Kate is making her First Communion with four of her good friends. So the moms hired a photographer and on Sunday we dressed them up, took them to a pretty farm and took pictures.
Officially, to mark the importance of the occasion.
But in the far-reaching, planner’s part of my heart, it’s so we have these pictures to show at rehearsal dinners when they are all bridesmaids in each other’s weddings. We do live in a small valley. You never know.
These three met at our house to get their hair done. By the moms, none of whom qualify as “hair people”. It required wine…
We hired the magnificent and magical Tonya Poitevint, who did our family pictures last Fall. She was amazing, like a mother hen with five snow white chicks following her around. She has such a way of coaxing beautiful smiles.
In the middle of the shoot, it came to me what we were really doing.
We were guiding our girls to the next place. We were doing it together and they were doing it together and Tonya became part of our together. It was this amazing, prayerful feminine energy and it was powerful.
These five beautiful girls, with their arms around each other, laughing in God’s sunshine.
And the mothers, who have brought them this far in keeping with the promises we made when they were baptized, but really before that, when they were whispers of hope in our hearts.
As our mothers before us. And before them. And back and back and back.
All of this to say: You are a beloved child of God, and of mine. And it is your province as a woman to wear these things as symbols of who you are and celebrate what is holy and sacred.
This is what it means to be a woman and a mother in our church.
I was on the receiving end of a shaming attempt last week.
The mama took me unawares because I know I have a big “I don’t care what you think because I’m minding my own business” sign over my head. Well, maybe it says something a little bit different…but either way, other mamas do not usually come at me like this.
My mom could have saved her the time, too. Shame hasn’t worked on me since I’m four.
But she didn’t know. So first there was a long and angry text, thinly veiled as “friendly”.
This mom was upset that we–myself and three other moms–had pulled our kids from a school where we do not support the decision-making anymore. She said that our kids were talking smack about the school–smack they must have heard at home from their parents. In whom she was now “disappointed” and from whom she “expected more”.
I didn’t tell her about my sobbing daughter or how she didn’t sleep much the night before or how we don’t lie to our kids and so yes, my daughter knew the truth of why she was leaving and probably was saying it out loud to process it through and who could blame her.
I don’t know why my decision was causing so much trauma for this woman, but I do know it would have been fruitless to explain or argue.
So I firmly but politely told her it was none of her business and didn’t require her input. And I kept saying that every time she poked.
I didn’t give her what she wanted: a fight. Neither did the other moms, which upset her most of all.
And that’s the part that got me thinking: What’s really going on here?
I wish we would stop taking one of the most sacred jobs on earth and using it to beat others about the head. Or to make ourselves feel seen or heard or important. When we lash out at others in an attempt to look or feel better, we show the world our unhappiness in a way that makes it very hard for anyone to care.
That’s not cool in the sisterhood, where we’re all just trying to hold it together with duct tape and prayer. For reals, mamas. Every single one of us is a dropped shoe away from needing all the help.
Hi everyone. I’m back again, writing for Full of Graces. I’ve wanted to write about this topic for a while now but haven’t been able to put my thoughts to paper. We have just put the boys to bed after an afternoon at a birthday party. Some of the older children at the party asked about that thing on Andrew’s chin. Jacob, my oldest, explained that it was a hemangioma and that it doesn’t hurt his little brother; he knows that kids usually are concerned that Andrew may have hurt himself. Nate, my husband, told the kids that it would be removed in two days. But that didn’t stop them from using words like “gross”, “disgusting”, and “ugly” to describe it. These were first grade kids. Jacob heard them and so did Andrew. I know they didn’t mean for their words to hurt but man, my mama heart is heavy tonight.
Andrew in NICU, no hemangioma
Andrew was born at 36 weeks and he did not have a hemangioma at birth. By the time he was released from the NICU we noticed a tiny mark on his chin, almost like a bruise, which we assumed was from the tape on his face that held various tubes in place during his hospital stay. But it never went away and instead started growing. We now know that hemangiomas are common amongst preemies.
Initially, we were told that the hemangioma would eventually lighten in color and begin to recede. Yet, it has not done so and after several visits with a pediatric dermatologist we were told that it had mushroomed with fatty tissue beneath the blood vessels; it would be unlikely for it to go away. The pediatric plastic surgeon we were referred to recommended removing the hemangioma sooner than later in order to allow the surgical scar to heal as much as possible before Andrew starts school. We have been praying about this hemangioma since Andrew was a newborn and we feel that putting him through surgery to remove it is the right choice.
Andrew at one year old (Photo credit: Brianna Kiefer Photography)
Having a child with a hemangioma in a very visible place on his face has been an interesting experience. Overall, it has not been too bad. Little kids are curious and usually just want to know if Andrew has had a boo-boo or if it hurts him. Parents of children with hemangiomas have stopped me, usually at Disneyland, to share their child’s hemangioma story. They have always been positive interactions meant to encourage me in that it would go away eventually and I appreciate that. However, we’ve also had enough interactions where older children say something negative about my baby’s beautiful face. As much as I have hated those negative occasions, I also wish the positive experiences had not happened either. It’s not that I wish people would pretend the hemangioma doesn’t exist, I just wish it weren’t the first thing that people notice about Andrew. He was the sweetest, chunkiest baby and is now the most entertaining, happy little boy; there is so much more to him than the hemangioma on his chin.
Andrew can identify his hemangioma just like he identifies his eyes, nose, mouth, ears, etc. I wonder if he realizes that no one else has one. I will say this experience had been a good teaching opportunity even if it isn’t one that I asked for. Jacob and I have had several conversations about why people always notice Andrew’s hemangioma and sometimes aren’t nice about it. He and I have prayed for the hemangioma to go away and for those that have been unkind. Andrew doesn’t talk much but someday I know I will teach him about how to, and how not to, approach someone who is different. I know that many of my friends are having these conversations with their children too. If you haven’t talked to your child about using kind words, please do. The old adage “sticks and stones may break my bones but words will never hurt me” is simply not true. Words hurt the most.
Andrew at 2
Unfortunately kids can be mean and we don’t want Andrew to be hurt by other people’s words about it. So we are going ahead with plastic surgery on Tuesday, December 15th. We’ve been told that the procedure will last 30-45minutes; Nate, my doctor husband, says that’s not long at all but I am sure those minutes will feel much longer. Andrew is expected to bounce back quickly because he is young but we have been warned that the scar may be very red for up to a year. That means it should be fading around when he starts pre-school. I am praying that it does fade by then but that if it doesn’t, that the children in his class are kind.
Please join me in praying for a successful surgery, quick recovery, and minimal scaring. Thank you.
And since I am always—ALWAYS—standing at Michael’s on the first Sunday of Advent afternoon, begging for someone, anyone to show me a pink taper candle in November, I thought I would share my newest and greatest discovery:
Plus, I highly recommend this Brussel Sprouts and Quinoa recipe with a lemon vinaigrette. BUT. If you click that link you need to know it’s a Thug Kitchen recipe. So there will be curse words, mostly ones that start with F.
We’re going to try and post a daily Advent reflection starting Sunday November 29 on our Facebook page, so join us over there if you’re interested.
And lastly, just in case this is the year that you are ready to do the Advent thing with the little people in your house, here are our two previous posts with ideas and resources.
May your turkey roast to perfection, may the marshmallows brown but not burn on your sweet potatoes and may your gravy hold and not break. And if you don’t know what any of that means, may you remember to the hug the people who do.
We’ll leave you with this prayer of grace, given to us by a great man many Thanksgivings ago:
Dear Lord, thank you for this food and especially for those who grew it, those who cooked it and those who brought it to the table. Thank you for the friends and family who gather round to share it. Help us to always remember and honor our blessings, come to us through your goodness and mercy.
We have a sick mama among us. She’s sick in a way that she isn’t ready to face yet.
I was surprised that her secret was so open. But then I learned there’s another mama who is making sure everyone knows.
And not in a nice way. She is actively and purposefully making sure people know.
This kind of stuff takes me by surprise because no one in the important part of my life is like that. I make dang sure.
But every now and then someone on the outer edge, like this mama, makes a wave in my peaceful circle. And since I’m not looking for it, it smacks me sideways.
I called Dana to rant and rail: Is she new here? Doesn’t she know that we don’t act like that in this place? That we are space-holders and second-chance-givers and call-down-the-power-of-heaven-pray-ers?
Dana said Who is this again? One of the moms at your new school?
And I said Oh.
The new one here is me.
Making friends is hard. We just want people to know us already. We want to trust that people are who they seem to be the first time we meet them. But there are wheels within wheels in any community, from small town schools to big city corporations—unspoken rules by which everyone plays and the new folks have to figure out through trial and error.
It’s good for us to know about new places and new people, but it’s exhausting.
For months, this mean mama showed me what she wanted me to see before she showed me the truth. When I finally saw it, I turned to the other mamas, who told me that I was for sure the last to know.
I’m glad I know. I will be careful around her, but if she comes my way, I will be challenging and honest. I can ask hard questions with kindness to find the truth, because I believe we have to use our powers for good. We absolutely cannot be each other’s competition or entertainment. It’s not about shutting people out, but folding them into a network of love and support that all mamas can and should be to each other. I am not saying we walk blindly into the fire, thinking if we can just be nice enough, the fire won’t burn us; but there’s things we can do to lay the fire down so it provides warmth instead of scorching the earth.
I think that mean mamas are hiding something, creating a diversion over there, so no one will look too closely here. They are hurting and insecure. They may never have known true sisterhood friendship.
We have to show them what it means–and how our lives and hearts can grow–when we have truth-loving, prayer-saying, light-spreading, space-holding sister women in our corners.
Full Of Graces 