Just Rest

By Vanessa Shepherd

They say that women have fifty thousand words to use each day, and I don't know if I believe them. 

I mean seriously, have you met a toddler? 

At the end of a long day you will never catch me looking to strike up a conversation. You will however find me posted in my pajamas on the couch, coffee in hand (don't judge me and my late night caffeine fix), watching one of my favorite crime shows- or Nashville, because... Nashville- gloriously basking in the silence. 

Silence that lasts only in five minute increments I might add.

Because Jacob has to pee. Or poop. Or needs water. Or wants to cuddle. Or keeps talking to Michael because they share a room to make space for our one-day adopted daughter and now they are fighting because Michael is tired and Jake. Won't. Stop. Talking.

It is bedtime Jake. Bedtime is for children to doze off into dreamland and adults to be reminded that they have brains that once solved more intellectual problems than where the last piece of the puzzle could be. Or why the Cat in the Hat has silly words. Or where in the world that stinkin' other sock could have walked off to. Jake, it is of the utmost importance for you to stop talking so the world can rest and wake up with enough strength to conquer whatever tomorrow will hold.

The utmost importance.

So please, FOR THE LOVE of my sanity, stop talking, and just go to bed.

You will thank me tomorrow.

And this, this is where God speaks to me. This is where it all changes.

Because just like my hyper active, overly talkative three year old- I won't stop. I won't just lie down and rest. I won't just stop talking. And it isn't just that I won't, with everything in me I feel that I can't.

Because we are in the middle (or maybe the end or even the beginning, who knows) of our adoption that has no end in sight and I am so done with seeing moms walk down to the park hand in hand with their little girls or post pictures getting pedicures when God promised that to ME. When that was supposed to be ME and MY daughter walking to the park or posted in that picture. When will it be MY time?

Because my family is going through a lot right now and I am MILES away. I can't be there to hold my moms hand as she goes in for test after test, or appointment after appointment because she just found out that she has cancer and there are no answers yet. There isn't even a plan yet. Why does it take so long to come up with a stinking plan??? And I can't help my dad, who has now broken his back for the third time in less than two years, with chores around the house because he is even more OCD than I am and a clean house is like peace to the soul. I can't. Why can't I DO anything?

Because we are youth pastors of a church plant and our house can only fit so many students before someone shows up and thinks, "there is no room for me here". But there is! There is room! Somewhere, someway, I will find room for you because I WANT you here, I want nothing more than you to feel WANTED here. Because God wants you here! Why can't we have THAT huge house with enough room for anyone and everyone to feel like they belong? Don't we work hard enough? Aren't we just as deserving?

And in all the craziness that surrounds this season that I find myself in, I hear God urging me to "rest". WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN GOD? How am I just supposed to do nothing and lay down right now? 

But I did, I stopped. I laid down. 

For about five minutes... and then in that "resting" position I began to ask God to talk to me. To answer my questions. To give me guidance. To give my family peace.

I would be quiet if He would just start talking.

And I was reminded of Jacob who is never ready for bed, who cannot handle the silence. And I am that strong willed child that can't handle God being silent, even in my rest.

So here I am, waving the white flag. Laying down. Being still. And most importantly not asking God to speak to me when He has called me to just rest.

Because it is of the utmost importance.

Not for me right now. Right now it feels like I'm moving backwards. Right now it feels like I am accomplishing nothing. 

But for the Vanessa that will wake up tomorrow, this is for her. This is for her to have the strength to handle the possible phone call of good or bad news. This is for her to deal with another slap in the face from an overly rebellious toddler. This is for her to see those pictures plastered all over social media of things she wants and have the ability to truly be happy for them. This is for her.

Resting isn't for you, it is for the you 

that will wake up to face tomorrow. 

Rest is for her. 

So please, just rest. 

Because she is going to need it.

Children, a constant reminder of how important being fully rested is... for the love.

Psalm 46:10

"Let be and be still, and know (recognize and understand) that I am God." AMP

(I have a sneaking suspicion that we could all use a good, lay down in the grass and feel the sun on our faces, kind of moment... so go outside and enjoy this beautiful spring day. The best thing you can do in moments of overwhelming uncertainty, is to do nothing. So go outside. Do nothing. Remember how good God is, and tell your brain to take a breather.)

Stop Copying Me!

By Vanessa Shepherd

We have arrived.  We have made it.  I didn't think we were there yet, but alas here we are.  We are now the proud parents of a giant COPY CAT. I am so excited. *eye roll*  When did this become SO FUN?  Because Michael thinks he is the funniest thing since the fart sound now that he has discovered how to repeat Every. Single. Thing. I. Say.

"Michael"

"Michael"

"Michael" (said with a "oh Dear God, please don't start that again" tone)

"Michael" (said in the exact tone but done through an overly eager grin)

"Michael stop it."

"Michael stop it."

"Oh my word."

"Oh my word."

"Michael, what do you want?"

"Michael, what do you want?"

"Oh so nothing."

"Oh so nothing."

I see where this is going so I make my move...

"I'm a girl."

"I'm a girl."  

Instantly, without hesitation, he confesses a completely ridiculous statement.

I now realize his commitment to see this thing out. It's game time.

*insert extremely long, run on sentence full of all things hilarious to a six year old boy including but not limited to the words "diarrhea" "butt explosion" and "fart"*

Yes I realize that I pretty much just handed over my dignity, but it worked and he started laughing which meant he stopped repeating long enough to end the game. A moms gotta do what a moms gotta do.

So here we are.  In the season of life when our son finds imitation as an acceptable form of comedy. I have heard many things about imitation, one being that it is the highest form of flattery, but I can say it is a hilarious game to play... until it isn't.  Until we start imitating the wrong thing, and the world sees how far it can go with this game to get Christians to say and do the dumbest things. Then it isn't very funny.  

So laugh away little man.  I love these conversations.  I love these games we play.  But one day mommy is going to use this moment to tell you about how God made you unique, one of a kind, and it would be such a travesty to lose you to an imitation.  Be YOU, little man.  I love the YOU that God made you to be.  And I would miss the YOU that I have come to know if you ever chose to try to be like someone or something else. 

Children, the game of life is not wasted on them... FOR THE LOVE!

Romans 12:2

"Don’t copy the behavior and customs of this world..."

Ephesians 5:1

"Imitate God, therefore, in everything you do, because you are his dear children."

Brave, Rockstar, Super-Mom

Those are three of the words from some of my ever-so-kind Instagram friends today... Commenting on me being alone at the doctors with all three boys. Those comments gave me some super fuel to power through the next hour or so... But if you were to step behind the picture you'd see everything but. I think the theme song would be "I'm a survivor." 

Brave. Not so much. It was a complete necessity. I tried everything to avoid it. Baby woke up with pink eye, called doctors at 9am to find their only available appointment is 1:15- smack dab in the middle of nap time and my husbands meeting he couldn't rearrange. So no bravery here, just a survival moment of "do what ya gotta do." 

Rockstar. Man can I make the pics look like that. All boys looking at the camera, two out of three smiling. But the only "rockstar" was Caleb who pulled the stirrups out of the old patient table and while balancing on them was screaming at the top of his lungs, while Connor played on the iPad and I tried to nurse my sick babe. (I'm sure everyone could hear the "show" through the paper thin walls! Hey I think it got the doctor into our room a little quicker!) 

Super-Mom. Well as I sit here in the pharmacy drive thru after everyone having the most nutritious dinner ever (a bowl of cereal.) I don't feel like a Super-Mom. I'm replaying all the moments of today while judging the cars in line in front of me why they are in the drive thru with no children in their cars... 

Connor roared at a little boy just at the approach of him coming near the magazine rack. Snatched the one and only toy from another boy! (Why on earth our pediatricians office only has one toy in their entire establishment boggles my mind and I managed to fill out a comment card while I was there-- someone had to get the brunt of my frustration.) Caleb treated our glass ball string lights in the backyard like a baseball game and shattered glass all over. Spit on his grandparents multiple times while Skyping with them. Connor hit me while being put in bed for nap time. They fought. They made messes. They had tons of poopy diapers. And both Caleb and Cade never took a nap. 

On these tough days I'm reminded I don't have to do it alone. I'm reminded of how much in need I am of my God. His joy really is my strength to not just "survive" motherhood, but to thrive in the midst of the crazy years. At the end of every day (and normally in the middle) I can give thanks to Him for every blessing and this life He believes I am capable of leading— and doing it well." 

How good is this?!.....

"The LORD is my strength and shield. I trust him with all my heart. He helps me, and my heart is filled with joy. I burst out in songs of thanksgiving." Psalm 28:7 

We All Need a Little Grace

Phew, this morning was a doozy. I had less than an hour to feed four human beings, get them dressed, play a game of "Go Fish", brush teeth, cuddle during "Daniel Tiger", make lunches, make coffee for the busy hubs, and get out the door on time. I know so many can relate. But why does there have to be a battle every time? Connor spilled his cereal, like head to toe milk and "honey boats" (Honey Bunches of Oats) all over him twice! Caleb is fighting over every. single. thing. He doesn't like his shirt, his socks have "bumps", he can't get his shoes on, and he hates his new (never worn) sweatshirt from Christmas. Just great. Thank you Jesus for Cade who sits on the floor and smiles through most of it, even being pushed down by Connor and toys stolen.

So we finally make it into the garage, everyone is in their seats and I'm closing the automatic door and boom... slam my finger in my door. That was just enough to push me over the edge. I mean sobbing. I can't remember the last time I sobbed like that. I shut the garage door in the midst of the pain, because I just couldn't take the chances of a neighbor walking by and hearing the madness & sobbing all at once. The boys asking if I was okay. I finally had the words to tell Caleb-- my finger was hurting bad, but it was my feelings that were hurting to push me over the edge. He had been rude and disobedient all morning. (Maybe it's because I beat him so bad in Go Fish?) So then Caleb begins to sulk and cry. So I climb in the back of the van and we sit, and talk, and cry and hug. We work it out. We have (what I hope) is a good lesson for all of us on working together and what loving each other looks like.

While I'm climbing back up to the front of the van I'm coaching the boys on what we're going to do once we arrive at school-- no fits, no tantrums, no fights. And under my breath say something like "I don't need anymore grief..."

Caleb says, "Mommy!! It sounded like you just said you don't need any more grace?!"

And I'm done.

"Nope, Caleb. Mommy always needs more grace. Lots and lots more. We all do. Thanks for the reminder baby."

My morning in a nutshell and a constant reminder that I'm in need of grace from every avenue of life. Including every person and email and text I am super late on replying to right now, trying to keep up. Thank you friends for grace. Thank you God for daily grace and mercies new every morning.

Thankful for coffee on the ride.

A trip to Target after the chaos will help.

The way home. The sun & clouds just made me happy. It reminded me of a clean slate.

Count on Crazy

So I once heard this thought shared at our MOPS meeting...  (fyi: if you aren't connected to one, you should! It's a lifeline for mommies of tinies) ... The line was "count on crazy." 

Oh how that can be such a helpful perspective to have in the daily tasks and chaos we call mommyhood. I have found so many times when I could break down and cry, or scream my head off, or call the husband for a 911-- that I slow down and remember to "count on crazy." When we do this, it makes it a lot easier to laugh over the spilled drink on the light carpet, the nail polish on your four year old son, the three year old playing wrestling with your nine-month old (which all of this has happened to me in just these past few hours.) 

This is the life. Did we dream of all of the messy details? Probably not. But they come with the package-- and it's still the best. 

But my thoughts don't stop there, some of you can... But there's a few of us that need to keep reading (or processing). I would like to one up it and say, "count on the craziest!" 

So this morning we went to the Sacramento Children's Museum (another fyi: if you are local, you need to become a member there! Another lifeline!) So I already knew to count on crazy as I'm one of the few mommies there with three kids and alone. I don't have my fancy camera out and we are never dressed in mommy/kid fashion... We are in survival fun mode. Baby strapped to me, Caleb off who knows where (but it works- we've been going since he was a baby) and Connor insisting I follow his every move and carry his toys and hide from the alligators. 

Then over the loud speaker they say, hello everyone. It's now time for a science project in the party room! I tell Connor to stay while I go make sure Caleb has managed his way there. Of course he was already seated with his goggles and lab coat on. (Adorable.)

So to keep a long story short, the science project was a cup of water in a pan (to collect spillage). First you put soap in the cup and stir. Caleb does great, Connor decides to be the one and only "craziest" and eat it! Ew. Then they add food coloring, then baking soda... Connor takes another spoonful to the mouth! (Ah! I can't catch it all. Holding Cade & helping Caleb.) The finale to the project has arrived! The citric acid to make the "mini explosion"-- lots of foaming. Caleb does his and then definitely one ups his brother. Everyone is politely stirring their cups, oohing & aahing over the foam magic... When Caleb decides to pour his out everywhere and put his hands all in it and make a total disaster. (Picture taken before the disaster!) 

This is where the "count on the craziest" happens. I could get angry and scold him, I could get embarrassed and leave the room fighting tears, I could've been very stern and made him embarrassed and humiliated (<-- these were all options in my mind... all the while Connor is still test-tasting his chemicals! And I'm feeling like a spotlight is shining on us while everyone else is playing by the rules.) But I kindly smiled, coached him that we weren't meant to pour it out, let's help clean up... And kindly exited pretty quickly after having him put his items away and thank the teacher. I'm thankful for the perspective that has been taught and caught here. I don't want to scold my children for being adventurous, curious, and messy-- just because it can maybe be "embarrassing" that they're not doing it like everyone else. 

To top it all off, when we arrived at the safe haven of home ready to eat and relax, I dropped the jar of strawberry jam which resulted in lunch plans ruined, an insane mess to clean up... But I was able to laugh it off and remain calm. Thank you Lord for these lessons learned & molding me daily in this life of mommyhood. I will continue to "count on the craziest" and try to soak up every moment. 

That's not how this works!

By Vanessa Shepherd

First graders are weird.  I have a first grader and the way their minds work seriously confuse the mess out of me.  I don't know the last time a six year old has graced your conversation but I would love to give you a hint of what I have to work with these days...

Michael had been coming home from school hungry, I'm talking really really hungry. Haven't eaten all day maybe two kind of hungry.  This was happening for a while and I excused it as typical boy behavior and shed a small tear for our grocery budget.  Every day at 2:10pm I would pick my man child up from school and without fail every day at 2:15pm he would be perched at the counter awaiting his second lunch.  It was getting old and fast.

And then I thought of something... what if he wasn't eating what I had been packing for him?  What if his second lunch really was his first lunch?  And so I asked...

"Michael, did you eat all of your lunch today?"

"Yes."

"Michael, did you eat all of your lunch today?"

"Yes, Mom."

"ALLof it?"

"Ye-ahhhhhhhhhhh-NO.  I'm sorry mom. I'm sorry!!!" Followed immediately by hysterical crying.

The thought of him throwing that much food away, days upon weeks worth, was nauseating and I did what every mother would have done in my shoes- sent him to see his father.  Right now we are a part of a church plant in Central California and my husband works in his "office" most days (located not so comfortably but very adorably, if I do say so myself, in the garage) so having him go "see his father" on occasion is pretty convenient for a mom who is at a loss for words from time to time.

And then my husband got father of the year.

Michael walked back inside and I asked what he had learned from talking to Dad.  He told me how Rich had showed him a World Hunger video to show him the importance of food and how many children aren't privileged enough to have what we take for granted.  Genius.  Simply genius.  Way to take a moment of "my carrots aren't as cool as my friend's bagged processed poop chips" and turn it into a teaching moment.  Well done, Mr Shepherd, well done!

Thoroughly pleased with the outcome, I decided to leave it alone knowing that after what he had just seen I would never have to worry about it again.

Oh, first grade.  How you test me.

Two days later... yes, a whole TWO DAYS... Michael comes home STARVING.  I drop my shoulders, lean on the counter, and look Michael right in the eyes as I ask him once again if he had thrown away his food.  The fruit of my husbands labor.  Literally, it was fruit that day.

And without skipping a beat he responded, with enthusiasm, "YES! And I remembered that video when I did it!"

And then I died. Of laughter. And sent him back out to the garage.  

Insert old lady from Geico commercial saying "That's not how this works! That's not how any of this works!!!", here!

Children... just when you thought you were getting your point across... FOR THE LOVE!!!

Monkey See Monkey Doo Doo

By Vanessa Shepherd

 

Let me just start this out by saying that I wouldn’t wish potty training on my worst enemy.  It is my least favorite part of parenting… Bar. None.  And as much as I think babysitting is a great form of birth control, babysitting a two year- and not just any two year old but one who is potty training- would be the very equivalent of sterilizing teenagers for years to come.  It is that bad.

 

I have noticed that many of the stories on this blog have revolved around the subject of poop, and while I would love to say this one is different we have been potty training so there’s your first clue, and between Caitlin and I we have five boys so an epic poop story it will be.  Because let’s just be honest, boys’ love poop… and it happens on the daily.  So for us to get out our computers and document an “occurrence” is a dead giveaway to a gagging nail biter (you’ll get that pun more as you read on).

 

I would like to begin this story 6 years ago when I had my first son.  I had been clipping his nails for the very first time and slipped- cutting his little finger.  I am pretty sure I cried more than he did seeing his finger bleeding, knowing I was the cause.  Because of this I opted to bite his nails from there on out, knowing that I could trust my own mouth to decipher between nail and finger.  So there you have it.  For as long as I have been a mom I have only used the nail clippers once.  Both boys in fact would on occasion jump into my lap and lift up their hand, falling asleep to me biting off each nail.  It was our thing.

 

Fast forward to this last week.  Death week.  The week I decided that I would potty train my little albino terrorist that I love with all of my heart.  The week I started said task with my husband heading out of town on a trip that had been planned for some time but I had already set my mind to getting it done so I would go it alone.  The terrible no good very bad week that every parent experiences while potty training.

 

 

Jake had been doing decent at peeing in the toilet.  I mean I spent half my day in the bathroom with him so pee was bound to get in that porcelain bowl.  But poop… yea no.  Jake would have none of that on the toilet.   He would hold it in, after being on the toilet for an hour because I just KNEW that he had to go, and as soon as he’d get off run to an inconspicuous place to do the duty.  Every. Time.  For nine days I scrubbed floors, threw away chonies (because I would rather spend a few dollars on a new pair than wash that crap with other clothes- literally), bribed with every candy I could imagine, and barely held myself from knocking my head against a wall over and over.  Day nine, oh day nine, it took the cake.

 

 

After spending another hour in the bathroom bribing my strong willed second born to no avail, I sent him off for naptime.  Sometime later I heard him crying.  The pain cry.  As a mom there are many cries (attention cry, whining cry, tired cry, hungry cry, and the painful cry) and this one got me up and in his room in no time.  I swung open the door to find my son sitting in his bed with a handful of poop.  POOP!!!! Poop in your underwear, fine, but hold it???? WHY CHILD??? I swiftly picked him up, dumping his handful in the toilet, and sat him on his throne in case he had more in there, while I hurried off to get a soapy wash cloth for his hands.

 

It could only have been a minute that I had been away but that minute was all it took for my child to make the worst decision of his two years of life.  I walk in with washcloth in hand to find Jake BITING HIS NAILS.  HIS POOP INFESTED NAILS.  I almost threw up all over that bathroom.  What would possess you to put the very thing that smells of crap IN YOUR MOUTH.  That is the very moment I regretted ever opting for not using those nail clippers.  My child would now be diseased because of a decision I made six years ago I just knew it. 

 

To my relief, he is still alive.  And even better that was the last time he ever pooped in his underwear.  I may have scared him into now going in the toilet.  Whatever works I suppose.

 

Children… they always copy your behaviors at the worst opportune time… FOR THE LOVE!