Losing My Religion

Are you okay? Are you questioning your faith? I saw your post and I’m worried about you.

Those are a few of the messages I’ve gotten recently from friends and family alarmed by my recent IG story post about evolution and atheism. I know these questions come from a place of genuine concern and there was no way to adequately answer those questions via a text or IG post. I realize the gravity of what I am saying and trying to respond to those texts made me decide to sit down and write it out. I am doing this for myself as much as for the people who are trying to understand me. This could be a long one…

To really understand how I have moved across the religious spectrum from my parent’s religious beliefs in the Lutheran Church to Presbyterian to Anabaptist to Omnist to Agnostic to Atheist. It is quite a change and the only way the end result makes sense is to go back and start from the very beginning.

A large percent of my childhood memories involve church. I remember Sunday mornings – often involving the smell of McDonald’s Egg McMuffins – in my nicest clothes. I remember sitting in the sanctuary and looking at the details of every stained-glass window, every arched beam, the altar, the pulpit, the fans whirling lazily in circles. I remember learning how to follow along in the complicated hymnals – usually singing songs that I didn’t understand. I remember listening to the pastor drone on and on about passages that didn’t make sense to me. I remember praying prayers and wondering why I always felt like a prayer fraud. If I were to trace my evolution to atheism, this forced, dictated prayer was where my first questions and doubts came from. I can clearly remember the inner dialogue that went on in my head during prayer time. I remember chastising myself for my thoughts wandering or for just going through my wish list (I genuinely believed that that was how God worked because there was always a portion of prayer time where the pastor named all those who were suffering in the congregation. We prayed for health, for employment, for discernment, for the doctors and surgeons. We prayed with the expectation that our God could, and perhaps would see fit to answer those prayers). I remember wondering why I never felt like anyone was really listening to me. I felt like everyone else must be feeling this supernatural connection when they prayed but that if I admitted my doubts or failings that my family would be horrified.

I think that there is an interesting tie-in here with my understanding of my adoption and how that aspect of my life reinforced the desire to “be part of” the only family that I knew. What if they all had a divine connection but because I was adopted, I was not included that divine relationship. I never consciously thought that at the time but looking back at some of my behaviors and beliefs with the eyes of an adult, I see where being adopted, led me to desperately want to please and be included during my youth.

But, back to the topic at hand. After Sunday School ended, my classes for confirmation began somewhere around 6^th grade. Once a week I would head upstairs in the church office building into the stuffy room where our pastor taught our confirmation classes. I need to mention here that I was not a fan of our pastor at that time. He was old, grumpy, and reeked of alcohol during classes. I have one very clear memory from those classes. It’s not the bible verses I was required to regurgitate or the beliefs I was told were in my best interest. Because why else would you send a child to such a class? I know that my parents absolutely had my best interests at heart. My memory? What stuck with me all these years? I asked him why the bible didn’t mention dinosaurs. Why, if the bible chronicled everything from the beginning of time, did it never mention these ferocious beasts that would have been terrifying to coexist with. There are all sorts of fantastical tales in the old testament that made the cut, but never once is a giant, man-eating lizard mentioned in these stories. I was taking 6th-grade science at the time and we were studying fossils. I was being presented with physical, scientifically soundproof that dinosaurs existed yet never once in the Bible were they ever really mentioned. Yes, someone will inevitably say that Isaiah 27:1 mentions Leviathan – a gliding serpent, a monster of the sea. That’s it. One tiny sentence mentioning a creature that could easily exist today – a giant crocodile or an anaconda. No mention of giant beasts, or predators, of the land and air.

His response, in front of all my peers: “How dare you to question the Word of God?” He was angry that I had the audacity to try to understand the text I was about to publicly proclaim as Truth. He didn’t even give me the verse from Isaiah. It took until adulthood for me to discover that one. He shut me down. Embarrassed me. Reinforced the already strong notion that asking questions meant I was a doubter (insert audible gasp). I didn’t want to be the only one who didn’t get “in”… who didn’t graduate. So, I stuffed my questions and learned my lesson. It wasn’t about understanding it was only about believing blindly. This was around the time I was pulling back from church. Trying week after week to get out of going and, finally, when I was 14 or 15, I left for good. Shortly after, I went into quite a tailspin of shitty behavior. My whole belief system had taken a hit and I acted out. I won’t go into that, but I went dark for a while. From then until college, I pretty much stayed out of the pews. Every once in awhile, we went to a Christmas Eve service genuinely because I believed not going was some sort of smite toward God. Easter was pretty much the same. I attended one church in college, but it was super cult-like and after a few awkward encounters I quit going.

I didn’t return to church regularly until I was pregnant with Addison. We went through hell trying to get pregnant and then, to top it off, my pregnancy was miserable. I felt strongly that our kids needed a church upbringing like I had. How ironic is that? I felt like my kids needed the same uncomfortable, confusing experience that I dreaded every week as a kid. Hindsight… Anyway. I spent half my pregnancy in bed, so church wasn’t really happening. Then, with a newborn, church just wasn’t feasible. I know I attended the Presbyterian church in town sporadically for a while, but I can’t remember exactly when I really returned and started interacting more with the people there. I volunteered in the middle school youth group. I went through the classes and the process of becoming a church member. My babies were baptized there. I fell into a small group that led to a friendship that was instrumental in me really starting to look at my faith and do the work to understand it. She met with me regularly and guided me through some really difficult life situations. She was the first person who every actively encouraged me to ask the tough questions and then to dig into scripture to find the answers. We talked about dinosaurs and gaps in scripture and how we had to understand the context of the stories in the bible to understand the meaning of verses. I attended a small group for the first time in my life. I had never heard people discuss Jesus as I did in that group. It made me want to understand. I was curious. I started reading scripture. Then, when my dad died – I dove in even further. I was desperate to answer questions I had about mortality and the idea of heaven. I wanted to know that my dad was okay. I wanted to know that I would see him again. I needed that. I made friends in the church. These friends were people that I looked up to. People who I felt were “further along the path” than I was. We had deep conversations about what it meant to follow Jesus. Then, there was a big shake-up in the church administration and things slowly dissolved. One of the interim pastors left and his replacement was a joke. Friends that worked in the church started to leave and I left with them. That church went in a direction that we didn’t agree with.

The time between when I last went to a service at the Presbyterian church and when some friends and I started meeting semi-regularly is kind of nebulous. I know it started around the time of the 2016 election.

Just to be controversial, I would honestly attribute this radical shift in my belief system to the election of Donald Trump.

Yah. I know. I am going to do my best to leave politics out of this post because that is a WHOLE other topic with its own set of bunny trails. I’m going to try to avoid those trails as best I can.

So how did Donald Trump make me an atheist?

Right around the time of the election, some friends that I had made in the church and I started our own “tiny church”. We fell into an online sermon from a church in Canada that we really resonated with. The Meeting House was our primary source of sermons and questions that we discussed in our group. We started grappling with societal issues – privilege, racism, feminism among them. The Meeting House is an Anabaptist Church. Anabaptists are on the same branch of Christianity as Quakers and Mennonites. In a nutshell, Anabaptists focus on the written words of Jesus and the message that he was trying to send. It spends far less time rooting around in Old Testament texts. The lead pastor, Bruxy, is an excellent speaker. His teachings were so accessible and so relatable that I really looked forward to church in a way that I never had in organized (what we called capital “C” Church) church. The members of our small group were intelligent, intellectual, educated humans. It was the perfect version of church for me for a season. As we moved through the sermons, we also followed politics with a wary eye. We talked about trends we were seeing in society and in the people, we thought we knew so well. I started reading about white privilege. I started listening to podcasts about racism. I started paying attention to what people were saying. This same time period is also when I taught 7^th grade Ancient Civilizations. I’m a nerd by trade. I wanted to know everything about everything. Buddhism fascinated me. The overlap between Islam, Judaism, and Christianity ran deeper than I had ever learned in church. We spent a month each spring diving into each of the eight major world religions. Each year that I taught the class we dove a little deeper. I found new materials, videos, and sources. It was amazing. One of the biggest takeaways from teaching that class was my understanding that all of the world religions were trying to do the exact same questions. Where did we come from? Why are we here? What happens next? Each religion shares the same basic beliefs. God is love.

As I taught about the major world religions, I started re-evaluating my own beliefs. One of the first concepts that grabbed me was the overlap of creation stories that the Bible shares with world religions around the globe. Early people had questions too, but they lacked the science and knowledge to understand the answers. They couldn’t comprehend the cause of thunder and lightning, so they attributed the storms to the gods. As we look back at natural disasters and natural phenomena throughout history, almost every early polytheistic religion attributed a different god to each natural event. As humans learned more about the world and our place in it, some of these previously unexplained events suddenly had a logical, and more importantly, scientifically-backed, explanation. When we study the ancient Greeks, Egyptians, and Romans we see polytheistic religions with gods for everything from fertility to war to famine. We look back on these ancient civilizations and shake our heads that they could believe something so silly. Of course, there isn’t a god for famine, there is just GOD. Silly Egyptians. But stop for a second and try to think objectively about some of the Jesus stories in the bible. I fully believe that future humans will look back at modern religions the same way we look at the Romans and Greeks. Silly Christians believing that the world was made in 6 days or that Adam and Eve actually existed (fun fact: they didn’t. Genesis is a creation myth. Just like every other early religion, Christianity has a farfetched story about how the world and everything in it came to be. I’m not going to go into all the ways that science and history have disproved the reliability of the bible, I’d recommend listening to one of Richard Dawkins books for an intro to that. He’s far more articulate and educated than I and he will do a better job explaining it. But the historical inaccuracies are huge. King David is NEVER mentioned outside of the bible. The whole lineage of Jesus is based on Joseph’s link to King David (which make no sense, since Joseph allegedly wasn’t Jesus’s father). But if King David didn’t exist, then Jesus doesn’t fulfill the Old Testament prophecies. The plagues of Egypt aren’t mentioned anywhere in Egyptian history – especially the death of the firstborns. If there was an event where every firstborn son in Egypt died in one night, it would have been recorded SOMEWHERE. But it’s not. Add to that, the bible wasn’t written until hundreds of years after Jesus’s life. That means for hundreds of years, these stories were passed down orally. Anyone who played the game “telephone” at a slumber party knows what happens when stories are told and retold. The end product is very rarely an accurate representation of what the original story was. I’m going to stop there but honesty, Richard Dawkins is a great source if you want to learn more about the inconsistencies that Christians never question. I honestly used to believe that Adam and Eve were real people for a long time. They most definitely weren’t. If they didn’t exist, then original sin can’t exist because Eve wasn’t there to ruin it for everyone. Once you start looking at it objectively, Christianity just doesn’t make sense.

Back to Tiny Church and anabaptist beliefs… Doing the work through The Meeting House of looking at the words of Jesus led to a lot of discussions about pacifism and pacifist beliefs. At the start of this discussion, I was definitely on the “defend my turf” bandwagon. Someone hurts you, you hurt them bigger and badder (intentionally poor grammar). When you look at the words of Jesus, it’s pretty easy to see that he was a pacifist and how he demonstrated pacifist beliefs right up until going to die willingly on the cross. It was a hard sell for me but by the time we had gotten through Bruxy’s sermon series on pacifism, I realized that that was the most basic and simple thing that Jesus asked of us. Love one another. Be kind. Don’t hurt people intentionally. You can’t do those things with a gun in your hand. I’m still working out what pacifism means to me. It is an evolving belief that I’m still getting to know. Pacifism also means seeking peace in your relationships, not just practicing non-violence. I can feel a huge change from how I used to view interpersonal relationships and conflict before to how I view it now. I used to see every interaction as “me versus them”. Every interaction had a winner and a loser and I am highly competitive, so I wanted to be the winner all of the time. It led to arguments in my marriage because I tried to “win” against my husband. When I started looking at maintaining peace, I learned to choose my arguments, to evaluate what I do and don’t want to say, and to swallow my pride when I can. I learned to see my family and friends as on “my team” and not as opponents. It changed how I talked to myself in my own head. It’s one of the changes that I’m most grateful for because it has helped me navigate Addison’s blow-ups. I’m imperfect though – I still lose my temper and say things I don’t mean. But pacifism forces me to get real and apologize. It’s pretty humbling to have to apologize to your 10-year-old for losing your mind.

Since the 2016 election, my interest and awareness of societal issues and inequalities have steadily increased. We did a lot of work in Tiny Church around recognizing the privilege that we all had as white, middle class, highly educated humans and how that privilege had led us to be complacent in systemic racism. It was hard work, but we wanted to understand how we could use the privilege we had to raise awareness or affect change in some way. We discussed MAGAs and how we couldn’t see any period in American history as “great” by any definition of the word. The “great” periods people talked about weren’t ever really great at all. Slavery? Segregation? War? Corruption? Prohibition? Great Depression? Westward Expansion? None of these periods were great. Some were downright awful. The more we discussed our nations ugly history and how our nation is ugly today, the less proud I was to be “American”.  I saw how I had been trained by society to be blindly allegiant to our flag. To pledge that allegiance before we even understood what that meant. To hang our flags on the front porch and wear red, white, and blue on the 4^th of July. To accept our history at the face value of our biased textbooks. To believe that “God blessed America” when America didn’t exist when God was doing the supposed blessing. No thank you. I cringe when I watch interviews with Trump Rally go-ers. I don’t want to be in any way associated with those people. I’m not proud of our nation at any point in history. I don’t recite the pledge of allegiance when I sub. I don’t sing the national anthem or put my hand on my heart. I stand respectively to set a good example. In public, I wouldn’t bother. It just doesn’t matter to me anymore. Being American isn’t relevant just like being Australian isn’t relevant. There is no genetic or biological difference between any race. The color of our skin is simply based on how much sun our ancestors got. More sun means more melanin. More melanin means darker skin. Go team evolution. That’s it. So, I’m a human. That’s it.

Just like the term American, “Christian” has an ugly connotation among non-believers or those of other non-Christian religions. Christians are judgmental. They’re hypocrites. More wars have been fought in the name of Christianity than of any other religion. That’s right, those who follow the Jesus of non-violence have murdered more people in the name of that God than ANY other world religion. That’s gross. But then I started reading articles about white evangelicals who fervently support Trump and turn a blind eye and his repeated, unapologetic transgressions (admitted adultery, 25 allegations of sexual assault, bragging about sexually assaulting women, literally thousands of proven lies to the media, the list goes on and on). To try and tell me that Jesus would be a Trump supporter is like telling me Gandhi was in the MMA. It goes against literally everything he taught. If Christianity is the religion of Trump, then I knew I definitely didn’t want to be a part of that club. I joke that Trump made me an atheist but, in some ways, he did help.

I wanted to understand government and to try to get a better understanding of what the history of our whole nation really was. We know what it was like for the white elites, their stories are the ones that made it into the history books. But what about the experience of immigrants? Orphans? Women? The poor? There is so much that we DON’T know about these groups. So, I started reading. I started listening to podcasts. I followed activists on social media. I watched videos. I did the same with evolution and astrophysics. This process of learning has taken place slowly, and privately for the most part, for the past two years. I have been moving by small degrees across the spectrum from anabaptist, where my beliefs were at at the start of this process, to omnist. From omnist to agnostic. And finally, I think, to tentative atheist. I’d like to believe in God but I think that the likelihood that of all of the thousands of gods who have been worshipped throughout the years, that the Christian God is the “winner”, is pretty low. What I believe now, I think, is just as beautiful as the idea of a benevolent god. I believe in matter. The atoms that make us up are only created when a star explodes. We are literally made of star-stuff (that is also my next tattoo theme). How fucking beautiful is that?? And what else, matter never goes away, it never dies. Parts of me have existed in a million different forms over billions of years. And, parts of me will live on, in different forms, for billions of years more. When I die, I want my ashes sent into space. I want to be in the heavens, not in Heaven. I know that could be upsetting to people who believe in the Christian God. I’m not trying to be offensive – I really do find it beautiful and kind of awe inspiring.  

So why share this? I could have kept quiet and just silently made the transition without those around me really noticing at all. I could just let people maintain the assumption of my Christian beliefs and avoid some potentially upsetting conversations. But then I realized that if I did that, it was only to make the people around me comfortable. The internet has been a blessing in this regard. I have had the chance to talk to so many different people around the world who are atheists and learned that there are so many out there. Remember back to the beginning of this dissertation, my earliest memory of the church involves being chastised for asking questions, for doubting. I was terrified to talk about this with almost all of the humans in my life, save one or two. Anyone who has made the move from religion to non-religion will be able to attest, it is hard to unpack all the dogma and superstition that you inherit as a part of organized religion. It’s hard to navigate holidays like Christmas and Easter. It’s hard to know how to talk to people about it or how to handle it when they get upset. But it’s hard because no one talks about it. So here I am, talking about it. Maybe me writing this will make it easier for someone else to bring to light concerns or questions they have or encourage someone else to read a book on a topic they hadn’t considered before. Maybe it won’t do anything. I don’t know. What I do know, is that for the first time in my life, I think I’m onto the truth.

Coming to terms with reality...

I am parenting a child with special needs.

I have been parenting her for almost ten years and I am just now coming to terms with what that means for her and for our family. (When I say “I” in this post, I’m not implying that I’m doing it alone – I have the greatest partner I could ask for in this journey. This post is simply my side of the experience.)

Addison is the most loving, kind, smart, funny, creative soul I have ever known. She also faces more challenges than most kids her age. She is impulsive and hyper, scattered and disorganized, and her behavior at home and school is a constant challenge. We knew early on that she was an active child – even in utero she rolled and kicked constantly and once she could roll over, she never stopped moving again. She was diagnosed with ADHD at age 3 ½ before starting her first year of preschool. We went through all of the non-medicated options – elimination diet, essential oils, herbal supplements, sticker charts… We. Tried. EVERYTHING. Eventually, we went through the process of starting her on medication, but we had to wait almost nine months before we made it to the top of the waiting list for an appointment. I don’t even know how to quantify the number of conversations with medical professionals that I have had about Addison. She has been diagnosed with ADHD, anxiety, disruptive mood disorder, potential early onset bipolar, and a few others that I can’t even remember at this point. We went through medication after medication and side effect after side effect. It wasn’t until she was about 8 that we finally found a combination of meds that seemed to work for her for a while. Unfortunately, we have discovered that while a particular medication may work for a while it can suddenly become ineffective and then we start the process all over again. She is currently taking a long-acting ADHD med with a booster at lunchtime. She takes another mood controller with her morning meds. At night she takes a hefty dose of an antidepressant that helps her sleep and an anxiety med as well. We easily spend $300-$400 each month on her medications because insurance doesn’t cover them fully. She sees a psychiatrist and a counselor as often as we can afford – because again, insurance doesn’t cover it beyond 8 visits, which means she can only be seen twice a month and that sets us back another $350 at least. Unfortunately, meds and money are overwhelming yet pale in comparison to trying to figure out how to be the best parent possible for this beautiful girl.

A typical day in our house starts out with Addison getting up for breakfast and getting her pills right away. On a good day, she gets dressed and ready-ish with constant reminders and guidance. On bad days there are screaming matches, doors slamming, things being thrown or knocked over and when we get out the door we are lucky if she is dressed and has her backpack. I can’t count the number of times we have gotten in the car with her hair a total rat’s nest, teeth unbrushed, lunch left on the counter, and the drive to daycare filled with arguments and crying. On a good day at school, she gets work done and plays with her friends. On a bad day, she is rolling on the floor, hitting or kicking other kids, fidgeting with everything she can get her hands on, out of her seat, distracting others. On the really bad days, I get a call from the office or her teacher. She is in 3^rd grade and has received 17 referrals this year. 10 were for minor classroom infractions – out of her seat, talking, etc. The other 7 were for more serious offenses - hitting other students or saying grossly inappropriate things. She has served weeks’ worth of “community service” at school – cleaning up the lunchroom, picking up trash, scrubbing scuff marks off the floor in the hallways. After school, on a good day, she comes home, puts her things away and either goes upstairs to play or heads outside. She gets along with her brother and listens to Derek and I. On bad days, it’s very much like our bad mornings – arguing, lying, stealing, destroying things, saying awful things to me. She has stolen more money from us than we can accurately count, has destroyed countless make-up items of mine, gone through our drawers or my purse to find things she wants. She fights with her brother, argues with us, hoards food, and a whole host of other issues that I can’t even list. On a good night, she takes her meds and gets sleepy right on schedule and she sleeps through the night. On a bad night, she is up all night, getting into the pantry (not anymore, because padlock), hunting down any technology that she can get her hands on, cutting holes in clothes, sheets, and cords, or drawing on furniture, carpet, doors. We very rarely have a day that is “good” all the way through.

Even with all that ^, it never really occurred to me exactly how different our parenting experience has been with Addison compared to with friends who have kids of the similar age and even compared to her brother. It seems like the older she gets the larger the gap is between her and her peers. This makes sense because kids with ADHD are typically 30% developmentally delayed compared to peers their age. This means we technically have two 7-year-olds instead of a seven-year-old and an (almost) ten-year-old. We have always known she was immature, and we have always known that she had ADHD. We have tried everything we could think of – incentives, points, rewards, grounding, yelling, ignoring, taking away toys and electronics, etc. etc. and had zero luck in changing her behavior.

I have the greatest support from friends and family, and I am so thankful for that. I cannot imagine how much harder this experience would have been without them. However, regardless of how much time others spend with my daughter, they don’t see the whole spectrum of behavior that we see day to day, minute to minute. They don’t live in the trenches. They get breaks. We don’t. There has only ever been one other person that I have talked to that I felt really “got” it. She was the parent of one of my sweetest students. At conferences, her parents and I got to talking and discovered that she exhibited a lot of the same behaviors as Addison to the same extent and with the same frequency (as in all the time). It was such a relief to talk to someone who was in the same place as I am/was as a parent. I didn’t know until that point how badly I needed to know others who struggle with parenting a child with ADHD. It seems that the older she gets and the more her disability becomes apparent, the more isolated I feel as a mama.

For a long time (the last six years or so), I thought that I could just parent her the way I knew how to parent and that eventually she would just magically grow and meet my expectations. I absolutely knew that ADHD was impacting our lives and Addison’s education, but I never dug into the research about what ADHD is and what the implications really are for her. Recently I had the opportunity to listen to my therapist explain the ins and outs of ADHD to Derek and I and it was a game changer for me. I have finally come to terms with the fact that my child has an intellectual disability. There is an actual, measurable difference between her brain and the “neuro-typical” brains of most of her peers. There are chemicals that aren’t doing their job and there is a delay in the growth and maturity of the prefrontal cortex, the part of the brain that helps us analyze consequences, plan, organize, and do all of the things that are required to be successful in school. I have spent the past few weeks digging into texts and websites and podcasts about ADHD and parenting kids with disabilities. If she had been born with a disability that we could SEE, we wouldn’t even question doing the research and the hard work to learn about it, dig into what it really means, and change our lifestyle to meet her needs. But because she was born beautiful and witty with a great vocabulary and for all intents and purposes, seemed “normal” (Ew. I don’t like that word, because none of us are normal but hopefully you understand what I mean) we kept trying to force her to fit OUR lifestyle and OUR needs. She has almost no executive function ability (planning, organizing, anticipating, changing, etc.) and her anxiety causes her to stress out so much that she can’t focus for the rest of the day because her nerves are on edge. There is no way that she CAN meet those needs unless we teach her how. Slowly. One skill at a time.

Right now, we are working on getting ready in the morning by using a checklist. She can’t shower on her own because she gets out of the shower without rinsing her hair. She doesn’t brush her teeth unless we stand behind her and supervise. Her room is a DISASTER every moment of every day. She doesn’t wipe properly and has to be reminded and supervised to wash her hands after using the bathroom. She would walk around with her hair in tangled knots every day if we didn’t coach her on how to brush it.

I don’t know what I’m doing. I feel inadequate and unprepared for a role that is so much more daunting than I expected as a parent. I’m trying to learn – to educate myself and change some of the ingrained habits and expectations that I didn’t realize I had about what it means to be a mom and what my expectations should really be for my child. The hardest part is that every time I think I have figured something out, something else changes or falls apart and I’m back at square one. This job is harder than anything else I have ever done and is far more important than anything I have ever done. She must be able to go out into the world 9 years from now and thrive – she has to take care of herself and her responsibilities without a constant parental presence. What we do in the next nine years will either help or hurt her as she moves into adulthood. I really, really want to help her. I just need to learn how.

This is the baby girl who made me a mama. She is my miracle after years of being told we wouldn’t be able to have kids. She was the only solace when I lost a baby the year before we had Cohen. I was a mess on the bathroom floor and my two-year-old came and comforted me. She loved on me when I needed it the most. Now I need to love on her when she needs it most. <3 o:p="">

Maybe this is my midlife crisis...

Maybe this is my midlife crisis.

If you had asked me two months ago what my plan for the future was, I wouldn't have even had to think about it. My future was working in Zillah, doing what I love, watching my kids grow up here, and being a part of the community that I love. This was my home. It was where I intended to put down my roots. I have spent 12 years working in the Zillah School District. I started as a para-pro at the elementary and worked while I put myself through night classes to earn my BA in Education. My dream from the start was to teach English or reading at the middle school in Zillah and that was the first position I was offered when I applied. It was perfect. As I grew to love the quirky middle school age group. I started coaching and eventually took on ASB which led to teaching a leadership class and running a mentoring program. I adored my job. 

Then this year happened. It was by far the most challenging year of my career - by miles. I started the year with a new principal and in the beginning, we got along great. We had similar ideas about student leadership and I thought that it was the beginning of a beautiful thing. It wasn't. In November I left for an NCTE conference in Atlanta. When my plane touched down and my notifications started coming in, I discovered that the guest speaker that I had booked and had approved a year in advance had been canceled without my knowledge or consent. To say that I was furious was an understatement. I had booked someone who would have had an amazing impact on our students. I could have dealt with being told that we had to cut the speaker but I believe strongly that I should have at least been consulted. If I hadn't heard from the company themselves, I wouldn't have even known that anything had happened. When I came home, I had to tell my ASB students that the speaker had been canceled and that instead, a friend of our principal would be speaking. I was angry and so were they. I know that I didn't keep some of my thoughts to myself and I should have but because of the way it was done, I had a lot of trouble with that.

A few weeks later we did our online StuCo survey. It is a routine that we do at the end of each semester to get a feel for what the student body is interested in for upcoming events and what suggestions they have for improving our school and activities. When the results came in and my students brought them to me, I was shocked. A significant number of the responses were related to our principal and they were incredibly negative and cruel. After sharing the results with her, she became convinced that somehow I was turning the students against her. Ironically, I was spending a lot of time trying to stop the negative comments about her - both in my content classes and in leadership. If you've ever worked with middle schoolers, you know how difficult that is. Needless to say, by Christmas break the tension was high. Things didn't get any better after we came back from break. In March I left for my ASB conference in Vancouver. The first day that I was gone was an in-service day for staff. First thing in the morning I started getting texts from coworkers that the topic of the morning was moving leadership to a before school class or an after school club - neither of which would work in our community. Again, I felt like as soon as I was out of the building, my program was on the table without me there to discuss or defend it. When I got back, I was reassured that the leadership program would stay and that things would go on pretty much as before.

Fast forward to May. Things were winding down for the year and I had started working on a presentation for some leadership kids to present at the board meeting at the end of May. We wanted to acknowledge the support that we had to put on new activities throughout the year and show them what we had planned for the coming year. I talked to the kids about presenting at the meeting and told them if they wanted to sign up to do it, we would put it on the agenda. Then we watched our TED talk for the day (if you haven't watched it, you should) about the use of language and the mindset that we have about gender roles. The speaker drops the f-bomb when quoting a player that she interviewed. A parent called the school the next day concerned about the content of the video. In hindsight, I should have sent home a note to parents about it and if it had been one of my ELA or history classes, I absolutely would have. However, in leadership, most of our conversations are about hard topics and I made the mistake of assuming that it was something they all could handle. My principal asked for the link so she could watch the video and then, throughout the rest of the day, students were pulled out of my classes and were interviewed. At the end of the day, some students came to me and confided in me the interviews made them really uncomfortable and that the questions were related to my character and the quality of teacher that they believed I am. I went into the weekend in tears, trying to understand what on earth I had done to make her question my character.

The following week, my union rep and I sat down with my principal and vice principal. She proceeded to tell me that she had interviewed students from my classes and that she believed that I was trying to pit students against her and that I was a poor role model for leadership. She had heard bits and pieces about students presenting to the board and somehow twisted it to believe that we were going to the board to try and get her fired. She could not have been further from the truth. She then told me that she was going to take my leadership program away from me and that I would no longer be the leadership teacher OR the ASB advisor at ZMS. My rep asked her if this was something that I could earn back if the following year went well and I was told, unequivocally, NO. Prior to the meeting, I had asked if I needed a rep, if there was some sort of discipline that I needed to be aware of, and I was told that there was no discipline to be assigned. After she told me that I would no longer be working with student leadership, I said I had been under the impression that no discipline was occurring. She smiled and said that it wasn't. She explained that she could assign or take away supplemental contracts as she saw fit. So I wasn't be disciplined but I was losing everything that I held dear. I lost it. I left school in hysterics. I went to my best friend's house and I bawled until I didn't have any tears left to cry. Then, I started updating my resume and applying for jobs. I knew that if I couldn't teach leadership or do ASB, the things that brought the deepest joy in my job, that I did not want to be a part of ZMS anymore. Leadership and ASB kept me grounded and made it so I could tolerate the bullshit that was thrown my way. I took two days off, updated my resume, and applied for several jobs around the valley.

The kicker came the day that I returned to work. A district administrator came to see me first thing in the morning and told me in no uncertain terms that the interviews and "investigation" did not yield ANY results that warranted discipline. Let me say that again - there wasn't anything in the investigation that HE conducted that warranted discipline. Then, a few days later I was visited by another administrator. He went on to tell me that the relationship between my principal and I was too toxic for us to continue in the same building. So, after 9 years at ZMS, I was told that I would be moved to a position at the elementary school. That sealed the deal for me. I was done with Zillah.

I have given 12 years to the Zillah School District and I intended to give my entire career to the students in Zillah. In nine short months, all of that was undone by one human. The saddest part is that I am not the only teacher at ZMS who has been put in this position, who has had to contact the union, who has considered leaving the district, who has felt isolated and unappreciated. I am one of several. In conversations with educators and administrators from other districts in the valley who have worked with this person, I am one of many. Prior to my resignation, I was told that I wasn't to share my story. Now that I am no longer a ZSD employee, I am exercising my right to free speech and I am sharing my story. I believe that I was treated unfairly and I believe that my reputation in Zillah speaks for itself. I know the truth about the situation and I know that truth about what went on in our building. I may not have been allowed to share it before, but I am choosing to share it now. I don't believe that silence solves anything.

It hasn't only been my career that has been impacted. This all came to a head as we were in the process of moving to Zillah. My commute has literally been flipped around. My kids will be in Zillah this year since we are living here but next year they will be moved to Selah. This has impacted every aspect of my life.

The saddest part of all of this and the actual point of this incredibly long post is that this entire year has made me question every part of myself. After I got the call from the principal in Selah, who expressed how excited he was to bring me on board, I realized how much my perception of myself had changed this year. I have always struggled with self-esteem but this year has been horrendous. I have questioned my ability as a teacher, as a wife, as a mom, and as a friend. I have doubted myself in every regard and I am so angry about it. I have lost an entire year of my life. I have lost a year of my kids' lives. I have been so depressed and full of self-loathing that I haven't been the wife or parent that I was designed to be. I will never get to go back and relive this time in my kids' lives, I can't go back and be more present in my marriage. I can't undo the poor decisions I made in regard to my health and wellness. I have lost an entire year to negativity, anger, doubt, fear, and hate. I am trying to find a healthy way to process that anger and harness it into being a better wife, a better mom, and a better human in general - but it is hard. I can choose to let it fester or I can write it out, share it, and move on with my life. I choose the latter.

I have a new chapter beginning - a new school, a new community, and new opportunities. I am excited and I am optimistic. I feel like in the weeks since I walked out of the middle school for the last time, I have started to see pieces of the real me again. I have started working out, playing with my kids, and being a human who participates in life again. This post is the endcap of a part of my life - it is the final lines in a dark chapter and I am so ready to turn the page. I am so grateful for the experiences and relationships that have been a result of my time in Zillah. The community has been awesome and supportive and I have taught some of the most amazing students and have watched them grow into kind, compassionate, successful adults. I value those memories and relationships more than I can express and they have shaped me into the teacher and human that I am today.

Thank you Zillah. I will love you always. <3 p="">

Selah... let's do this.

The fringe...

My heart is broken.

I feel as though I'm grieving even though it's impossible to accurately articulate the range of emotions that I've felt in the past few days. I haven't cried this hard or this much since my dad passed away. I have resisted social media and texts because I don't know how to say what is in my heart without causing pain in my relationships but I also can't continue to feel all of this and not express it somehow.

I grew up as a kid on the fringes. I lived near the "cool kids" and when we were little we all played together. As we got older and started to break into different groups they still would play with me on the weekends and during the summer but when we stepped off the school bus each day I found myself alone. I was never pretty enough, athletic enough, or smart enough to fit in so I spent my adolescence on the fringes. I knew all of the "cool kids" and they knew me but that was the extent of it. I wasn't invited to their parties or included in their groups. Looking back at my high school years, I had exactly two real friends. I attended one of the largest high schools in the state but I had two friends... and one didn't even go to my school. It was painful and it took its toll - depression, rebellion, isolation...

Addison has grown up with a small group of friends - daughters of my friends and co-workers. She has gone through preschool, kindergarten, sports, birthdays with these girls and she adores them. Addison doesn't make friends easily - she's wild and unpredictable, passionate and emotional - and those things tend to frustrate kids her age.

This fall, I started to see things falling apart. She was placed in a different class than the other girls, which was what I thought I wanted. I thought she would make new friends so that she wouldn't be so reliant on the other girls to play with her.

Then she wasn't invited to the birthday of one of the girls. I tried to not let it bother me and I came up with all sorts of reasons in my head why it was okay that she didn't get to go. But it lingered.

Then she heard through the grapevine of 1st graders that one of the girls thought she was 'embarrassing' and 'cooky'. It broke her heart which in turn broke mine.

Then, this weekend, she was not invited to another birthday party. All the other little girls were there.

She doesn't know yet - I didn't have the heart to tell her - but she will find out.

We are 100 days into 1st grade.

     She hasn't been invited to a birthday party.

          She hasn't been invited to a sleepover.

               She hasn't been invited to a play date, a movie... anything.

                    When asked who she plays with the most at recess, she replies, "Myself."

I am a mother of a little girl on the fringe.

When that realization hit me yesterday, it broke me. I went to work in my classroom and I bawled like a baby for hours. Then I got home and tried to explain how I was feeling to Derek... which led to me bawling again.

I don't know how to parent her through this. Some of my dearest friends are the moms of these girls. I love these other girls and I love their moms. But I'm ashamed to admit that I'm resentful and hurt. I know that they aren't deliberately excluding her and that they aren't trying to be cruel but it doesn't change the fact that it hurts her and that it hurts me.

My (anti)Inauguration Speech

It's Inauguration Day. A few weeks back I made a self-promise not to post political ideas or beliefs, especially on Facebook and I have since broken that promise several times. I hadn't intended to blog about it at all until my husband made an innocent statement while getting ready this morning. I told him that I was wearing black today to protest Trump's inauguration and he said, "I think that we owe it to him to give him a chance - it's not like we can change anything."

o_o

I adore my husband and I know he had no deeper agenda than believing that this man that our government, not our people, elected deserves a fair shot. I think that's a bit idealistic since Trump had the past year to woo America and to win over the different groups who have opposed him. I haven't really seen him make that effort unless belligerent statements count and effort. I know I'm not alone. As of yesterday, somewhere around 60% of Americans are of the same mindset as I am. We're in big trouble and we just elected a bully with horrible manners and questionable morals to be our leader. I've been asked several times on Facebook to defend my beliefs but since I'm almost always on my phone when I check it and am HORRIBLE at typing on my phone, I thought I would respond here - with a full size keyboard.

Why do I refuse to embrace the idea of "giving Trump a chance"?

I am a mom.

I have been charged with raising two tiny humans who are acutely aware of what is going on around them. My job is to raise them to be kind, compassionate, forgiving, and tolerant. We now have a president that I would NEVER allow my children to watch speak (given their ages). I would not tolerate my children to use the kind of comments and behavior that he is admired for. If my children mocked someone with a disability the lesson would be learned and reparations made. If my son made sexist comments about a girl in the way Trump has mocked women, the punishment would be swift and an example would be made. Trump demonstrates the range of behavior that I will not tolerate in my children - and certainly on in my President.

I am a woman.

When the announcement of Trump's victory came in November I awoke for the first time with a snippet of the fear and uncertainty that is commonplace for minorities in our country. I was scared. We elected a man who has made his opinion on women clear many times. I was raped when I was a teenager. It was traumatic and shameful and it took me a long time to be able to look my family in the face and discuss it. Our society already shames women who are victims of sexual assault.
     "Are you sure you said no?"
             "Were you wearing something suggestive?"
                     "Were you drinking?"
Trump has be accused of sexual assault by more than 15 women. I know that allegations have not been proven by my point is this - we have elected a man who is coming into office with multiple women alleging abuse.

I was fortunate that I didn't have to deal with the added pain of a pregnancy as a result of rape. But if I had, I think that, given my age, I would have had an abortion. Becoming a mom has changed my views on abortion dramatically and now I know that I could never terminate a pregnancy. The point here is that is MY belief and MY choice. I would never want to impose that onto someone else. It is covered by the 14th amendment. Cutting funding to organizations such as Planned Parenthood means that women who have limited access to health care will no longer have access to birth control or other women's health services.

I am a Christian.

I am a Christian. I believe in the teaching of Jesus and the Bible. Jesus' teaching promoted agape love, patience, and kindness. He taught that we are to love one another and care for 'least of these'. He was humble, forgiving, compassionate, loving, and patient. How can I support a man that is the literal opposite of all of these things? It's simple for me - I can't. I cannot reconcile the hate that spews from his mouth with the love that we know to be Jesus.

I am so thankful that I know who wins in the end.

I am a teacher.

I teach in rural Eastern Washington. We are an agricultural region that relies on migrant workers in the fields and I am fortunate to teach the children of some of these families. I know that some of the families in our community are here illegally. I also know that if Trump were to deport those living here illegally that families in our community would be ripped apart. I want my students to have every opportunity to better their lives and that means getting an education and having the opportunity to attend college. These families are here - help them acquire legal status. Treat them like humans.

I won't even go into Betsy DeVos in this post... but I have A LOT to say about her as well.

I am a human.

I believe that all people should be free from oppression, poverty, and violence. I watch Trump openly express an "Us versus Them" mentality that automatically pits religion against religion and nationality against nationality. I watch him describe his mighty wall and proclaim how he plans to shut down borders to keep "them" out. What happens after that, to the "them" that are left here? How will they be treated or mistreated?

Donald Trump stands for all the things I stand against.

Measuring up...

It's been an entire year since I sat down with a blank page and cursor in front of me... I wish that my first post back was something positive, something uplifting. I DO have those posts in my drafts folder - they are unfinished and don't have the burning urgency to post that this one does. So they will stay there and the raw, icky reality of life will make its way onto this page instead.

My life has forever been a battle of measuring up. Before I continue let me assure you that I KNOW that this isn't reality, I know that the things I tremble before are NOT the important things in life. Intellectually, I know this. I may know it but I can't make myself believe it lately.

I have been trying to unravel the mess of how I ended up here - how I went from relatively "okay" with life back to a place where I am on a razor-sharp precipice between holding it together and absolute darkness. There isn't one event or circumstance that has landed me here - it's a mess of different little things that have snowballed together. This is my attempt at untangling it all..

Weight. This is probably the most all-consuming thought on my mind. It would appear that five pounds is the difference between sanity and insanity for me. I know that (rationally) it is a small number, that my overall weight is not something to be concerned about... blah. blah. blah. As I said before, knowing and believing are two different concepts completely in my book. My clothes don't fit right. I loathe what I see in the mirror and in pictures. I have never tried to lose weight by doing anything normal. When I have wanted to drop pounds, I starved myself. It was a very simple equation. No food = smaller numbers on the scale. I don't know how to pick just healthy items. I don't know how to moderate my intake anymore. Binge eating is new to me and completely terrifying. When I was in out-patient therapy for my last bought with anorexia I was told to "just eat" and to learn to enjoy food again. That advice worked for a time but now it has come back to bite me in the ass in a completely different way. I can't make portion control work. I want Oreos, especially when I feel like the world is laying its weight on my shoulders. I don't want to go back, I don't want to ever have to deal with my eating disorder like that again. The problem is that I value my weight more than my health. I don't want to. I wish it to be different but it's not.

Parenting. I feel like the ultimate failure as a mother. I watch other people with their kids and I wonder what in the hell I am doing wrong. One child doesn't sleep. Ever. I have had to lock her door at night because she roams the house at all hours of the night, watching Netflix and eating everything in the house. She goes into the garage to search for food and I am terrified she'll find some chemical that wasn't put away properly or eventually, walk right out the front door. She lies. Constantly. She has ADHD that drives me up the wall. She still doesn't sleep through the night without a pull up. My son is nearly 4 and still barely communicates verbally (in human). I can't get him to sit through Sunday school because he refuses to listen to a teacher. He will not potty train. No matter what I do I can't fix these things. I can't find a way to make my kid sleep. She walks around with dark circles under her eyes and is exhausted 98% of the time but I can't make her sleep. I can't even keep her in her room, despite child locks and threats and every incentive system Pinterest has to offer. I can't get my son to talk. There is no amount of coaxing or teaching that will get this child to speak unless he wants to. The exact same problem arises whenever I try to feed him something that doesn't start with "peanut butter and...". We don't eat as a family. I don't cook family meals. Hell, I barely cook. On my days off I spend my time avoiding them, not playing with them because I am so tired and angry and resentful. What kind of mother feels that way about her kids?? I love them with every fiber of my being... and yet I want to lock myself in my bedroom and hid under the covers whenever I am home alone with them.

Work. I can't go into detail about this lest someone file a complaint about it. It's safe to say I could write pages on this topic.

Faith. This season of my life is one of isolation. I feel alone even when I am in a room with the people I love most. My prayer life feels repetitive and empty. I am constantly "doing my homework" in my devotions, not yearning for the knowledge and connection to Christ that I felt six months ago.

I have lost my joy. I have lost who I know I am and who I know I can be. I have been sucked back to this void, this darkness where I can't feel anything anymore.

I know it is temporary. I know this is just a bumpy patch. I know that I will look back on this at some indeterminate time in the future and see the lesson that I learned or some person strength that I acquired. I have been through the dark before and come out the other side but being in the midst is painful, its scary, and it is so very lonely.

A letter to my son on his 2nd birthday...

Cohen,

My boy. My sweet, sweet, amazing boy. How has it already been two years since I first held you in my arms? Two years since I looked into those perfect eyes? Two years since I met a living, breathing piece of my soul?

I have always heard the stories about mothers and their sons, and to be honest, I never believed them (which makes no sense, because I was a daddy's girl through and through). I always thought of boys as loud and dirty and... just so different from me. Yet the opposite is true - you are the sweetest part of my life. You are a mama's boy and I am completely yours. I love your sister with all my heart and she and I have an amazing relationship - but you and I have our own special connection that no-one can ever even begin to understand. Your eyes light up when I come into a room and your smile and giggle are contagious. You see me on the couch and drag a giant blanket and pillow over to me, climb up, and cover us both us and we just lay there together. I never knew another boy could steal my heart after your daddy did... but you, my love, have stolen it away.

I look back and think of how much you have grown and how much you have changed in this short amount of time. Then I look forward and think how amazing it will be to watch you grow up into a man. I hope I raise you well - I hope that I teach you what you need to know to be a good man in a world that doesn't necessarily promote being a truly good person.

Please be kind - to yourself and to everyone that you meet. There will be times when people don't seem to deserve your kindness, but those are the times when they need it the most. Show love and grace to those around you, forgive when someone hurts you, and ask forgiveness when you wrong someone else. Be honorable - be a man whose handshake is his bond, who is trustworthy and honest, reliable and steadfast in his beliefs. Other people will try and sell you on so many things in life - be sure you know which things are worth buying in to and when to walk away. I want you to love God and realize His unfailing love for you. He will not fail you, even when the darkness closes in, His light will guide your path. Teach your children to love Him as well. Be proud of your faith - a good man, a courageous man, is all any woman could ever hope for as a partner. Find success in your passions. You will spend a lifetime working, so find something that you love and get paid to do it. I'm certainly not a teacher because of the paycheck I bring home at the end of each month but I know that the impact I make on my students is worth more than gold. I hope you find that type of reward in whatever you choose to do. Show the world that I taught you manners - open doors for strangers, and always, ALWAYS for the women in your life. Look people in the eye when you speak to them and shake their hand. Be respectful and respectable.

Always love your sister - watch over her. You may be younger, but she is impulsive and there will be times when she will need you to be the voice of reason. Take care of her always. I never had a sibling and I've never wanted something more - the bond you two have is special. Don't let anything come between you.  You two have each other forever - stay close, support each other, love each other, keep each other safe.

You are my boy. My perfect baby boy. And whether I am telling you this when your two, twenty, or fifty - you will always be my perfect baby boy. I adore you with a love only a mother can possess and I hope you know that I would spend every second of every day curled up snuggling you if life would allow it. I know that soon enough you'll be too 'cool' for the kisses and hugs that I bombard you with every day - but that is why I do it so much now. I know that I can't keep you little, no matter how badly I want to and no matter how hard I try, you grow up a little more each day.

Happy birthday my beautiful boy... I love you with my whole heart.

~ Mama

My Dad, My Hero

I've had this in my drafts for a while, it's what I read at my dad's memorial. I figured Veteran's Day was an appropriate day to post it because it focuses on how he had always been my hero... it brings back sad memories to read over these words again... I miss him so much.

----

Ever since I was a little girl, my dad has been my hero. I was in awe of him. As far as I was concerned he was the smartest, handsomest, funniest man on the planet.

It wasn't until I got older that I started to notice a pattern. I started paying more attention to the stories the our family and friends told about my dad. People always talked about how he was a stellar athlete, smart, kind, helpful, dedicated... the list goes on and on. What I started to realize, was that I wasn't the only person who looked up to my dad; I wasn't the only person who thought of him as my hero. Former teammates, friends, colleagues, and family all looked up to him for a variety of reasons. In these past weeks my mom and I have received countless emails, letters, CaringBridge comments, and phone calls and all of them have shared the same common message - that my dad was every bit the hero to them as he has been to me for my entire life. I had always thought that my feelings were simply the embodiment of the typical 'daddy's little girl' - I have since realized that it was not simply because he was my dad that I looked up to him as I did, but even more-so because he was the kind of person that everyone admired.

While Derek and I were planning our wedding, my dad was horrified at the cost of my 'dream' wedding. He always was a man who weighed the pros and cons of finances and he could not comprehend how flowers, a cake, or a wedding video could mean so much to me and cost so much. At one point, he made Derek and I an offer. He said that if we would elope and have a small wedding somewhere, he would give us the budgeted money for the wedding as a down payment on our first house. At the time, I was young and totally naive about both the importance of lilies AND the value of a down payment. I chose my dream wedding and even though I don't think he agreed with me at the time - he didn't argue again. For the remainder of the time leading up to the wedding he obligingly wrote the checks as the bills were due and held his tongue - even though I know it was difficult for him. On my wedding night, during our father-daughter dance my dad asked me one question that has stuck with me since. He asked if I was happy. I smiled and laughed and said, "Of course!" He looked at me very seriously and said, "Then it was worth it - every penny."

I learned an important lesson from my dad in that moment - that the memories that we make with the people we love matter more than anything else. I feel like my dad lived his life as an example of that lesson. 

Cancer wasn't supposed to happen to my dad. He spent his life being healthy and fit. It wasn't supposed to happen to him... the star quarterback, the Vietnam veteran, the man who taught me how to ride a bike and shoot a gun, who walked me down the aisle at my wedding, the man who had a secret handshake with my baby girl, and wanted nothing more than to throw a football with my son. Cancer stole my dad away too soon - but it can never take away the love, the admiration, and the memories that we made with him, right up until his last days.

--

There is a verse in the bible that I have relied on during some of the darkest points in my life. This verse comes from Hebrews chapter 6, verse 19. It reads:

We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. 

At various points in my life, I have wondered if God had forgotten me. My plans and hopes for my life weren't coming to pass as I had expected - I was devastated and angry at God for these disappointments. I realize now that this was simply God telling me that he had better and more important plans for my life and this led me to understand the importance of hope. I have discovered that anything is survivable if we are able to hold out hope. Over spring break, during my last visit to see my parents in Arizona, I had an anchor tattooed on my wrist. Later that night, I explained the motivation behind it to my dad. I had hope for the success of his medical treatments and the possibility of remission, and although I didn't say it at the time, I had hope that my dad to come to Christ, to find his faith, and as a result, that even if our time together on Earth was limited - we would be together again in heaven. That hope is was sustains me today - the understanding that even though we are all flawed - my dad and myself certainly included, that we will be welcomed into the gates of heaven as children of God. So today as we say goodbye to this amazing man I feel that it is better for me to think of it as, "see you later".

I think I've said this before...

but parenting is really hard.

I thought it was hard with a newborn - no sleep, no clue what I was doing, pumping milk every 3 hours, spit up, blow out diapers, packing an entire car load just to run to the store... it was hard.

Then I had a toddler - suddenly I was operating on no sleep {okay, more sleep than in the newborn days but compared to pre-baby, it was hardly sufficient}. We had moved past the pumping and spit up and cruised right into a cupboard raiding, electricity outlet seeking, temper tantrum throwing 2 year old... and it was hard.

Then I had a preschooler and a newborn and shit hit the fan {pardon my language... but in some instances, we could be talking about actual poop here... this is the stage where potty training when horribly wrong AND I had a new born with blow out diapers}... and everything that was hard about the first two stages got smooshed together under one roof and this mama may have come ever-so-slightly unglued.

Now, everything that I've just written up there ^ is exactly why this blog has been neglected since Cohen's birth. Parenting TWO children is exceptionally more challenging than parenting one... and I would hedge a bet that it is even more fun with three, and four, and so on... but I have no intentions of discovering that first-hand.

So fast forward to now, I'm mama-ing a 4-year-old and an 18-month-old, working more than full time, grieving the loss of my dad, holding together a marriage that on some days feels like it's on the verge of crumbling down {and on others, feels like perfection.. go figure.}, and trying to do it all and make it look like it's no big deal.

So, basically, I'm a big, fat liar.

Like I've said before, parenting is hard. Being an adult is hard. Being a wife is hard. LIFE IS FREAKING HARD.

{I do have a point, pinkie-swear}.

In the pre-baby days, I could lose my shit - scream, cry, throw things, buy things, starve myself, do whatever it took to make myself feel in control. I looked like an idiot more often than not, but it worked for me. Even in the early days when Addison was so little that I could be letting loose with a string of swear words that would make a sailor blush, but as long as I did it in my 'mommy voice' and had a smile on my face, she was none the wiser. Then, she started to get it. Addison knew when I was mad or sad, reacted when I was angry, and paid attention to whether or not what I did matched what I said I was going to do. Suddenly, I had to follow through. I had to watch what I said. I had to be a PARENT {read: role model} and it was terrifying. Back in the days when Addison was tiny and she cried or did something naughty, I could soothe or scold her and move on with life. However, four years old means memories and grudges tiny broken hearts over tiny broken promises. Four means laying down the law and teaching respect and asking WHY did it seem like a good idea to bite daddy... four means shit is getting real.

Addison is a mini-me... it's adorable most of the time - she's wonky and silly and loves people and runs on high octane... but minus a nap or with an unplanned change in the schedule or just because the moon is full, she can turn into a small, but mighty terror. Please understand, that until she turned three, I just thought that 'those people' with 'those obnoxious children' simply had no parenting skills and knew that no offspring of my womb would EVER dare act that way sohelpmeGod. Mmmmhmmm... That was the naivety of a first time parent. I know better now. The higher the stakes, the classier the joint, the more likely it is that my child will do something crazy. And I never wanted to be 'that parent' with 'that kid'... so I scolded and I YELLED. And then one day, Addison dropped her drink in the kitchen and I turned around  with what I'm assuming it the typical "take cover, mom is going to explode" look... and my kid flinched.

My child was scared that I was going to yell. She was expecting it. And it stopped me dead in my tracks.

{^ point, if you missed it}.

I don't want to be that mom. I want to be a mom who has well-behaved kids because they don't want to disappoint her, not because they fear her. I want to have kids who come clean about their mistake before I even find out because they know that I am a safe haven and that even though there will be consequences - they are SAFE. I don't want to be the mom who screams. I never want to see fear in my child's eyes.

So, I'm starting over. I don't think you really get to do that but it's better than mucking through the way I've been going. I read several articles today as I planned this blog and, as He has a way of doing - God guided me to this decision and gave me the resources and the support from other mom's to say that I'm not going to yell anymore. {I realize this is the goal, and not likely the actual reality... but I'm talking about my children, so I'm setting the bar high.} I'm taking the OrangeRhino Challenge. 365 days {and hopefully many, many more - of no yelling}. I may vent on here, I may lock myself in the bathroom to count to 100, but I will do my absolute best not to yell.

Because as I realized today... that even though I carried these two tiny humans inside my body, pushed them out into this world, nursed them, and fell madly in love with them - THEY ARE NOT MINE TO KEEP. God blessed me with these to precious souls and has charged me with caring for them and raising them up until they are ready to go out into the world and do His work. When I fully realize that these are children of God, not just children of Stefani and Derek, I feel even more pressure to do the right thing. And the right thing, the thing that God has done with me, is to raise them with love. God has never yelled at me and I want to mirror that parenting that He has shown me. I want to be worthy of being called 'mama' by these two precious souls.

So, my first step, is to stop yelling, to treat them with love and to be honest with myself, with God, and with my children about the kind of parent I need to be.

Today was my first day... 364 to go {and hopefully 6552 after that...}

I had one major trigger and I snapped, but I didn't yell. I caught Addison coloring in pencil on the door panel in the new Pilot while we were driving to the store. When I realized what was happening, I snapped at her to stop and give me the pencil. I asked her why she thought it was okay to color on the car {and herself, which happened yesterday when she came home from preschool with washable marker toenail polish, fingernail polish, lipstick, and body paint}. Then I handed her a wipe and made her clean up every mark of pencil we could see. She didn't get a treat at the store {as she had been promised} but I explained that it was a consequence of making the choice to color on the car. She didn't like it, but she didn't cry and she still held my hand as we walked across the parking lot.

I have a long way to go and I know that I am going to slip up more than once and end up back a zero, but I can handle that as long as I can turn around when juice goes crashing to the floor and not see fear in the eyes of my child.

I will do this. With God, all things are possible. {Matthew 19:26}

Here is a list of what I've been reading today:

Orange Rhino Challenge
10 Things I Learned When I Stopped Yelling At My Kids
When Your Temper Scares You
How To Have A Temper Tantrum {This is the one that started it all for me... it brought tears.}
The Passion of Parenting