Brie Gowen

Savor the Essence of Life

My Husband is a Stay-at-Home Dad, and I Don’t Care What You Think About It

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I am a part of some different Facebook groups, and last week I got a little ruffled over some comments on a thread I was following. Well, ruffled is probably too strong of a word. I’d say I felt defensive for a moment. Why? Because I took it personally. I took personal offense for the love of my life. Wait, I guess I better explain, put it into context for you.

You see, I’m a travel nurse. And I travel in an RV with my family. So I’m a part of several travel nurse, RV, family RV travel, and RV travel nurse groups. Now, if I’ve learned anything in life it’s that the opinion of others isn’t worth my heartache. In other words, not all people will agree with me, and that’s ok. Their opinion doesn’t make me or break me, but I guess it’s a little different when the jab is towards my best friend.

I was scrolling through my feed when I came across a travel nurse asking if any other nurses traveled with their spouse, and wanted to know how their spouse spent their time. There were a lot of answers like mine. Answers of, “my spouse stays home.” And not just housewives either. There were a lot of househusbands. As you would imagine, it didn’t take long for someone to state their opinion about a man not working, and a woman being the primary breadwinner.

A woman commented, “I can’t get over all these deadbeat dudes, and you ladies supporting them. No way I’d put up with that sh*t.”

My heart rate rose as I read the comment. She didn’t know my spouse! She didn’t know he had run his own business for years, working thirteen hour days, six days a week. She didn’t know the stress of all those years, how hard he had worked to support his growing family. I had to tell her these things. I had to defend his honor!

You know, that’s the thing about people who aren’t you. They don’t know you, and they don’t know the specifics of your situation. They don’t know the roads you have walked, or even how hard it was to get there. That’s why you have to just let it slip right on by you. Because they don’t know and probably never will. Most people are so fixed on their own opinion that even if you set them straight, they wouldn’t hear you. You have to decide that you don’t care what they think. Too often we value the opinion of others, and it’s the same people who wouldn’t give you a glass of water if you were on fire. It’s the people pointing out the sawdust in your eye when they have a plank in their own. It’s the people who have been wounded, and their opinions and beliefs are often convoluted by their own negative, past experiences. Maybe this lady had been married to a deadbeat once upon a time. It didn’t matter, though.

I didn’t need to say a word to defend my man’s honor. After all, I knew he was amazing. I knew his heart. I knew he homeschooled our children while I worked. I knew he did all the housework, cooking, laundry, vehicle/RV maintenance, and outside work. I knew I didn’t lift a finger when I was home because he had done it all already. I knew what he did was hard work. I was a stay-at-home mom for six or seven years, and I knew there wasn’t a fatigue that compared to child-raising. It’s the kind that made you want to run away or hide in a closet and cry.

I knew my stay-at-home husband worked hard. He worked hard at everything he did for us, whether in the home or out of the home. And I guess, at the end of the day, I was the only one who needed to know that. The opinionated commenter on Facebook had her own opinions of men she had never met, and I’m sure a lot of acquaintances (or even family) I know have their own opinions of my life too. But you know what?

I don’t care what you think. I just don’t have time for that. I’m too busy enjoying quality time with my family.

We live in a strange world. On one hand we have women everywhere marching for equal rights, but those same women will shun a man who stays home in what has traditionally been a female role. We have women who want to hold tight to traditional and Biblical roles of the man being the provider, but these same women have no qualms about usurping their husband’s authority, domineering the relationship, or ridiculing his opinions for the family unit. We have men and women who lament about not getting enough time together, but these same couples work overtime. We have men and women who want to homeschool or not put their babies in daycare, but these same people can’t find a way to cut the budget to make a one income family unit a reality. I’ve heard so many people say that nowadays it takes both parents working, and I guess that’s true if we consider a huge home, multiple cars, or namebrand clothing a must. Yes, everyone has to work to take a Disney vacation every year. Am I stepping on your toes?

A lot of people may think a man is lazy who stays at home, but I would say he’s loving. He loves his children, and he loves his wife enough to lay down macho stereotypes, worries about his friends or family’s opinion, and his own ego to be labeled a stay-at-home father. It’s not easy being a stay-at-home dad. You fight stereotypes and stupid comments. It’s not easy being a working mom. You face the same. You have to decide you don’t care what people think.

We made a decision collectively as a couple to do what was best for our family. A couple of years ago we both worked, but we still lived paycheck to paycheck. I rarely had a day off with my spouse, and he missed everything. He missed every softball game our eldest daughter played. He was exhausted most days. He never got to accompany us on fun, summer outings or exciting holiday gatherings. We never saw him. I was almost like a single parent. He came home tired where I unloaded the bad behavior of the children. So he was left to spend his minuscule time home disciplining kids or nodding off on the couch while we tried to spend quality time together.

Now we get at least four full days a week off together. We get two weeks of vacation together a few times a year. We take three-day, mini vacays once a month. We rose above the opinion of the status quo and made our happy happen. Instead of us both working ourselves to death we found a way to divide the workload. They say parenting is hard, and yes, it used to be, but now it’s enjoyable. Work used to be so much harder because I fulltime parented basically alone and worked, but no longer. I have never been more content, rested, or relaxed in my life! And that’s with a “deadbeat dude” with me.

I say, no deadbeat here, but I do have an amazing, supportive partner who has the same dreams in life as me. We dream of a happy, relaxed life where you enjoy your children and life with them. A life where you’re not stressed and exhausted. We are truly living that dream. And you know what? I don’t care what anyone thinks of that.

I Don’t Want to Forget

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They sat side by side along the edge of the pool. My husband patted the leg of our middle child affectionately.

“It’s alright,” he soothed.

His face showed zero frustration and abundant love. I watched the way his head dipped low to meet her eyes, and she stared back in obvious adoration. He had jumped into the water with his clothes on when she cried out in fear. After swimming too far into the deep end and growing fatigued, our young, novice swimmer had called for dad’s help, and he had answered. I watched them together, and I knew I never wanted to forget this.

I never wanted to forget the tender, yet protective way my husband parented. I never wanted to forget the way his face changed when he looked at them, or how his eyes crinkled at the corners in joy when he was especially proud. I never wanted to forget the way his countenance transformed, taking on a look of total peace when he hugged our babies close. I wanted to see that look of contentment, the fierce protector on guard, or his proud grin forever. I never wanted to forget how my husband looked raising our daughters.

This morning I stood in the shower with my little girl, and I washed the thick conditioner from her long, blond locks. The water bubbled up slightly as it cascaded down her thick tresses, and I realized I never wanted to forget the feel of my hands in her hair, or how she giggled when the water first hit her. She wouldn’t always come tapping on the shower door asking to join me. She wouldn’t need my help much longer with the hair rinsing, or beg me to blow it dry. I didn’t want to forget how grateful she was for my help, or how much each child needed me. It was easy to get flustered or aggravated in the midst of the mess of being depended on so much, but I never wanted to forget the feeling of reward.

Yesterday my child had been walking ahead of me in the restaurant. She knew her own way back to the table, and she bounded ahead while still staying close. She skipped as she walked, her feet dancing with glee at every step. She found joy in every moment, she smiled easily. I watched her tiny frame, spindly little legs moving, blond hair bouncing up and down with her footfalls. I felt such happiness watching her in the everyday mundane, and I wanted to store away each bit of bundled joy. I never wanted to forget that moment. I wanted to lock it away in my pocket, press it between the pages of my heart, never let it slip from my memory. So perfect was that moment of pure love; I never wanted to forget.

I never wanted to forget the hugs. You know, the way their little bodies fit inside your arms. Or the way they’d rest their head against your chest in total surrender, complete trust, and unconditional love. A small child can sleep so deeply and peacefully in their parent’s arms, and I never wanted to forget that feeling that you get when you hold a little human being who trusts you totally with their life.

I never wanted to forget the utter joy of nursing an infant, looking down in your arms at the tiny person whose complete sustenance depended on you. I never wanted to forget the way their tongue would curl into a little loop afterwards, like they were still trying to drink milk in their dreams.

I never wanted to forget baby giggles, first steps, or the initial “mama” they spoke. I never wanted to forget how my kisses healed scrapes or how my hands wiped tears away for good. I always wanted to remember the way they greeted me with excitement when I came in the door, or the sweetly whispered prayers before bed.

I want to hold onto the memory of phrases like, “hey, mom, can I talk to you,” or “I’ve got something to tell you.” Those softly spoken words prior to pouring out her heart. The fact that she can’t keep a secret from mom, or that I’m the person she wants to share uncomfortable situations with, the person whose advice she seeks. I pray I’m always that person, but if I’m not, I never want to forget how it feels right now.

I always want to remember how easily amused she can be, getting excited over a sucker or a dollar store toy. I never want to forget the shrieks of excitement over going to a new park or driving for an ice cream cone. I want to always remember the joyful, “this is the best day ever,” proclamations, or how she giggles with glee over taking a bath in the kitchen sink. Please, Lord, don’t let it fade.

Parenting is a struggle. It’s tiring, and some days I don’t want to snuggle. I want my bed back, I want a moment of quiet conversation with my spouse. I want to not have to pick up the same things over and over, clean up spills, or scrub cups of curdled milk. I want a day where my name isn’t repeated 5 bazillion times, or where I never hear, “hey, mom, watch this.” But then I’d miss the look of accomplishment when I do “watch this,” so there’s that. I never want to forget the sweet is stronger than the sour, or that time is cruel in how fast it speeds by.

I never want to forget how to appreciate each moment for what it is, a passing morsel of time that tics away far too quickly, a moment that could fall away and be forgotten if I don’t take the time to look and lock it away. And I never want that. I never want to forget that each childish laugh will fade, each body grow taller, and each toy will be boxed up and given away. When the air is silent, the bed empty, and the cupboard full, I want my memory to be overflowing with each cherished moment I have right now. I don’t want to forget.

Raising Tiny Humans is Hard

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Raising tiny humans is hard!

Yeah, yeah, we know. Sleepless nights, whether they’re two months old or twenty-one, and whatnot. But it’s not just the snotty noses wiped on your shirt or the mounds of laundry that multiply prior to folding. It’s not even worries at every sniffle and fever, or how you never stop putting your hand on their chest at night to make sure they’re still breathing. I kinda wish it was just the sibling bickering, repetitive calling of my name, or how they never hear you when you need them to, but catch every word if you don’t.

No, it’s harder than that. The hardest part is that you’re raising smaller versions of yourself. So you question every step you take, wanting to leave out the parts that scarred you, but add in the things you wished were there. Do you know what I mean?

It’s like you want to not make the mistakes you may have felt were made in your upbringing, make the kinds of memories that you personally still hold dear, yet go above and beyond the best you ever got. We want to be a better version of our parents, even when our folks did an outstanding job. Our dreams for our children are huge, insurmountable even, yet we still work towards making their childhood great. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but can make parenting all the more difficult. We desire to raise better tiny humans, learn from our mistakes, and most importantly, not totally mess it up.

This topic really came to my mind this past week.

My daughter said, “for example, one time at Chick-fil-A you said we could trade in our toy for an ice cream. So I traded in my toy. But Izzy and Bailey didn’t want to trade theirs in. But you got them an ice cream anyway. Cause you knew they’d cry. It’s hard cause of stuff like that.”

I nodded slowly, a truckload of thoughts spinning wheels in my mind. This had been her example of how being the oldest child is hard. It had been her example of how it was often unfair. And while, as an eldest child myself, I totally understood her plight, it didn’t escape me that this example had been over three years ago!

Had it really hurt her so badly that it was etched in her memory?!

Like, how good memories from childhood were the ones that came to mind in middle age, was that how bad memories were too? Did my kid seriously have a cavern full of times I had failed her as a parent?

The conversation had come about after she was punished for hurting the middle daughter. Ahh, the middle child. I remember when she was still a toddler an elderly patient warning a pregnant me to make her feel loved.

“The middle ones. They’re the ones who often feel forgotten. I made that mistake, so don’t you do it too,” he had warned.

She was the one I worried about most. Her heart was so kind, but also it was fragile. You could crush her spirit with a cross look, so I made sure to lift her up frequently, telling her how special she was. And apparently, I realized as I sat on the bed with my eldest, I had more often chose her side in sibling rivalry. Because she was so tiny, she was the one we guarded. Her tender soul needed our gentle touch, but I wondered if in my cultivating I had made my oldest girl feel less. I mean, she certainly wasn’t the baby.

Sigh. The baby. My sweet, precious, adorable youngest daughter who shined brighter than a thousand stars. My baby girl, always getting into mischief, but always winning me over with a mischievous grin and clever quip. She had us all wrapped around her chubby finger, and she knew it. Heck, we all knew it, and not a week went by without me worrying I may be raising a spoiled brat as my last child. Oh, Lord, help me.

Between worrying I was spoiling one, not building the uniqueness and confidence of another, or neglecting the first, I was in for a challenge. I contemplated if I was putting too much responsibility on my eldest, being too coddling with my middle, or lenient with my last. And that’s when I muttered to myself, raising tiny humans is hard.

And that’s when God spoke to my heart, “it leads them to me.”

I nodded in understanding, yeah, God, I get it. Parenting was tough, and yeah, I probably messed it up frequently, but praise the Lord, I didn’t have to get it perfect. Where I fell short, He picked up. I had devoted myself and my family to Him, and He was faithful to take care of us. I could try my best, but with my human hands I might fumble. Thankfully my girls were His girls. I could relax in the fact that I wasn’t raising serial killers with my mistakes, and my God drew my daughters to His heart. Even if I failed, they were His. I was His.

Raising tiny humans was hard, but my God worked all things for our good. He placed them within me, and before they were even a spark He knew I could parent them well. He has given me a task, and He equips me each day to do my best. And when I do less than His best, He is faithful to draw my daughters closer to Him. Maybe it’s hardest when I try to do it too much on my own, but when I can release my worries to Jesus, He can smooth out the rough spots and fix my focus. Instead of seeing it simply as hard, instead I can count it all as joy.

Dads, Take Time With Your Daughters

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Dads, take time with your daughters. Take the time to play, the time to laugh, the time to give chase as they scream excitedly with glee.

Let go of adult responsibility, if only for a moment, and pick her up to spin her around. One day she’ll be too heavy.

Forget about the pending project. Start a new project of her choosing. One day she won’t ask for your help.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Take time to notice she brushed her hair. She took extra time with each stroke of the brush, smoothing her long, blond hair, just hoping you would notice how it glinted in the light. One day she may not care if you notice.

Take the time to compliment her dress, her new shoes, the way she partnered her pink, flowery shorts with that purple, mermaid top. She’ll use your example for measuring a future admirer. One day your opinion won’t be the one she seeks the most. Take advantage of it now.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Slow down and notice her smile. If it’s there, or if it’s not. Bring it out more often. Teach her the world takes notice at her laugh, it seems brighter and more hopeful when she smiles. Capture those smiles in your pocket. You’ll want to bring them out when the pitter patter of her feet no longer fills your home.

Take the day off. Take the week off. Take the time to invest in what really matters. It’s not a trip around the world she wants. It’s just you.

Put down your phone, turn off your video game, save the ballgame to watch later. Take the time to listen, really listen. What makes her giggle uncontrollably? What brings stars to her eyes? What does she want to be when she grows up? Tell her she can be anything she dreams to be!

Dads, take time with your daughters. Show them that time with them is precious. Set a standard their future husband will need to follow. Don’t leave an example to chance, or allow the example to be absence.

Let them know work is second, that a career is just that, but family is everything. Let them know they can achieve anything, but let them know they don’t have to do great things for you to know they’re great. Tell them they are priceless while they still have ears to hear your compliments. Let your loving, tender praise be the norm rather than the exception.

Dads, take time with your daughters. Take time to lead them, guide them, correct them, discipline them, teach them. Love corrects wrongdoing, but loves despite it. Let them know your love isn’t based on good performance, but because of your love you model such a thing. Don’t leave discipline to the teacher, the pastor, the coach, or just to mom. Because even in discipline they will see love, and then they will see grace. Give them the example of grace.

Dads, take the time to comprehend the enormous impact you have in your child’s life. Understand you are their rock, their strength, their protection, and their first glimpse of what true love really means. You are the goodness they will see in the world, or you are the emptiness they will carry. You are the initial builder of confidence and the example of how to understand true beauty in the long term. You fill a place in their heart than no one else can, and if you don’t insert yourself into their life from the beginning, they will hold that empty spot for the rest of their life, never knowing why they feel like they do.

Take the time, dad, to see the task before you. It’s not just breadwinner or clog fixer. Your role is actually one of utmost importance. The thing is, you can kinda do it, like halfway work at it, and she will be ok. She’ll still grow in beauty and knowledge, but with your presence and attention she will actually flourish. Take the time, dads, to watch your daughters bloom, and realize that you had a hand in the lovely women they will become as you nourish them with your attention.

Take the time, dad, before the time is gone.

The Benefits of Having Babies in Your Forties

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I always knew I wanted children. When I was a little girl I played with baby dolls and nursed puny, infant animals to health and vigor. As I grew older my parents had more children, I was the perfect, built-in babysitter, and had a natural, easy way with little ones. But wanting babies one day and actually finding the right person to have them with are two different things. Sometimes finding the right formula (perfect time + intense desire x the correct baby daddy) can be difficult. So you find yourself like I was. Thirty years old, divorced, sitting in my parent’s spare bedroom alone with my cat, wondering what happened to my life.

Thankfully I did find love again, and it met all the right calculations. And even though we weren’t even kinda close to ready, we certainly became ready when the flame got turned up on high in the way of a positive pregnancy test and the baby that followed. We were madly in love with parenthood, and before we knew it we added a couple more ladies to our passel of girls. Fast forward ten years and the joy keeps growing each day.

This morning as I drove to work I thought about how happy I was with life, and as minds tend to do I pondered on the possibility of how things could have gone differently. What if I had married my college sweetheart (who’s my husband now) at nineteen when he first proposed, and then we had started our family straight away? I mean, I’m certain we would be extremely blessed and happy like we are today, but I’m not sure it would have been quite as sweet. Let me explain.

One thing that brought these thoughts to my mind this morning was the echoing words from my father-in-law. My in-laws had traveled into town to visit with us all week, and as we said our goodbyes last night he had taken my head in his hands, kissed my cheek, then looked intently in my eyes and said, “trust the Lord, and He will steer you in the right direction.”

I had smiled at his words, so true and full of love. Since his son and I had dedicated ourselves to following Jesus, life had taken on a fullness and even simplicity that it had never held before.

I responded to him, “it took us a while to get our heads screwed on straight, but I think we’re headed in the right direction now!”

Then he replied, “well, y’all certainly got it figured out sooner than it took us!”

I thought about all this as I drove to work this morning. My in-laws were awesome folks, and I couldn’t remember a time they weren’t amazing examples, but perhaps he had meant during the “tough years.” You know what I mean if you’re a parent. It’s those rocky, ever-changing years of young babies and sleepless nights. It’s those years that you beg the long day to hurry by, but look back and wonder why the months zoom by so cruelly. It’s those younger years, those tiring years of early parenting that show you what you and your marriage are made of. Sometimes you feel like passing ships in the night between colicky babies and the morning alarm for work. It’s so easy to get stressed beyond the max, it’s too easy to sweat the small stuff, too easy to miss the joy in the seemingly mundane, and so hard to simply enjoy the moment.

There was still a lot I had to learn in life, but looking back I was astounded at what the years had done to me. I had matured in ways I didn’t even realize I needed to mature in, and I had grown personally more than I could have ever fathomed.

I wish I could remember who said it, but I once read a quote that stated, “children don’t become tolerable to be around until about the age of thirty-eight.”

As a forty-something woman reading that, I had laughed, naturally, but more-so because of the truth it held. If only I knew at sixteen what I knew at twenty, and if only at twenty I realized the things I had figured out by thirty. But in all honesty, my life was a total disaster even then! I thought I was getting somewhere by thirty-two, but even reading a diary entry or blog post from when I was thirty-four makes me shake my head in shame. What is it about years and life experience that changes everything?! Isn’t it wonderful that we never stop learning the lessons life gives?!

Having the privilege of hindsight makes me think that I started a family precisely when I should have. I mean, I certainly can’t see my crazy, twenty-something self keeping anything alive for more than a week. I barely kept myself above ground. I wasn’t the epitome of good decisions, after all. But seriously, I’m grateful that I had my children later in life. It’s easy for me to see how raising babies at forty was best.

For one, I got all my wild oats sown, so to speak. By twenty I had already traveled out of the United States and even lived and gone to school abroad. By my mid-twenties I had served my country in a time of war, sailed across international waters, and totally (and finally) figured out what I wanted to do when I grew up!

I had partied myself into a stupor (too many times to count), blacked out, passed out, fell out, and whatever else you can think of. I had gotten arrested, done things in New Orleans that stayed in New Orleans, gone clubbing with Russian strangers who couldn’t speak English, and played Truth or Dare challenges we can’t even discuss in this forum. I popped pills I wasn’t 100 percent certain of their origin, drank flaming shots, and flashed strangers at a strip club. I’ll stop before I shatter anymore innocence. Suffice to say, I tried living life to the fullest by whatever means necessary at the moment. I’m no better for it, if anything I have regret, and you’ll never find me wondering if there’s more to life than what I see in front of me.

I’ve been the life of the party. Now I’m more content to quietly sit at home with my family. While there’s nothing wrong with going out with friends, that’s something I don’t even do. I did enough going out already to last me a lifetime. I don’t feel as if there are areas of life undiscovered for me, I don’t long for greener pastures. I’m content (abundantly so) with something as simple as a sunset, and I’m never so happy as when I watch my children play. I don’t feel like something is missing, or like I had my youth stolen from me. I don’t need to seek sweet release after a rough day at work; my best release is found in a hug from my three year old.

And then there’s my career. I had the privilege to attend college for a cumulative five years with no responsibility for anyone but myself. I was able to spend the time discovering my career path, the time to pursue my studies for it, and even the time to work extensively in my field. I was afforded the freedom to try different areas of my vocation to determine what suited me best, never feeling stuck in a position because I needed to support someone else. By the time I started a family I had found fulfillment in my career. I was able to fully devout myself to motherhood when I desired to do so, not because I had to out of necessity. I didn’t give up one for the other, and I never felt as if I did. I was able to embrace motherhood, feel confident and seasoned in my vocation when I went to the bedside, and not let one interfere with the other. I was able to separate the two, and more importantly, find peace and joy in each piece of my life.

But aside from traveling, being a prodigal child, and getting an education, I also went through the natural transition we all do as we age. I was able to grow in confidence and appreciate who I was as an individual. I was able to finally see that it didn’t matter what other people thought of me, how they did things, or how I performed in comparison. As I grew older I was able to see that God created me to be precisely me, and that I was perfect to Him. Utilizing this mindset made being a mother so much easier. I didn’t expect perfection, and especially not someone else’s idea of what that meant. I worried less and enjoyed more.

Being an older mom gives you a special perspective. You no longer worry about the little things, and you laugh easier. You can relax in your good credit score, financial stability, and stress-free life. Most of the time, anyway. Wink, wink.

Being an older mother opens your eyes to appreciate your own mom more, or in my case, the other women in my life who fill that role. I’m able to see how special it is to have family, their advice, and willingness to help. I don’t take a critique or correction/suggestion as a personal affront to my parenting style. I’m able to see the wisdom others have and not think I’m less for knowing less. Nowadays everyone gets so offended! But us forty-something mommas are just sitting here sipping our tea. Mmhmm.

I’d never say my way was the best way for someone else, but I do feel it was best for me. I can see precisely how beautiful parenthood has been to me as a middle aged woman. I appreciate my role so much, never taking it for granted. Is parenting still hard? Of course! But I never let that overshadow the blessing of it. I think that’s a perspective that’s easier to obtain with age.

Yes, being pregnant as an older woman was hard. Heck yeah, I’m tired. But then there’s how young I feel. Something about having babies in your forties is like a fountain of youth. In the past week I went down two killer water slides and gleefully screamed as I rode Orlando’s tallest, fastest, and longest roller coaster. My daughters keep me young, and most days I don’t feel “middle aged” like my years on earth proclaim. The benefits of having babies in my forties are too many to count. So, I just count my blessings instead.

Your Child’s Education Isn’t Important!

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Your child’s education isn’t important!

Woah, stop the presses. Isn’t your child’s education the most important thing there is?! Well, while I’ll agree (as a strong, college educated professional) that education is important, I believe that as a society as a whole we have placed far too much value on it. So it might be better to describe it this way.

Your child’s education isn’t as important as you think.

I was watching TV with my daughters while on vacation when a particular commercial came on the screen. I won’t state the specific company, but it was a well-known educational app that was aimed towards helping children to learn. In fact, once upon a time I subscribed to this educational app for kids. I still thought it was great and really put together well. Props, you know? But the commercial? I always had a problem with them. They fed into the worried parental mind that exists so readily today.

This particular mindset of the modern parent said, “is my child up to speed?”

It was a mindset that was seeped in comparison and anxiety.

It said, “is my child learning fast enough? Are they smart enough? Are they going to be behind?”

So, back to the commercial. This particular one showed an interview with a once-panicked mom.

She states happily, “we were so worried Billy was falling behind! But now he’s learning by leaps and bounds!”

Leaps and bounds. The camera switched over to little Billy playing happily with his tablet. He looked to be about two years old. The only leaping he needed to do was over mud puddles. And the only bounding truly required was towards his favorite playground. He was a toddler, preschooler at the most, and his parents were causing undue anxiety for not only him, but themselves when they kept sweating if a child who couldn’t yet tie his shoes recognized every letter of the alphabet and what sound they made. Just my opinion.

I’ve been there, you see. I’ve been that worried parent, and I did it long enough to come out the other side wiser and more relaxed. I still have a lot to learn about parenting, and I don’t consider myself the know-all, be-all. But my kids are pretty darn happy. That’s good enough for me.

Have you ever noticed how when you rush about trying to get out the door on time that your children fall apart? It’s that way with most things when you push a child beyond what is possible or what they’re ready to handle. I look back at many afternoons at the table, my daughter crying, and me feeling like a terrible mom!

I guess I started to realize the error of my ways a few years ago. I was so anxious about it all. My daughter was in first grade, and she couldn’t read! I mean, she could read her sight words and trudge through some Dr. Suess, but when it came to picking up a book and simply reading without the painful phonics and stumbling pauses, she wasn’t there yet.

Her cousin could read!

Other kids in her homeschool group could read.

It was me, most likely. I was messing my kid up!

As a homeschooling mother, I worried I wasn’t giving my child what she needed. I worried I wasn’t preparing her adequately for the future. I worried it was my fault she couldn’t read!

I pushed harder. She fell apart easier.

School days were often painful, and I realized my child hated reading.

As an avid reader, and an even more passionate writer, the thought of my own flesh and blood not being a book worm like mommy was especially painful. She loved her some science, which my medical field self was proud of, and she zipped through math better than I ever could, but the reading. Painful. Painfully behind.

I sat at the kitchen table going over curriculum, lessons plans, and catalogs for the upcoming school year, and at that moment I realized I was pushing my oldest child too hard. She wasn’t ready to move forward to the next grade. She hadn’t met the milestones she should for reading. Sometimes she hit the mark every time, but it wasn’t consistent. I felt in my honest heart that I needed to hold her back a year.

Y’all, I was crushed. She didn’t care. I explained she would be repeating a grade, and I let her know that her cousin (the same age by a week) would be moving ahead of her. She was fine with it. I slowly followed suit.

See, I thought it was my fault. I thought she was behind. I had set in my mind the particular path her learning should take, and anything other than that seemed like an epic fail!

We live in a world that shows commercials for teaching your baby to read. Ads tote the importance of your child being ahead, and certainly not behind. They talk a lot about ensuring your child’s successful future, as if when they learn their ABC’s will determine if they get into Harvard.

Well, here’s the truth of it. Billy may not get into Harvard. In fact, Billy may not want to go to Harvard. He may not want to attend college at all. And that’s okay! We have fewer tradesmen and blue collar workers than ever before because society has placed such a value on higher education, forgetting that it takes all kinds to make the world go round.

Want to hear the craziest part?! My child wasn’t behind. The only reason she was even in the grade she was in was because I enrolled her in it. As a homeschooling parent I had started her Pre-K early. We had moved on to Kindergarten before her friends in our neighborhood who were the same age. If she had gone to public school she would not have been able to attend Kindergarten when she did, but I had been so excited and determined to teach her. And that’s fine and dandy! But I had to know when to throttle down, when to push her, when to relax and take a breath. I look back now and wish I had that time back. I wish we had played more with toys in the floor, spent more time cuddling and giggling, and less time making her sit at a table and learn how to count to twenty before she could even pronounce the number correctly.

The world she was growing up in said she needed to read by five, but it said nothing of yes ma’am or no sir.

The world she was growing up in said she needed to be involved in as many extracurricular activities as possible to build character, teamwork, and a competitive spirit. It said nothing about the benefit of time with mom and dad, or how much knowledge could be gleaned from sitting on the porch shelling peas with grandma.

The world she was growing up in said the honor roll was a must, but said very little about befriending the quiet girl sitting on the bus alone.

The world we were living in said I was a failure as a parent if my child didn’t keep the same pace as the majority. It said there was only one way to learn, one style, one setting, and one ruler to measure everyone’s success by. It said nothing of individuality, special gifting, unique talent, or how the planet could keep spinning even if your offspring weren’t number one at absolutely everything!

Billy could fall down and be okay.

Billy could make straight A’s, but be a bully.

Billy could hate homework, but still be successful in life.

Sally could have trouble learning to read, but create a symphony that brought people to tears.

Sally could flunk math and still lead a productive, happy life!

Good grades didn’t predict your future, but being a decent human being said a lot.

Being first place wouldn’t earn you a wonderful life, but putting yourself last would lead to a fulfilling one. Do you know what I mean by that?

We have to teach our children how to be kind, love others, and serve as Jesus did. Heck, He told His followers to drop their nets, leave their jobs, give away their gold, and even go on their journeys without a bag packed. He didn’t plan for a perfect future for them, but He did give them the tools to build up an everlasting treasure in Heaven. He showed them that kindness was cool, being last put you first, and hanging with the outcasts was where it was truly at! I wanna teach my kids that!

You know what? My daughter reads beautifully now, and learning how a little behind the average age didn’t harm her a bit. I had to learn to settle myself and not place too much stress on either of us. I had to realize what’s important in life and what’s not. The world will tell you a lot of things are must-haves and have-to-be dones, but nothing is more important than relationships with those around us and learning to be a better person tomorrow than you were today.

I am a college educated professional, and I make really good money. I have so many options with my career, and I could live anywhere in the country. There’s tons of room for growth, promotional potential, and retirement benefits. My education allows me a lot of freedom in my life, and I think that’s awesome. But it’s not the most important thing.

I could have the highest degree possible for my vocation, and I could have obtained the highest GPA in my graduating class. I could have attended the most prestigious program out there, and have a billion certifications behind my name. I could keep my educational level ever-growing, learning everything I could possibly know about my changing field, but it would mean absolutely nothing if I was a jerk.

I am a successful nurse because I treat my patients like people rather than just a number or diagnosis. My patients love me because I consider my job a privilege to serve mankind. I do well in my career because I’m a good team player, I have a positive attitude, and I’m easygoing in what is a difficult, changing environment. Yeah, I needed the degree to get me to the bedside, but it’s my love for people that keeps me there and happy. I don’t want to be that person who hates their job, and I don’t want my children to be that person either.

You’ve seen technology. The world could be run by robots if we wanted, but one thing prevents that. Love. We need it to make the world go round. We need humanity. We need a smile. Everyone hates self checkout at Walmart because they want the friendly checker to say hello. We need more friendly hellos.

We need more people who love what they do.

We need more people who are passionate about one another, about helping the planet move forward in harmony. We’ve become a selfish place to live. We cut line, cheat, and win by whatever means necessary. We think that will bring happiness. A bigger degree, a more successful career, a fatter bank account, a larger home. Surely these things will bring us happiness! We spend so much time running faster for something better that by the end of our lives we lay there exhausted wondering where the time went. When did the kids grow up? Why don’t they ever come to visit? We sank all that money into our savings account, we built up that retirement cushion, but now that the time has come, no one is there to enjoy it with us. We’re alone. A bunch of highly educated, loners with a huge, extremely quiet home. Where’s the laughter gone?

Ahh, man, I could go on with this forever, but if you’re not getting it by now then I don’t know if you will. But I hope you do, before it’s too late. When you’re on your deathbed it won’t be Billy’s great grasp of phonics that flashes before your eyes. It will be all the lost time with those you loved, all the missed opportunities to build a treasure for yourself and your family beyond this world. It will be regret. And you will finally see that all the things you spent so much time worrying about were meaningless.

There’s More to Life Than Just Being the Cool Kid

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Last night I lay in bed watching Netflix with my husband. While we watched a favorite show I glanced through the pictures I had taken that day. I especially loved one of my two youngest daughters looking out over a natural spring in Central Florida. We had all watched with glee as a trio of otters dipped and ducked through a bed of lily pads. I showed the photo to my spouse.

He commented, “you know, I’ve never seen otters in the wild before. And I’m forty-one. The girls got to see that today. That’s awesome.”

I agreed. A year ago this week we had made a monumental decision to travel the country together with our children. And in that, already our young daughters had seen things we had not even known existed at their age. Yet it was more than swimming otters and multiple coast-lines.

Last week my husband had met a new friend. It was a guy about his age, and they spoke for some time, having multiple things in common. And I’m not even counting the fact that this man and his family had decided to focus on the finer things in life like we had done.

After they had met that day, and as my husband shared some of their conversation, he spoke, “the guy said something that made me think of you. He mentioned how the things he once thought were important, turns out, they’re not.”

I chuckled. Yes.

I can look back at my life and I see a lot of wasted time.

I remember when my mom and I first moved onto the land my new stepdad owned. One day in particular I got to meet my cousins on his side of the family. I acted like an absolute nut. My mother had mentioned it to me later, after they left, and even at age eight I realized she was right in her assessment. The entire time I had been screaming, “look at me! Watch this! Watch me!”

I had just wanted them to like me.

I remember the first day of third grade at a new school I had told the little blond girl I met on the teeter totter that I had epilepsy. I had wanted her to feel sorry for me. I had wanted her to see I was different. Beat me, bore me; just don’t ignore me. I had shared something that set me apart from the other children because I wanted to be seen, to be noticed.

They noticed me, all right. It didn’t pan out like I hoped.

I entered elementary school as the sick kid, the different kid, the kid with a weird accent.

I went through junior high school as the kid who wanted to be the cool kid. I scoured my YM magazine for inspiration. I wanted to dress cool, say the right thing.

I wanted to fit in.

In high school I sought out the pretty girls, the athletic guys, the popular kids, the cool clubs. They seemed so happy, like they had it all.

I wanted to find that place. I wanted to find my place.

I thought maybe I found it in college.

I mean, there were so many other people like me. Young people searching to find their fit.

Searching for acceptance.

Searching for love.

Searching to stand out.

Searching to make a name for themselves.

It was even kinda cool to be different, to be weird. Yet still…

I couldn’t really find my place. So uncool.

Ever since I began homeschooling my first daughter I received flack from my peers. Even people who had never laid eyes on my children had something to say.

Coworkers questioned my children’s socialization, even proclaiming things like, “oh my God, please don’t do that to your kid. Don’t make her one of those weird homeschool kids!”

I’ve seen the same pushback when we decided to travel.

“What about their friends?!”

Cause, you know, my three year old is the president of the nursery. Her peers elected her most likely to potty train first.

I saw other moms question our lifestyle.

“I could never do that! I’d be afraid my children wouldn’t know how to act in social situations!”

“What about school?”

“Aren’t you worried how they’ll act when they get to college?”

Ahhh, college. I remember it well. It was the place where I almost lost myself searching for who I needed to be. It was a place where a public school kid went wild, still searching for my fit. I wasn’t even a “weird homeschool kid,” and I still didn’t know how to proceed in life. I grew up, no fault to my parents, always thinking that was the goal. The goal was to fit in, to find my niche, to succeed, be a cool kid. Maybe I was a product of too many John Hughes’s films. I chased popularity, fitting in, and finding favor with man for far too many years. I was highly socialized, but into the wrong society. I was socialized into the world. We were never meant to try and fit into that.

My daughters are afforded every opportunity in life to “socialize” with others, but they also know there’s more to life than being the cool kid.

They understand it’s not about the clothes you wear, or brand names. It’s about carrying yourself like a Child of the King, robed in righteousness.

They understand it’s not about fitting in; it’s about helping others feel like they fit.

It’s not about being the best; it’s about being kind.

It’s not about chasing love. It’s about knowing they are highly loved and favored already by the One who formed them in my womb.

It’s not about trying to fit in and find their place in this world. Because they understand this world is but a vapor. Their goal is to love people while they’re here, enjoy the gifts they’re given in life, and be thankful for each day.

It’s not about being popular. It’s about being a good friend.

It’s not about being a winner. It’s about being a servant.

It’s not about having a big house. It’s about having a big heart.

It’s not about their last name. It’s about being a good example.

It’s not about how much money we have. It’s about how much we share.

It’s not about the best school and best grades. It’s about the life lessons we learn and how that shapes us to be better people.

My daughters don’t make friends based on appearance or reputation. They make friends based on The Father Heart of God. They’re not perfect kids! They can be mean little brats! But they’re learning. They’re learning that there’s more to life than being a cool kid. It’s all about being the kind kid.

They make friends regardless of color, religion, or if their playmate has two dads instead of parents of the opposite sex. They “socialize” with others regardless of the clothes they wear, where they live, or what their parents do for a living. They aren’t manipulated into believing they belong to a certain group. They know we’re all God’s kids; even if we don’t know it. And that means everyone is cool.

My hope for my daughters is that they won’t waste time trying to find their place or fit in. They’ll understand that God made them unique, but places them exactly where He needs them to be. They don’t have to run to find their niche. They’re in His hands already.

My hope is that they won’t chase the things of this world, the things that fade, rust, wear-out, and fail them. Instead they’ll rest in an eternal mindset.

Yesterday my eldest daughter and I talked about sand castles as we built an elaborate sand city. I told her that life here on earth was like building sand castles. You knew that one day the rain, wind, or a wayward person would knock down your castle. But that knowledge didn’t stop you from building them. It didn’t make you want to stop building sand castles. Instead, you simply enjoyed your time building your castles. That’s what we’re here for. We’re here to enjoy the sand God gives us to build with. We can’t take it with us, but we can take along the friends we make building castles together.

So shouldn’t we offer to make castles with everyone? Shouldn’t we love building castles, sharing our castles, and making the most of the construction? There’s more to life than being the cool kid. There’s more to life than building the biggest, best castle. Build to the best of your ability! But don’t build just for those watching you. Don’t just build to seek gratification from those around you. Don’t just build to make a name for yourself. Instead, build for the guy alone in the corner who hasn’t figured this castle thing out yet. Build a bridge so he can come to your kingdom, meet your king. Even the coolest castles get taken out to sea when the tide comes in. So don’t worry about your castle’s outside. It’s what’s inside that matters most.

20 Remarkable Things My Children Can Do

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I’m not usually one of those competitive moms, but what good is social media and the Internet if you can’t brag about your kids, right? Aside from taking a picture when they’re wearing a new, expensive outfit, being exceptionally nice to one another, or when I catch them doing something that makes them appear like Jesus-loving angels and simply sharing those highlight reels that paint me as a stellar mom, I thought I’d share today some specific things that my children do that are truly remarkable to me. Like, mind-blowing.

So, here’s 20 remarkable things my children can do!

1. Fight over ridiculous nonsense. Like, throw-down brawl over a scrap of gum wrapper.

2. Talk for thirty minutes straight, without taking a breath, about nothing.

3. Eat an entire week’s worth of groceries in one day.

4. Completely undo, in twenty minutes or less, any house chore I have done.

5. Change their tastebuds from one week to the next.

6. Hate something venomously without ever actually trying it.

7. Persevere through an outing of their choosing like Lance Armstrong on a pleasure ride around the block, yet somehow loose the ability to take steps when in the grocery store with me. Aka, I’m soooooo tired.

8. Not have to pee when we’re leaving the house. Have extreme desire to pee in their pants once we have left the house.

9. Miraculous ability to become extremely bored regardless of mount of toys in their room.

10. Not to be confused with… the ability to suddenly become extremely interested in their toys right after I clean their room. The right way.

11. Not to be confused with… their ability to forge a strong connection with a formerly forgotten toy when it is labeled “giveaway.”

12. They can also watch oddly animated adults play with toys on YouTube from now until Jesus comes back, without a break from the screechy-voice monotony.

13. They can adore getting wet in a sprinkler, pool, or even mud puddle, but take a very strong stance against the tortuous act that is taking a shower.

14. They have an uncanny ability to beg to go outdoors when it’s raining shards of ice, but cry for the injustice of me forcing them outside on a lovely, sunny day.

15. They can think of the most thought-provoking questions. When I’m on the phone. Or in the bathroom. Or at bedtime. Otherwise, 2 + 2 = potato.

16. They have a knack for forgetting every single instruction I’ve given multiple times, but will immediately recall and repeat the four letter word I let slip when I stubbed my toe.

17. My children have mastered the art of altering their ability to hear! For example, they can miss me telling them in a loud voice, while in the same room, to shut the door, but will catch every word of the whispered conversation I have with their dad in another zip code.

18. My children are pretty good at ignoring me. Until their sibling is getting attention from me. Then errbody love Momma.

19. My children are great eaters! For example, they always want seconds when I sit down to eat.

20. They really know how to make a mom feel special. Like, when they come and ask me while I’m pooping to fix them a drink. Even though their dad was right there in the room with them, not doing anything.

Like I said, I’m not usually one to brag, but I simply had to share my children’s remarkable talents with you all.

What about you? Feel free to share something extraordinary your darlings can do!

The Only Thing Our Children Need From Us

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I know what you’re thinking.

Great! Another parenting advice article.

*insert sarcasm

Yeah, I know. There’s like tons of parenting “experts” out there eager to share their knowledge. So you don’t need another one of those. I mean, who can keep it all straight?! Do you avoid fatty foods or just gluten? Is it really the red dye that’s making my kid hyper? Screen time bad, but learning apps good? I’m so confused!

Yet here you are, opening yet another link with promises of parenting gold. Why is that?!

Well, it’s because you need it. I need it! We’re all just muddling through trying to figure this thing out. Y’all, parenting is hard! If I had a dollar for every time I’ve questioned if I’m screwing this all up, I’d have like enough money to buy at least two of those huge LOL balls. Maybe I’d get a rare. But I digress.

Point is, there’s so much advice out there, but even when you follow it to the tee it doesn’t seem to work out like the pictures show. It’s like our circumstances are unique, our kids their own animal, and none of the parenting blogs have an addendum for your child who’s scared of being trapped in a dressing room or getting lost in the woods. It doesn’t account for that last baby who really broke the mold on everything you just thought you knew.

What you do know is you gotta build their self esteem. Everyone says so! Gentle parenting, pounds of praise, and give them the ability to decide for themselves the path they’ll take.

Wait, who is this little diva?

What have I done?

Do I need to do a timeout?

Maybe we should talk about our feelings?

They must be lacking in my validation of their emotions.

Do I spank them?

I mean, my parents spanked me, and I’m ok. Right?!

Perhaps they need a social outlet with which to work out their frustration!

Martial arts?

Dance?

What if we just need counseling?

Or meds?

Is it a disorder? Let me Google that!

Experiencing teamwork and discipline should do the trick! Softball signups here we come.

I probably should read to them more. It’s my fault they’re struggling in school. I should have done more Baby Einstein and less Dora the Explorer.

How will they ever get into the perfect college? Speaking of which, I still haven’t started that college fund! Have you seen how much tuition runs nowadays. It’s insane!

But first, I have to upgrade our life insurance. Something could happen to me at any moment. Then where would they be financially?!

They won’t even be able to buy the clothes they need. And clothes are so expensive! I mean, cause it needs to be Under Armor or Adidas, and definitely Matilda Jane. Maybe Well Dressed Wolf! I just don’t want them to be made fun of.

Yes, that’s it. If I can make sure they’re well-dressed, get the best education, and are accepted by their peers, then we’re good. Hey, don’t judge me for that last one! No one wants their kid to be the weirdo who gets bullied.

In fact, they need to know how to stand up for themselves, don’t take any crap off anyone, and be the best! There is no second place. Weakness is for losers. Right?!

Okay, so if they can be popular and get included in all the birthday parties they’ll be good. As long as I make sure their birthday party is the biggest and best. Check.

As long as they can make the team, win the state championship, blow the ACT/SAT out of the water.

But hey, I have daughters, so I need to be thinking about dating. They need to find a man who can provide, preferably from an upstanding family. If they can get the big house with the picket fence, 2 1/2 gorgeous kids, and a puppy to boot they’ll be all set. We should start scouting neighborhoods now. And it’s never too early to build a great credit score.

I really just need them to know how special and beautiful they are. Not too fat, not too skinny. The perfect package. They’re wonderful just the way they are. If I can cultivate that within them then they’ll be set for a happy life. My job will be complete. I can rest easy in my empty nest knowing I’ve built confident, smart, ambitious young women. Thank goodness. That was hard!

But I wonder… does it have to be so hard? Do I need to hit all those marks to make amazing children blossom?

I mean, things rarely do go my way. They’re often out of control, with hiccups, hangups, and unexpected snags. If only there was someone greater than me to set forth their path in life! To ensure a prosperous future!

Proverbs 22:6 (NIV)

Start children off on the way they should go, and even when they are old they will not turn from it.

Do you want to know the truth of it? I’m a mess! I cannot be solely responsible to create awesome kids. I mean, you should have seen me in high school. Sheesh. So, when I am faced with the monumental task of raising the next generation I grapple for guidance.

God, help me!

I pray for wisdom, because that’s really what I need. And not wisdom for which prep school to pick or extracurricular activity to enroll in. I pray for wisdom to guide each child in the way that God has for them, to show them the path to a closer walk with Jesus, and to cultivate within them the character of Christ. Sure, I’m teaching them kindness, servanthood, and love, but those are really just side effects of loving the Lord.

I don’t know who my daughters are going to grow up to be, but He does. I don’t want my desires for them. I want His desires for them. My girls belong to God. He just lets me raise them for Him. So my biggest goal for my children is that they will grow closer to the Lord and become the women He desires them to be. All that other stuff? It’s pretty inconsequential in the grand scheme. In the Kingdom View, wearing eternity lenses, it’s all pretty distracting from the core of what I need in my parenting style.

Raising children is hard enough without letting worldly views keep me from seeing the prize. If I can place my daughters in the hands of God, He will ensure their success. And it might not always look like success. Not in society’s eyes anyway. What the world sees as weakness in our children, God uses as strength. When the world sees a mess, God sees beauty, ripe for His refining.

So when it comes down to it, the only thing our children really need in this world is a closer walk with Jesus, one where they are open to His plans for their life. For those plans, they never fail.

I’ve Missed This

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My husband lay behind me, and I curled into his body, his arm twined around my torso. My back to his chest, we fit together like two spoons in a drawer. It felt like home. We laid there on the couch together watching TV, and I could feel his hot breath in my ear.

“I’ve missed this,” he whispered.

I agreed with a satisfying purr.

How long had it been since we laid like this? Too long to remember. I mean, we made time together as husband and wife, but to just lay beside one another for an extended period, soaking in the other’s presence? It had been a while.

Indeed, one or both of us usually had a kid or two in our lap, and you couldn’t very well twine into one another on the sofa when every few minutes someone came up asking for chocolate milk or if you could help them find something that was laying in plain sight. I’m not sure how we had managed it this long on this particular afternoon, but we had. I could hear the girls playing contentedly in their room, so I just enjoyed it while I could.

We were in our forties, and our entire married life had been about parenting. I don’t think we had planned it to be that way, but it’s how it turned out. We got married at thirty-one, in November, and worried that it might take a while to conceive I had stopped my birth control in December. Yep, by January we were expecting. I wasn’t even ready. Neither was he, but somehow together we made it beautiful. Having a baby brought out the best in us, and as a couple we grew.

That whole decade would be a series of pregnancies, deliveries, breastfeeding, newborns, and moving into different homes to suit our growing family. First steps, first words, and first everything’s. Times three! It was a whirlwind thirties for us, for sure. Watching my husband blossom under the mantle of fatherhood was one of my favorite things, and being a parenting partner with him was more than I could have hoped for. He was a wonderful dad!

Yet he was more. And as I lay against his body on the couch, feeling the rise and fall of his chest against me, I knew it was true.

Marriage and parenting can be especially challenging when combined. There’s so much going on. Through terrible twos, stomach bugs, and birthday parties you go. You run errands, change diapers, and go to multiple doctor appointments. You worry, you rejoice, and you cry when you fear you’re messing it all up. You disagree on methods, you discuss the tough issues, and you fall asleep exhausted as soon as your head hits the pillow.

You hold hands together in the hospital waiting for the ultrasound of your daughter’s heart. You worry together.

He holds the baby’s arms down while you twist her head side to side, tortuously performing the physical therapy exercises they taught you to do. Your eyes meet in sympathetic wailing as you work through the baby’s loud cries. This too shall pass.

He comes into the bathroom to check on you where you lay in the floor next to the commode. How long can a stomach virus last for one family?!

Bills! So many bills. We need diapers. We gotta buy a bigger vehicle. She’s outgrown her shoes again.

Go take a bath. I’ll watch the baby.

You stay home by yourself for a change. I’ll take everyone to the store with me.

Go ahead and go to bed. I can tell you’re tired. I’ll put them down.

Through our nine years of marriage we had parented for over eight years of it. We had never really known each other just as husband and wife, but rather always as mom and dad. And we were wonderful at it! We were the perfect team! We were a dynamic parenting duo! But I never wanted to forget what it felt like to spoon on the sofa with the man I fell in love with.

My husband was a wonderful father, but before that he was my wonderful husband. He was a dad! But he was also my best friend. He was my confidant, my prayer partner, and so many days the lifter of my head. God had gifted me with this man, and not just to be the father of my children, but to be my companion for life. One day the children would leave the nest, but I knew it wouldn’t feel too empty. Because it would be filled with him.

It’s easy to get sucked into the parent trap. To see your spouse as your helpmate in matters involving the children, but forget that he was an ever-present help for you in all things. Although I love being a mother, I didn’t want that to define me alone. Before I was their mother, I was his wife, and after they grew up and became mothers themselves, still his wife I would be.

Seasons change, but love remains.

Our only season of married life had been a season of parenting small children, and sometimes that can be pretty overshadowing. The demands of raising multiple, little people takes a lot of strength and energy. Like, a lot! But I never want it to take it all. I always try to leave the best parts of myself for him. He deserves that of me.

“I miss this,” he had said.

And I had too.

It’s unrealistic to think that you can cuddle all day with three children eight years old and under around 24/7, but I did know this. I didn’t want to forget. I didn’t want to forget how good it felt to snuggle up alongside my best guy. I didn’t want to forget what it was like to miss and long for his embrace. I didn’t want to forget that I was made for him, and that he was made for me. I didn’t want to let it slip my mind that he was more than just the father of my children; he was also the love of my life. I held him above everything, and other than the good Lord, he was the one I loved the most. I poured a lot of energy and adoration into the children. We both did. But when it came down to it, he was the only one I wanted to end the day with, melting into his arms, and letting all our other obligations fade away, even if for just a moment.

I had missed this too, but I never wanted to miss it so much that I forgot what it was. Never.