The Dun Dun Dun

There are acquaintances, good friends, best friends, and real friends. I classify real friends as the ones who laugh at your dirty house, you don't mind when they stop by and you are still in your pjs at 4 pm, they bring you food and chop up your placenta (hmm. . . Maybe someday ill share more about that), and on top of everything don't dismiss most of your ideas as crazy, but instead join you!

Enter my (great!) real friend, Larissa and the journey of dreading our hair. Because its way more fun to be crazy together. 22 hours she spent twisting and ripping my hair, while we talked, sipped tea, watched British comedy and a little bit of the golden girls.

Our moms think we are weird, our husbands are rebelling, a child may have cried- but we are in this together.

Finding the Joy

 I'm still here. As you can see in the above photo. . . . I've been busy for the last year. Meet Sequoia. He's big and strong just like the name we've chosen. So far he's weathered a long labor and birth, a battle with RSV and a 16 day PICU stay, and the often overbearing love of his two older siblings. He's calm. He's steady. He's my Sequoia.

This is a snapshot of our life right now. Finding the joy a midst 6 year old curiosity, 3 year old emotions, and the needs of a newborn. That smile is real. I love my job. I love the days that I can see views from the summit and ones that I'm covered in muck (sometimes literally) from being in the trenches. My life is rich with love.

sidetracked. . . .

Lets talk about a different kind of love. Ok. Scratch that too. Let's talk about me. Let's talk about the fact that I by nature am a push over and hate conflict. This hasn't changed since becoming a parent and it needs to. Now. Like yesterday.

I love my children. When I became a mother I searched out what parenting philosophy that I thought would be best for my kids. I wanted them to feel love, to know love, and to be love. It was all about love. Love. Love. Love.

I love them. I kiss them. I tell them multiple times a day that I love them from here to the moon. I show them love by taking an extra minute to show them how to do something. I've read and listened to 'The 5 Love Languages for Children'. I buy them things. I teach them. I spend quality time with them. I cry with them and for them. I pray for them and with them.

Until today. Exactly 3 o'clock pm today. I thought I was loving them in the best way possible.

I have a friend. She's become more than a friend and more like a second mother to me. I love this women and respect what she has to say. On Friday she told me point blank that I'm not teaching my children to honor me. *insert the feeling of both me nearly wanting to cry and feeling the Comanche blood in me flair up* I listened to her. I prayed about it. And on our walk home from the library this afternoon as Willow screamed at the top of her lungs that she was "so angry she wanted to hit me"(she didn't) and tried running away. I owned it.

In all honesty this isn't an every day occurrence. Willow has always been quick to say her please's and thank you's and is the most compassionate 4 year old I know. For the last five years I've prescribed to the thought that if I show respect to my child they will respect me. I'm not saying that there is anything false about that. But honor is different. And I'm not feeling it. It's needed. And it's my job as a parent to show them how to honor.

The rest of the day I walked around like a lost child. Where do I even begin. I sat here, trying to numb myself from the tantrum that was happening in the living room and found a blog post. I followed a link that led to another link that led me to this. It may not seem life changing to you. But I'm buying that book tomorrow and calling my friend to learn a little bit more about honor.

That Fast

She lifted her hands up shouting for joy over going to the "smell good store" (candle shoppe). I bent down to secure Cedar in the stroller. When I looked back up I saw it coming and began to shout a shout that all at once embodied the roar of a bear and the scream of a baby. He braked. She ran to me. I cried. Cedar was still asleep.

Time is measurable. They say. But those split seconds seem to last forever in my memory maybe because I came 'this close' to losing her 'that fast'.