, so they must know the best ways to live. My favorite show is Mad Men, so I’m planning to start smoking and drinking cocktails throughout the day. I’ve already placed decanters of Scotch in all the rooms of my house. Now I just need some ashtrays.  I also start my days by donning stockings, slip, heels, and a double knit dress. Once my fake eyelashes are glued on and my hair sprayed and teased into a gravity-defying bouffant, I’m ready breakfast and a highball. My daughters will thank me for the good example I’m setting.

photo (2)Make sure your kids are the best at something. If your child is not excelling at an activity, immediately remove him or her from it. The only other option is to force him or her to become the best through intense practice sessions that suck out any joy that may be in it. Who wants to watch their kid standing around on the soccer field? No one. You want to see Little Suzy kicking the winning goal. Who wants to see their kid get his butt handed to him at the Karate contest, or whatever it’s called. No one. You want to see Little Billy Jackie Chan that other kid into the ground. If you have two kids who are equally adept at the same activity, simply identify which one is your least favorite and remove said child from that activity. There can only be one winner after all. And pick a good activity for crying out loud. Nobody wants to hear about how great your kid is at drawing Anime dragons or playing Badminton. Yank them out of that mess right away and put them in something you can be proud of. When your kid says, “But Mom, I like drawing Anime dragons.” You answer, “Too bad Junior. I know what’s best for you, and no one ever got anywhere in life by drawing ridiculous cartoon creatures. Now go practice your curve ball. You’ll thank me when you’re in the World Series.” And that is what good parenting sounds like.photo (3)

Post more pictures online. The internet was invented for one reason and one reason only. That reason is so people could post pictures of themselves, their photo (4)kids, their pets, their cars, their houses, their yards, and their vacations. If you aren’t posting at least a dozen pictures a day, then you are wasting the internet. Your kids will assume you do not love them because you have not eternally emblazoned their images in cyber space. While you’re at it, take more pictures of yourself. Go stand in front of the bathroom mirror and hold up your camera. Make sure you hold the camera at a high angle and suck your cheeks in. You’ll look great, trust me.

Well that’s the first 6 rules. You’ll get the next 980 after I get done painting Lily’s nails and forcing Avery to practice her Cantonese.

Here are some excellent examples of taking pictures of yourself. See how great we all look?

We call this a Texas Play Pen

Everything I ever wanted

One day last week, the thought crossed my mind that I have everything I’ve ever wanted. It was one of those laugh out loud kind of moments. I keep repeating it to myself and grinning. I realize that what I’m about to say is going to sound antiquated, or anti-feminist, or whatever; but it’s the truth. For my whole life, all I ever wanted was to be a mom. I knew from the time I was a little child that God put me on the Earth to be a mother in some form or fashion. No profession ever called out to me. No career path truly piqued my interest. I realized, of course, that I would have to be gainfully employed, since “Mom Wanted” is not likely to pop up in the classifieds, and if it did you’d probably be better off staying away from whoever was seeking to have that position filled. It took me a long time to figure out what career to pursue, since I knew it would always be second in my heart. Teaching made sense for me since it fit my nurturing instinct.

In my early adulthood, I knew that it was possible that I would be single through my childbearing years. It could have happened that I wouldn’t have met a man with whom I’d fall in love and start a family. Nonetheless, I knew I would be mom someday, even if it meant that I adopted a child as a single woman. When Noel and I fell in love, I knew with every fiber of my being that I was meant to have his children. Even though I knew my ability to conceive was highly questionable and that a pregnancy for me was uncharted territory for the most skilled specialists, the drive in me to become a mother was so strong that it was, at times, overwhelming.

Frankly, infertility treatment was way worse than I’d ever imagined it would be, from an emotional standpoint. I’d been through so many medical procedures and hospital stays that I hadn’t thought how different infertility treatment would be. To want to become a mom so badly then to pile on a crazy amount of hormones does not make for a pleasant time. Then when the first attempt is a failure, and the second attempt is a failure, the emotional toll is pretty high. Thankfully Noel was such a kind and sensitive partner. He never pushed to continue treatment and was far more in favor of adopting than I was. It was impossible to explain to him how badly I wanted it. I remember us standing in our kitchen, me crying, and holding up a baby picture of him. I pointed at it and said, “I want to see that baby.” He just held me close and told me that that child was in the past. He always wanted what was best for me, and when I wound up in the ICU just a week after I conceived Avery and Lily, I could see the agony in his face and the blame he put on himself. As doctors and nurses were whirling around me, trying to get a line in, trying to get a blood pressure reading, he was pushed in a corner and looked like his world was ending. I hollered out to him, “Hey! Hey! Remember I wanted this!” I saw then how my all-consuming desire to be a mother had the power to crush the person I loved dearest of all. I thank God for bringing me safely through and delivering us two healthy children; because, I would be responsible for the pain inflicted on my husband if the unthinkable had happened.

It’s easy to forget that pain when we have two 15 month olds to chase around the house. That thought entering my mind last week has kind of stopped me in my tracks. I truly have everything I ever wanted, a loving family to call my own. The hustle and bustle of life with twins doesn’t exactly allow time for lengthy introspection. However, the thought that followed was, “Now what?”  Well, now we have two children to raise. I find myself saying things I never dreamed would come out of my mouth, such as: “Stop licking my arm,” “Take your finger out of your sisters mouth before she bites it off,” “Quit gagging yourself,” “You dumped those Cheerios out, so now eat them off the floor,” “Are you pooping?” But still the question comes back to my mind over and over again, “Now what?” I know my life’s purpose is inextricably bound to the nurturing of my children, but I’m beginning to feel like there’s more God has in store for me.

Last week, we attended my dad’s church where he taught the adult Bible lesson in the morning. Part of the text he taught on was:

Do nothing from selfish ambition or conceit, but in humility count others more significant than yourselves. Let each of you look not only to his own interests, but also to the interests of others.  Philippians 2:3-4

My initial reaction to this verse was, well, I’m constantly taking care of others and putting myself further down the list. Avery’s and Lily’s needs always come before mine. I’m constantly addressing the needs of our home and my husband. So check that one off the list, right? The more the lesson sank in, the more I felt like I didn’t have it right. Noel, Lily, Avery, and I are all one. Their interests are my interests; their needs are my needs. So along with the question of “Now what?,” I’m thinking there just might be some others out there who need some of my mothering. Whether they want it or not! Obviously God gave me so much maternal drive that it just can’t be contained to one family. So watch out, there’s a mom on the loose!

Don’t Sneeze on Me

Sometimes I feel daunted by all of the things that Avery and Lily need to learn. It’s an absolutely endless list. Every day I’m attempting to impart some new lesson to them, like:

  • Don’t sneeze in my face
  • Don’t suck milk into your mouth only to spit it out
  • Don’t purposefully throw your cup and then say “uh oh”
  • Don’t chew on shoes
  • Don’t eat Vaseline, no matter how delicious it may be
  • Don’t stick your finger up my nose and start scratching, likewise for my mouth
  • Don’t lay on top of your sister’s head lest you smother her with your body
  • Don’t bite your daddy, or anyone else for that matter

Those lessons are pretty small in comparison to the major ones, such as:

  • Love the Lord with all your heart
  • Love your neighbor as yourself
  • Bless those who curse you
  • We all fall short of the glory of God
  • Do not judge others
  • You are your sister’s keeper
  • Forgive others, because you are forgiven
  • Obey your parents!!!

We all know that no parent has ever taught any teenager anything ever in the history of mankind, so I have about eleven years to get it all in their little noggins. I’m so encouraged when I see Avery and Lily learning something new. They love making kissing sounds, waving goodbye with both hands, playing peek-a-boo, and pushing their walking toys around the living room. I’m immensely grateful for the friends and family in our lives who will impart many of life’s important lessons to them.

This morning I was thinking of lessons I learned from people other than my parents. I will never forget my Aunt Julie teaching me as a little girl to always moisturize my neck and hands. Your face may look great, but if you neglect your hands and neck, they will betray your age. My 3rd grade teacher, Ms. Earls, taught me not to be too hard on myself after I got a “conduct mark” for talking in class and then cried about it. It was the single conduct mark I ever received in all my years in Elementary school, and I’m thankful that Ms. Earls gave it to me. My12th grade teacher, Mrs. Coonrod, taught me how to use my voice in my writing. She taught me how to bring myself into my writing and that the writing would be an extension of me. She helped me reclaim the love I had for writing as a child and find the joy in it.

My grandma, Momaw, taught me many lessons, some of them terrifying. For example, if it is too difficult to eject the beaters from your hand mixer, simply fill your sink with soapy water, submerge the beaters, and then turn on the mixer. She noted to make sure you do not touch the metal beaters to the bottom of the sink, or else you could get electrocuted. Sage advice, I dare say. She also taught me that to change your life you have to take some risks. She left her home, a farm in central Texas, as an 18 year old and traveled to the big city of Houston. She got a job at the Federal Reserve, made friends, learned how to navigate the city, checked hats at the Continental Club in downtown, and danced with the military officers in town during WWII. She also trusted Christ, met my grandfather, and then brought him to church. Subsequently his brother and sister accepted Christ and their families after that. Momaw took a big chance getting on the bus as a teenager, but I’m glad she did. She shaped the lives of generations. I clearly took a lot from her lesson, since I moved to Belgium right out of college, where I met my husband, and then brought him to church. She and I also both have twin daughters and live on the same street! Life is funny that way. I took in a lot of lessons from Momaw even though I didn’t realize it at the time.

I look at the people who are in our lives now and wonder how they will shape Avery and Lily. I hope they provide wonderful guidance and advice about how to avoid electrocution.

Lessons I Learned as a High School Cheerleading Coach

Back in my blonder days

Back in my blonder days

I was a high school cheerleading coach for the first three years of my teaching career, and it almost broke me. Being a cheerleading coach is the hardest job on the planet. Delta Force commander confronts less treachery. NASA mission control flight controller has less of a juggling act. Warden of Rikers Island Prison deals with fewer threats. I completed my Master’s of Arts in Teaching from Trinity University with a 4.0 GPA, yet nothing prepared me for the challenges of cheerleading. After my first round of try outs, I received a typed, single-spaced, four page letter from a parent of a child who didn’t make the team, telling me what a horrible person I was and how I must have never had a good role model in my entire life. That missive should have tipped me off as to what lie ahead.

Unfortunately this is the only picture I have of one of the most beautiful stunts my team did.

Unfortunately this is the only picture I have of one of the most beautiful stunts my team did.

First of all there’s the technical knowledge. Seriously people, a CIA cryptographer has less specialized jargon to master. Do you know the difference between a Hurdler and a Herkie? Do you know what a Toss to Hands with a Twist-Cradle is? How about a rotating Scorpion squished to a Toe Touch Basket Toss?  A Ground-Up Bow and Arrow? A Cupie? A Tic Toc? A Show and Go? A Post Up? A Walk-in Chair? A J-UP? A Matrix Reloaded? A Hitch? A Pike? A Russian? A Double Nine? A Jog? A Prance? A Clasp? A Clap? Candlesticks? Daggers? Need I go on?

Completely sane adults totally lose their minds when their child becomes a cheerleader. All of the sudden the laws of physics are out the window, and every mom wants her daughter to be at the top of the pyramid, regardless of her weight or the fact that someone has to be at the bottom of the pyramid or there is no top. One of my more interesting parental challenges arose when I had a boy on the team. His parents were adamant that he not dance nor be in the midst of the girls while they were dancing, since that would seem less than masculine. However, when the team went to cheerleading camp, they were offended that he didn’t have an outfit that matched what the girls were wearing. Well, the girls were wearing the tiniest shorts imaginable and tie-dyed tank tops. What’s a coach to do? My suggestion that he wear gym shorts and a t shirt made the parents exclaim that he wasn’t treated like part of the team. So no dancing, but wearing shorts that looked like panties would have been okay? Then out of nowhere I’d get the opposite end of the spectrum. During our competition routine, one of my 90 lb. flyers plummeted head first to the ground after being thrown into the air. I can still remember watching it happen, in slow motion, thinking she was about to be a paraplegic, but breathing a huge sigh of relief when she bounced right back up. Afterwards her parents apologized to me for their daughter ruining my routine. I didn’t care that we didn’t win the competition; I was just glad that the kid wasn’t paralyzed, and I wasn’t being taken to court. I’ve been raked over the coals  behind my back, pubically shouted at in my face, physically pushed, manipulated, undermined, and all by moms of the children I was trying to coach. Either I was a very, very bad coach, or parents get a bit off their rockers sometimes. Both are possible. Let me make one thing clear. This was not at a school in Texas where cheerleading is almost on par with football, as far as technical skills go. This was at a tiny international school in Belgium that was lucky to have cheerleading at all. College scholarships were not at stake. I can only imagine how I would have been treated if they were!

I learned many valuable lessons as a cheerleading coach. One of them is that when you do the right thing; do not expect a ticker tape parade. In fact, expect a lot of people to be mad at you. Every time I held cheerleading try outs, I would get accused of cheating! Sometimes people were glad I had cheated; other times they were furious. The funny thing is that I never cheated! When I held try outs, I would assemble a panel of 5 judges of coaches, teachers with some athletic background, former cheerleaders, dance instructors, and the like. Each judge was given a score sheet for each child and would score them in a number of categories, like jump execution, motion placement, stunting, tumbling, etc.  Each sheet was tallied, and then the school athletic director and I would average the scores for each kid. The top ten scores made the cut; plain and simple. I thought my career was over when the school secretary’s daughter didn’t make the team. I literally thought I had to leave that school, leave that country. There’s an unwritten rule in the education world, and that is: do not anger the school secretary.  The school secretary has the power to make a teacher’s life a living hell. The principal even pulled me into his office the day after try outs and told me that I needed to lay low for a while. When I tried to show him the score sheets, so that he could back me up on the whole cheating accusation, he refused to look at them! He actually told me to destroy them! I didn’t  since I planned on keeping the evidence of my innocence. Doing the right thing may get you into hot water, but you’re the one who has to sleep at night. It’ll also show you where people really stand. After that morning, I knew what kind of man my principal really was. I was 24 years old, the youngest teacher in the school, taking on one of the hardest jobs, and he was content to throw me under the bus. At that point, I wished I had cheated! It would have made my life easier. Now I’m glad I didn’t. If you’ll cheat on high school cheerleading try outs, it’s a slippery slope from there.

Another lesson I learned shaped me as a teacher, a leader, and now as a parent. People need more praise than criticism. I learned the hard way that the team performed much better, and was happier, when I pointed out the good things they were doing rather than their mistakes. Don’t get me wrong, mistakes need correcting; however, to boost morale and motivate improvement, people need to feel like their good points are appreciated. At a practice the day before a performance, the team was not up to par. The routine was nowhere near ready, and I stood there telling the kids every single thing they were doing wrong. One of the most adorable, sweetest girls looked at me with the most indignant expression and stamped her foot, then said: “You’re just being mean! You’re not helping us get better!” Such wisdom from a child! It was like a gong was struck in my brain. From that point on, I’ve always tried to remember that praise motivates while criticism tears down. Mistakes and bad behavior have to be addressed, but inspiring someone to improve will not happen by picking apart their every fault. I remember thinking to myself, “How will they know what they’re doing wrong if I don’t tell them?” Well, telling them what’s wrong without showing them what’s right will never work, especially with teenage girls. Since I’ll have a household of adolescent girls in the future, it’s a lesson I hope to hold on to for future use!

Kids like rules. They may say they don’t, but they do! It gives them the excuse to behave themselves while still saving face. Most of my rules while coaching had to do with safety. For example, no jewelry was to be worn during practice or a performance; the reason being, that when stunting someone could accidentally jerk that cute, little nose ring out of your head. A gaping flesh wound will dampen your fun at homecoming after all. Another example was that no stunt could be attempted in a performance that had not been successfully executed three times in a row in practice; the reason being, stunts are terrifying, death-defying things that go wrong sometimes. It’s better when it goes wrong on top of a mat in practice than on the hardwood floor of the gymnasium in front of the whole school. Also, kids lack good judgment. While cheering at a basketball game, they’d get all excited because they’d thrown up some cool stunts or one of the tumblers just ripped off 7 back handsprings in a row. The next thing you know, they want to throw one of our tiny flyers up in the air in some impressive stunt that they’ve never pulled off before. That’s when I step in with the rule, hopefully saving us all the trauma of the child’s skull smacking the floor. In my first season, I had a 14 year old girl who had been in cheer since she could walk. She also had a mom whom I thought it best not to cross. I had told the child to sit out during one of the basketball games because she had a sore ankle. The next thing I know her mom had instructed her to get up and cheer. Not wanting to tangle with this volatile woman in public, I just told the girl not to jump or stunt, but that she could do motions and say the words to the cheers. Our team won by 40 points; everyone was outrageously excited. I looked over and this girl was up in a stunt called a Cowboy, which we had never done in practice (see image below).

As you can see, this is a co-ed college team. Not a group of high school girls!

As you can see, this is a co-ed college team. Not a group of high school girls!

Again, in slow motion, I see her falling backwards and sideways while the bases cling to her foot, trying to stabilize her. Her head hit the gym floor, her feet rolling up over her head. The rest of the team collapsed in tears and wailing. The paramedics came, put her on a body board, and took her to the emergency room. Thankfully, she had no head injury, but her foot was broken from the bases holding onto it so hard as she twisted and fell. That mother said to me, “Don’t worry. I won’t sue you.” From that moment on, no matter how mentally off the mom may have been, no matter how excited the kids were, no matter how experienced the cheerleader, no stunt was attempted in a performance that wasn’t locked in ahead of time. Thankfully, my cheerleaders seemed okay with that rule after watching their friend driven off in an ambulance. They always had my rule to fall back on when one of their overly-spirited teammates suggested an unproven stunt. I was 23 years old at the time. Talk about baptism by fire.

With a group of 10 adolescents, tempers flared on at least a weekly basis. I got fairly skilled at mediation. The problem usually was something along the lines of the captain thought the rest of the team wasn’t working hard enough while her peers thought she was just being bossy. I’d have everyone sit down in a circle. After each person said his or her piece, I’d repeat it back, saying, “I hear that you are saying that Sally is not executing her jumps with enough precision” or “I hear that you are saying that Betty is being overly critical of your jumps.” Most of the time, just the simple act of their complaints being acknowledged diffused the whole situation. I started realizing that people just want to be heard. When you’re the one who’s angry it’s not always easy to hear the other person. Cheerleading taught me that we need to open our ears, hear what the other person is trying to say, and value the relationship over “winning” the argument.

One of the more interesting psychological lessons I learned has to do with social epidemics. You can see at the picture at the top of the post that one of the girls is wearing a knee brace. This girl had good medical reason to be wearing it. Within a startlingly short amount of time half of the team was wearing knee braces. The rest of the team wanted their wrists taped before practices and performances. One of my friends came to the school’s basketball game on a Friday night and asked if I’d been clubbing the kids in the knee caps. It was at that moment that I realized it looked like a band of cheerleaders who’d just been through some war! I instructed the kids that they were only to wear a brace if a doctor had told them to do so. The rest of them needed to find another trend!

Well, I could go on endlessly listing the lessons that coaching high school cheerleading taught me. People often assumed that the hardest part was the kids. That was not the case at all. I thoroughly enjoyed them. They were genuinely excited to be cheering for their school and supported each other as a team. Mainly the stunting terrified me, and rightly so! I sometimes wonder what I’ll say if Avery or Lily want to be cheerleaders. I know firsthand how dangerous it is, but I know how wonderful it is to be part of a team. A flyer has to trust her bases to support her and catch her after she’s been flung 20 feet in the air; the bases have to sacrifice themselves to make sure the flyer stays safe and catch her as gravity pulls her back down to Earth. There are definitely some powerful lessons there for us all to learn!

Cutting the Cord

Cutting the cord. It sounds so final, so definite. A snip of a string. Like scissors through paper. But it’s not so, is it? The connection of two bodies may have been severed, but the intangible bond endures. Because of the nature of their birth, I did not see the doctor cut the cords that joined Avery and Lily to me. Sometimes, I imagine a cord remains, invisible to the eye, because I know what they need without knowing how I know it, what they will do before they do it, what they feel before the expression can pass across their faces.

They do not depend on me for blood and oxygen as they once did. Just seven and a half short months, I sheltered them inside me. With every new development my daughters make, I feel a twinge of pain. That scissor cut deepens, some days imperceptibly, other days incisively. Each new syllable they utter, each new tooth pushing through tender flesh, each bite they grasp in their sweet fists and plunge into their little mouths, the incision between us widens. Yet, I am the one cutting the apple into tiny cubes; I am pressing their hands to my lips as I form sounds for them. I savor when they reach for me, yearning for nothing more than the joy found in my proximity; but, when their new-found legs tremble, and they tumble to the ground, I stand them on their feet again. Disregarding the ache in my heart that would be soothed by nestling them to my chest at each moment of disappointment, I stand them back up, ever widening the cut. My daughters will know how to stand on their feet, no matter the price I pay. I am learning to live in the space between pride and pain, loving someone so much that you endure the pain required to give them what they need.

Avery and Lily received several baby dolls for their birthday. Avery loves them. She tenderly strokes their yellow yarn hair and clutches them to her body. She will look at me wide-eyed and joyful and say, “Ah Bay!” I brush her hair from her forehead and reply, “Yes. A Baby.” Like looking through a telescope, I see the distant future; a cycle continues; my daughter holding a baby. She will be strong enough to endure the price of parenthood, because I will have endured it for her.

Recollection

Avery and Lily’s birthday party was a few days ago. Almost one hundred guests attended the event. There were new friends that we’ve made over the past year; friends that have been alongside us for decades; family from out of town, and family from just down the street. Before the party, I joked with Noel that I was going to make speech, because there will never be another time when I have such a large, captive audience. If I’m holding one of the girls I can keep a crowd’s attention!  I did not actually make a speech; however, if I had made a speech, it would be something to this effect:

 I can’t help but think back to last year at this time. We had tiny, three pound preemies who lived in incubators. Noel and I would rush to the hospital first thing in the morning, so we could hold our little girls. We would do skin to skin care, where we would tuck the babies inside our shirts so that their skin would be directly on our skin. I’ll never forget how Lily would just melt onto you and get snuggled right in; whereas, Avery had to fidget a while and be soothed before she could get comfortable. I still remember how when Noel would hold them, each girl would reach up her tiny hand and touch Noel’s chin, to feel his whiskers, and know that he was their daddy. I think back to the day I was discharged from the hospital, and how I didn’t know how I could walk out the doors of that building and leave our daughters behind. I remember how God gave us the gift of peace that allowed us to do exactly that and know that our babies were, are, and always will be in His hands. He was faithful to us that day and every day since.

I know that, as time passes, even the most miraculous can begin to seem mundane. It’s almost human nature to try to explain things in terms that we can rationalize. I don’t want to ever forget the miracle that has taken place in my life. I don’t know why God gave me this gift, but I thank Him daily for taking my broken body and using it to bring forth two lives. These children are a testimony of God’s goodness and love. I celebrate the birth of my daughters. May they continue to bring glory to God in the years to come.

I didn’t make that speech at the party. We were all too busy eating candy and Tex Mex food, and winning crazy raffle prizes, and watching two babies try to eat huge, pink cupcakes. I am so thankful to everyone who has supported us from near and far over this past year. Word Press sent me a report about my blog that in 2012 this blog was read in 21 countries, from Canada to Malaysia, and viewed over 5,000 times. I’m repeatedly overwhelmed by the love and encouragement we receive as new parents. Thank you to our parents who have journeyed alongside us since our births. Thank you to lifelong friends who have shouldered the burden when we needed rest. Thank you to my brothers and sisters in law who have provided some much needed levity and comic relief! Thank you to my nieces and nephews for helping with Avery and Lily when we were on vacation in August and keeping the flies from landing on them! Thank you to our new friends who are beginning this phase of life with us, as it is both exciting and terrifying, both breathtaking and heartbreaking, both exhausting and fulfilling. Thank you to God for giving us the opportunity to be parents and catch a glimpse of pure and holy love.

For those of you may be unfamiliar with the circumstances of Avery and Lily’s birth, I ask you to visit the posts:

https://averyandlily.com/2012/01/19/fearfully-and-wonderfully-made/

https://averyandlily.com/2012/01/23/peace-that-passes-understanding/

Philosophically Speaking

Lily's such a rock star.

She’s such a rock star.

I’ve been a parent for approximately a year. Since I have twins that should give me at least double credit. The big question rolling around in my head lately is, “What is up with all of these philosophies, methods, approaches, etc.” I get that we all have our own thing, and that parenting with some sort of game plan is probably a good idea; however, it just seems like a huge amount of importance is placed on what side of the fence you’re on regarding the method of the moment. It’s almost as if, in the back of our minds, we’re saying that if we just follow this formula our kids will turn out to be super genius millionaires who dress well, leave no carbon footprint, and give generously to the less fortunate. There’s the competitive aspect as well, like your child is the proof that your method is the best. Honestly, if you live by a set of values and raise your kid accordingly, that is awesome. Unless your values include genocide or necromancy, then I would reconsider passing those on to the next generation.

Avery is always camera ready.

Avery is always camera-ready.

I figure that parents adopt these methods or philosophies or whatever because parenting is scary. You want to do it right because you love that little toot so much. Kids don’t come with a manual, so you can’t blame a parent for trying to find one somewhere. It also feels like we’re under more scrutiny than ever, even though it is somewhat self-inflicted. You post something on Facebook and an infinite number of people get to throw their 2 cents in about it. Truly we are in a new era. My grandma would drop my 6 year old dad and his 4 year old brother off at the movies! Was it stellar parenting? No. Did any of her contemporaries say anything about it?  Not to her. Did they even know it was happening? Only because they were dropping their 6 year olds off at the movies too!

It just seems like there are times when the philosophy takes center stage over the kid.  Who hasn’t seen the parent who spouts rhetoric endlessly while their kid is destroying the Lego display at Target? The only method we adopted was sleep training. We didn’t even think of it as sleep training for the babies, more like sleep acquisition for the grown-ups. One advantage of having multiples is that you have far less time to analyze things. You live more in survival mode. At the end of the day, if everyone ate enough and is reasonably clean, you call it a win. There just isn’t time to obsess over stuff, which is a blessing since I hang out more towards the neurotic end of the spectrum.

Their first time at Chuy's. Lily loved the chips. Avery loved the beans.

Their first time at Chuy’s. Lily loved the chips. Avery loved the beans.

This week, I purchased a potty chair. It occurred to me that Avery and Lily are going to be toddlers eventually and that there are certain developmental issues that we’ll be addressing soon, like peeing in a toilet. I also realized that neither child has ever witnessed the act of using a toilet. As I was pondering how best to approach this situation, I turned to the internet for research purposes. Stop now and google “potty training.” Seriously, just go do it. Crazy right? The number of opinions on how to potty train your child is endless! You’ve got everything from communicating with your infant about his/her elimination needs to having your toddler go naked from the waist down. Clearly this was all more than I’d bargained for. I just wanted to know if I was going to terrify my child by letting her observe me going to the bathroom.

So, with the BabyBjorn ready to go, I decided to just sit Avery on it so she could check it out. My first mistake was taking her pants and diaper off. I didn’t really think about whether or not I should, I just never imagined anyone sitting on any kind of toilet while wearing pants. The second surprise was how tiny her butt is compared to the hole in the seat. Poor little Avery looked up at me in terror, flailed her arms trying to stay balanced, and started screaming. I removed her from the BabyBjorn, promptly put her diaper and pants back on, and calmed her down. So now I fear I have permanently scarred her and that she will never learn to use the toilet. If only I had followed one of the prescribed potty training methods, I wouldn’t be in this situation!!