Yes, we are still potty training.

Yes, the small person who is potty training locked the rest of us out of the house and proceeded to stand at the door, licking her popsicle, with a sinister smile and the ever present threat of a puddle on the floor.

Yes, I had a hard time not cracking up as I was trying to instruct said small person to UNLOCK THE DOOR TURN THE TOP LATCH RIGHT HERE DO IT NOW.

Yes, I was envisioning a small person running into mommy and daddy’s bedroom and climbing up onto the bed to bounce in a very unsafe way while probably also leaving a puddle on it while by the by we are standing outside and trying to decide whether or not to break into our own house because she’s probably about to fall off the bed from all the unsafe bouncing.

No, there are no pictures of this.

Mostly because I’m also trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to hide my laughter because said small person is standing there on the other side of the locked door wearing Minnie panties and rain boots, happily enjoying her popsicle and wondering what is so funny while also, thankfully, not able to telepathize my fears of unsafe bed jumping which almost certainly would have immediately encouraged it.

They both have school today.

All creatures of our God and King. Lift up your voice and with us sing.

Bitty E informed me yesterday {mid potty training, mind you} that we needed to do an experiment with the five senses and could I go and find the things to do that with now, please. I told her we were safest from puddles by staying outside and how about she try to find the five senses in the yard. We got past two–yes, the crimson clover is soft, and yes, the blueberries are not ready to be picked.

Here’s the before–I’ll spare you the after. Think we’ll stick to the popsicles for a few more days.

My friend Alan asked me to write for his blog, and I couldn’t say yes fast enough.

When I find myself needing to describe Alan’s writing the word that jumps to mind is stout. And yes, I mean for you to think of beer.

It’s thick. It’s rich. It’s chock full o’stuff. You might find yourself chewing.

{Is it clear that I don’t drink beer yet?}

But the beer thing…it’s what I mean. Alan speaks truth fearlessly, his thoughts are sturdy, his concepts robust. A visit to his site is a long drink from a deep well.

So, if you’ve a few minutes, here’s the link to Alan’s blog, and here’s the link to the post he let me write for it.

Hope you like your stouts high gravity. Cheers to the weekend!

Well, I’ll be.

That’s what my mother-in-law said when I told her someone agreed to take something I helped write and actually see if people wanted to read it.

*sigh*

{Sorry, distracted by Daniel Cleaver.}

{Also, sometimes quite often I start a post and then wonder how did I get here?}

{Some high school friends said I had the attention span of a gnat, so you know, this might actually be A THING.}

Hey, the book is out! The book is out!

Well, it’s not technically a book, unless you call it that by Daniel Cleaver’s standards, and let’s seriously not allow any calls we ever make in life to be judged by Daniel Cleaver’s standards…#wordstoliveby.

So, it’s a study, but more than that it’s a big huge hunk of my heart. Let me go back:

After bitty E was born I had a rough go. It was postpartum depression, but not in the way you might expect. {Who knew that postpartum doesn’t necessarily mean you’re sitting on the couch crying all the time.} For me, it showed up as unrealistic, irrational, unquenchable fear. I’ll spare you the details…just know: ugly.

Talking to a trusted friend after most of the ugly was over, she said, “I wish those new moms videos had been made.”

To which I said, “what new mom videos?”

To which she said, “oh, the ones <other friend> and I dreamed up a while back to love on new mamas in the hard days. You know, that they could watch in the middle of the night while they’re triple feeding and listening to their husband snoring in the adjacent room.”

Huh.

Fast forward, well, a lot…and the videos have turned into a study: Engaging Motherhood, Heart Preparation for a Holy Calling, to be precise…and I can’t believe I got to help write it.

Here’s the back in case you’d like to nerd out like I would:

And here’s what the back says since you’d need a magnifying glass to read that:

Let’s face it: it’s not about whether we sleep-train, cloth-diaper, give formula, or any one of the thousands of other choices in this age of mommy-analysis. What matters is the heart behind those decisions and whether or not that heart is surrendered to Jesus. It’s about our worst fear regarding our children coming true and still being able to say, “My identity is in Christ alone and his completed work.”

Engaging Motherhood: Heart Preparation for a Holy Calling is a place for moms of young children to connect and beat back loneliness, to be reminded of truth when lies scream so loudly, and to be assured that we are enough because he is enough. It seeks to prepare mamas for the days when sin flares up, expectations go unmet, relationships are strained, or the line between the rational and the irrational blurs.

God promises to meet us as we courageously step into the spiritual significance of our task. He has every answer for our real questions—the deep ones that challenge at every turn. Be steadied and encouraged by the experiences of seven mothers who have gone down this road before. Allow your gaze to be lifted from the stifling how-to’s of raising a child onto Christ’s sufficiency in meeting your every need along the way.

 

That pretty much covers it. But if you are a new mama, or an expecting mama, or a mama with three under four, or an adopting mama, or just in the trenches and desperate for encouragement…or if your daughter or best friend’s daughter is one of these mamas…or if you are loving on someone who is one of these mamas, well…you get the picture. I hope you will consider buying our book for you/her/the you who still feels like you’re her.

It’s time to quit with this whole “well, nobody ever prepared me and I got through it…I’m sure she’ll figure it out on her own”-business and start being real with each other about the hard as well as the good. It’s time for mamas to say to one another in beautiful authenticity, “Yep, it’s good. But it might also be hard. And I hope it’s not hard for you…but if it is…you can call me because it was hard for me. Actually, you know what, if you’re down I’d like to call you about three weeks in and ask you how you are, and I want you to really answer me. That cool?”

 

The study released over the weekend, and we went “Facebook official” with it on Monday. I’m annoying myself with what I can’t seem to stop writing in response to the kind words of friends and loved ones. It’s basically some mildly altered version of “awe, shucks.”

{Truth be told: annoyed doesn’t even cover it…I just want to put myself up on the deep dark shelf right behind the box labeled Toys That Can Be Weaponized.}

But the truth is: it wasn’t done for us; it wasn’t written for our glory. And if I can keep those eyes on, then it won’t matter about my awkward Facebook awe-shucksing, or whether or not I say the right thing in asking someone to back our project. It was never about me anyway. **WARNING, WARNING, Tough Pill To Swallow Ahead**

The hard days were never really about me either.

I serve a God who does not waste. That means they were about his glory and my good. And spoiler alert: his glory IS my good. The glorious one in the same.

Soli Deo gloria.

So if one person’s new mama experience is better because of this little book…

Well, I’ll be.

 

You can purchase on the publisher’s web site or from Amazon.

 

I think I’m going to add a subtitle to my blog name.

Digging Suburbia.

Pushing the limits on child labor laws.

Because really, they’re around, they’re available, they’re {mostly} willing, and they’re easily bribed.

Saturday was gorgeous, we got {almost} everything seeded, the kids tore up the house, but really…there’s only one story you need to hear. So let’s begin.

I asked my beautiful sister to move a volunteer alyssum from one of the beds over to the spot where I actually seeded some alyssum a couple weeks ago.

We were having a nice conversation…or so I thought. {Except for the part where she kept referring to it as asylum and not alyssum.}

{Whatever. Bugging since ’83.}

 

Suddenly, sister begins to not know what to do with her hands.

A few seconds later, there’s a slight breeze…

and then out of nowhere, I find myself super confused and standing all alone. No, it was not the rapture…it was my sister FLIPPING OUT at MOVING A PLANT.

Many thanks to my awesome brother in law who captured these images for posterity, but let’s not lose focus here:

SHE LEFT ME IN MY TIME OF NEED.

{Last time I saw her run like that was when I challenged her to a Connect 4 tournament…BOOM.}

You may read this and think, “why so Judgey McJudgerson? Your sister provided 50% of your child labor needs,” and to you I would have to say, “touche. Now, which way to the asylum?”