Tonight we are going to a wedding. The bride and several of the guests are friends I haven’t seen in a long time.

We are hiring a “real” babysitter for I think the first time ever. She’s Charlotte’s beloved drama teacher, so we are all very excited. I bought a few craft projects for them to do, and told Charlotte she can stay up later tonight. I’ve written down a few notes, and I’m wondering if it’s enough. But I’m way past the “managing every detail of every minute of the kids’ day” stage, and I think they will survive.

I’m wearing a black dress and heels for the first time in what feels like years (and I’m probably right).

I don’t have the right undergarments, I’m not sure my outfit is even still in style, and I’m afraid I’m going to fall and break my ankle.

But hey, we are getting out of the house and doing something that has nothing to do with being parents.

Clearly, we do NOT get out enough.

I really thought I was done writing political posts for the week, but I saw something today that really bothered me.

Wednesday night, Hillary Clinton made her first public appearance since her concession speech: a speech for the Children’s Defense Fund. Just a week after a crushing personal and public defeat, she picked herself up and gave a passionate speech in support of children and an organization she has worked for and supported for years. She wore little to no makeup and her hair wasn’t “done”.

And she was mocked for it. For her appearance. A woman who has spent her life in public service, became the first woman nominated for President of the United States, and is also human and dealing with enormous disappointment, was mocked for looking old and tired. In 2016. I just can’t even.

I saw several posts on FB and Twitter (from women) saying she looked like “crap”,”death”, “this is what losing does to you after only a week”, and other things that I just don’t even want to type here because they are so mean and ridiculous. First of all, let’s look at reality. Hillary Clinton is 69 years old. Do you know what she looks like in that picture on the right? A 69 year old woman. And the picture on the left? That’s a 69 year old woman who spent every day for 18 months with a team of professional makeup artists and hair stylists. It’s not reality, and she doesn’t have to play that part anymore.

I’m incredibly bothered by these posts for several reasons.

1. They aren’t kind. Actually, they are downright mean. As someone who has been made fun of for my appearance (what woman hasn’t?) how would a woman especially think it’s acceptable to do this? I don’t care if you think Hillary Clinton is the absolute worst and you are celebrating that she didn’t win the election, she’s still a human, a woman, and she doesn’t deserve to be criticized for this.  And especially if you are a Christian, you are called to love your enemies. Period. You consider Hillary Clinton the enemy? Fine. Love her. Pray for her. The election is over, you can stop beating her down, especially for reasons that don’t impact our government at all. Just stop being mean. It’s not productive and it’s continuing to harm the church’s credibility. (And yes, I realize that Donald Trump is mercilessly mocked for his appearance too. That’s not right either. Let’s just STOP).

2. They are sexist. This is what we women do to each other, isn’t it? We are so insecure in our personal physical flaws and imperfections that we pick each other apart. We are obsessed with women’s appearances and wardrobe choices, but it doesn’t go both ways. No one picks apart the clothing choices of a male politician when he makes a speech, yet how many times did I read about HRC’s pantsuits- the color, fit, style? A ton. When a man finishes his term as president so much greyer than when he entered office, we blame the stress of the job and how hard he worked. Clinton makes an appearance just a week after a grueling campaign season and a week of crushing disappointment and we say she looks like death. In a FB thread on one of my other posts last week, a man replied to one of my friends comments referring to her as “Girlie” and then made his point. And 5 of my female FB friends Liked the comment. Another friend then said, “This is why we don’t have a woman president.” In my conservative circles, the word feminism is seen as a dirty word. It’s not. We need feminism because of instances like this. We need a lot more respect for ourselves as well as other women. I’m starting to think that there’s a lot of women out there who aren’t outraged by DT’s treatment towards women because they just don’t care, and they’ll even participate in the degradation themselves.

3. They don’t help us come together. We are obviously really divided right now, and have got to figure out some way to have compassion and empathy for the “other side” (I am including myself, more than anyone else, in this statement). I’m really trying hard not to criticize people or ideas for reasons that aren’t productive or that don’t reflect my values. I really think we need to keep having hard conversations in order to find a common ground. Picking apart someone’s makeup regimen isn’t going to do that.

4. I’m raising a daughter. It’s so, so hard to talk to Charlotte about why I put on makeup, or why yes, I have to fix her hair every day, without her thinking that her worth comes from her appearance. I had so much hope that this generation would be different- that we’ve learned how to emphasize character over body type, compassion over mean-girl judgement. Now I’m not so sure, and I’m discouraged.

Ladies, let’s give Hillary Clinton, and each other, a break. Let her grieve, leave her alone. I’ll be 69 one day too, and I hope I don’t feel the need to hide myself behind makeup every single day. Let’s have tough conversations, but on things that really matter. And if nothing else, can we just not be mean? I think that would be nice.

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For an interesting take on sexism from a woman who just ran for local office, read this.

When Grayson was a baby, he started therapy at 4 months of age. Several times a week, we had therapists in our home. We had four dogs at the time, and it was challenging to keep them contained and quiet, but for the most part, the therapy sessions were calm and I was able to focus on just G and his needs.

Then when he was almost two, he started attending the Caroline School, and there was a therapy group in the same building, so they would pull him out of class for his sessions. I wasn’t nearly as involved in what was going on in therapy, but it was an ideal situation since for the next three years, I was busy birthing two more babies.

Now, Grayson goes to public school and while he will receive some therapy services there, we are having to switch his main therapies back to the house. We certainly could take him to a therapy center, but no way am I loading up three kids during the witching hour 4-5 times a week to take him somewhere. So, right now, we are having therapists come to our house again. And actually, due to (a long story which I don’t even really understand) insurance/Medicaid issues, he is currently only getting speech therapy, twice a week. We are trying to add PT and OT, both twice a week too.

Now, even with just one therapy session a week, it’s mayhem.

First of all, it’s during the aforementioned witching hour. Everyone’s tired, grumpy and hungry. The house is a wreck. I’m low on patience, the younger kids are basically the worst versions of themselves, and Grayson is ready for bed. Thankfully, Ryan has been home for all his sessions so far (not in season right now) so we’ve been able to divide and conquer, with one of us refereeing the younger two while the other stays with G and the therapist.

And that’s just therapy. There’s also doctors appointments and like this week, hospital stays, which mercifully are not as frequent as they once were, but are still happening and will always happen. Finding childcare/coordinating preschool drop off and pickup on those days is so, so stressful.

I guess I mention all this just to say: having more than one kid is really tough anyway, but throw a unique situation like a medically involved child on top and it just creates a whole other set of stresses and challenges- logistically.

So I was thinking about all this today and the question popped in my mind:

“What if Grayson had been my third?”

Whoa.

I don’t know why I’d never considered this before, but wow, it blows my mind how different things would be. How much harder it would have been in the early days (which looking back were so incredibly hard anyway) had I been juggling two older kids at the same time. How in the world would I have handled the near constant weekly doctors appointments, tests, blood draws, therapies, and learning to use foreign-to-us medical equipment? Not to mention the emotional toll of those months and years. The shock, constant googling, waiting, grief, and acceptance of a diagnosis no parent should have to accept. What would I have done if I was trying to potty train a toddler and get a kid started in Kindergarten while trying to deal with all that with my baby at the same time?

I wonder about Charlotte. Had Grayson been her younger brother instead of her older brother, would she be more empathetic to how the disease controls his body, and also in many ways, our family? Would she still completely ignore his vomiting, asking me to get her a snack while her brother’s lips turn blue and his face bright red while he heaves in my arms? Would she understand that he couldn’t wrestle with her like Nolan can?

I’ve accepted and am grateful that Grayson’s life and even his disease is a gift in many ways, but just now I realize that his birth order was and is a huge gift and act of mercy. I’m thankful for those two early years where it was just him and that all my time and energy went into figuring him out and caring for him. He’s my firstborn not by chance, but by grace.

Little Punkin’: Fall 2010

So as it turns out, G really was sort-of sick. We got to the ER at about 5:00 on Monday afternoon, fluids were started and he was officially admitted. But the hospital was full (’tis the season) so there actually wasn’t a room available until 3:00 pm on Tuesday. We spent the night with an RSV kid coughing his head off on the other side of a curtain and G and I shared this bed (we both got a super great night’s sleep #eyeroll)

His labs looked ok, but an abdominal x-ray revealed our old nemesis, constipation, decided to pay a visit. So without going into too much detail, we’ve been working to resolve that issue for the last few days. Tons of fun.

G is such a trooper. Today, he didn’t feel that bad, so being stuck in bed all day having his diaper constantly  changed has probably been pretty torturous. I got him out of bed this morning and held and sang to him for awhile, but he’s so stiff that it really wasn’t comfortable for either of us.

I wasn’t in town to go to church Sunday morning, but had I been, I know I would have struggled with attending. I know I’m not alone in my disillusionment with evangelical Christianity right now. A group I have considered myself a part of my entire life doesn’t feel at all safe or genuine right now, and I’ve seen this echoed over and over again on social media this week, so I know I’m not alone.

I love our church. It’s filled with good, no great, people who have consistently prayed for our family and blessed us abundantly. I’ve been a part of the women’s Bible study for six years now and our children love going to church and have the most wonderful teachers in the children’s ministry. I have several close friends that I met at church. My church does wonderful work in the community and consistently blesses many people and spreads the good news of Christ. This isn’t about my particular church or even individual Christians.

I believe and try my best to live out the basic ideology of evangelical Christianity concerning Jesus’ teachings and salvation. But on more controversial issues that sometimes divide our faith, I’m more liberal. I am politically pro-choice, although I do believe in most cases, abortion is the morally wrong choice. I grieve that my gay friends aren’t welcomed in most churches, whether that be literally or because they feel judged and unwelcome. I believe women should have equal opportunities in leadership in the church. I realize that in my religion I’m in the minority in holding these beliefs, and I suppose I’ve just reconciled within myself that I interpret scripture differently than a lot of Christians and that even people who share the same faith will never agree on 100% of issues.

What I’m feeling as a huge blow is that with their vote, 80% of people just like me (white evangelical Christians) aligned themselves with a leader whose values and policies I see as completely contradictory to what the Christian faith is all about. Many influential leaders in my faith endorsed a man whose words have demeaned and marginalized the “least of these”: the very people Jesus would have welcomed and embraced. I understand most good, loving Christians voted for Trump for economic reasons, against the other candidate, or as vote for the unborn, but at what cost to our witness to a hurting world?

I don’t know how I’m supposed to witness anymore. This whole mess has killed Christianity’s credibility. 80% of us decided that racism, demeaning women and admitting to sexual assault, and making fun of people with disabilities weren’t deal breakers. 80% of us decided that economic policies matter more than our government’s role in protecting the lives and freedom of the marginalized. I don’t know what to do with that. Who on the outside will want to be a part of that? I predict in the coming years, the church is going to need some major PR help.

All I heard before Election Day was that Trump would surround himself with Godly advisors- people who would ensure that his more extreme rhetoric wouldn’t become reality. But now Trump has chosen Steve Bannon as his right hand man. Bannon has close ties to the Alt Right, a group that includes and has given a voice to white supremacists. For a reality check on what the Alt Right spends some of their time doing, read this and this. This is not media hype, and I personally witnessed the attacks of these families on Twitter. 80%, where are you? Why aren’t you loudly and decisively holding your guy accountable? Where is the outrage?

Please, Christians, stop trying to minimize people’s pain and fear. You don’t know the details of anyone’s personal story and their circumstances. This week, I’ve seen a
post on Facebook where those upset were called “4 year old cry babies”: Posted by a Christian. My friend who is struggling with the church sent a prayer request to an entire church staff and heard nothing. Silence. That silence screams louder than any argument.

I’m not giving up on my faith, or my religion, or the church. God is bigger than any election and any candidate. But I do feel lost, confused and hurt in a place that I don’t really recognize anymore.

If you are also struggling with the Christian church right now, I found this really helpful. 

It’s November 14, and I’m almost halfway through NaBloPoMo. So far it hasn’t been too difficult to write every day, but today I’m kind of stuck. I do have a post drafted, but I’m not brave enough to post it yet, so there’s that. Therefore, today’s post is just going to be the current situation in our house.

I came home from my weekend in the country to Grayson vomiting not-normal colors, so this afternoon, we are headed to the ER. I’m hoping he’ll be admitted and a night of IV fluids will get him over the hump. It’s been 2 weeks of straddling sort-of sick and we need to get him better.

We probably did wait too long, but the logistics of a hospital stay have just gotten increasingly more complicated (mostly because of finding childcare). And like I said, he just seems “sort-of sick” right now, and a visit to the ER also means exposure to all kinds of fun germs too. But I called his doctor, and based on his symptoms, she wants him to get checked out too. And we have several Mito friends who are struggling right now too; ’tis the season.

Prayers and good thoughts for G would be appreciated tonight.

Charlotte started at a new preschool this fall, and she’s going three days a week. She has “school” for three hours in the mornings and then she takes electives in the afternoons, with different teachers. When we were registering her last spring, Ryan and I chose Drama as one of her electives, because, #charnado.

Charlotte has Drama every Friday, but every single day she asks me if she gets to go to Drama that day. And she does love the class, but really what she loves is her teacher. She told me the other day, “My favorite people are Grammie and Ms. N___.” And since Charlotte and her Grammie are pretty much soul-mates, that’s about the highest compliment a teacher can get.

I credit Ms. N for finally getting Charlotte potty-trained. She still has the occasional accident, but I would say she is 90% reliable now. She had several accidents at school during the first few weeks, one in Ms. N’s class. Frustrated, I told her that she wouldn’t be able to go back to Drama if she had any more accidents at school. Maybe not the best or most honest tactic, but it worked. She hasn’t had a single accident at school since then.

Wednesday morning, the day after the election, I walked Charlotte into chapel at school and Ms. N greeted us and asked how we were. “Pretty heartbroken” was my reply. Tears filled her eyes and she hugged me and told me she was the same. We talked for a little bit and I told her how much Charlotte loves her and also asked if she would mind talking to her about her relationship with Grayson. She is still struggling with being kind to and about him, and I figured her teacher might have a different influence on her than I have.

Ms. N did talk to Charlotte, as well as her whole class, about being kind to other kids who need extra help and are different. She talked to the class about her own special needs child who is now in Heaven, and Charlotte and I had a good discussion about Heaven on the way home from school. We discussed how some day when Grayson is in Heaven his body will work and he will be able to walk and talk.

At the end of a long week where it’s been a stretch to see much good in our country, I’m so thankful for a teacher who is literally changing the life of my little girl. Teachers don’t get paid much and they don’t always get a lot of credit, but they are powerful.

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I just have to share this funny little Drama story. The class is putting on a Christmas play and the kids all got to choose what part they want to play and there was a note sent home about bringing their costume and learning their 1 line.

Our conversation in the car:

Me: Charlotte, I’m so excited about your Christmas play. What are you going to be?

C: An ANGEL!!!! And I have to get wings, and a costume, and I want to get lots of GLITTER!!!

(Greeeaaaat)

Me: Ok, well we can do that but we also need to practice your line. Do you know what you have to say in the play?

C: (totally confidently): NO ROOM AT THE INN!

Ummmm….we may need to double check that script. Ha ha!

#lifewithcharnado

This weekend, my neighbor-turned-good-friend and I are in East Texas spending a much needed kid-free weekend at my parents’ property. We left our collective five children at home with our husbands (bless them) and have spent the day doing…not much.

I slept in, ate breakfast on the porch, took a walk in the woods, ate chips and salsa, read a book and napped by the pool, took a second nap under the covers, took another walk in the woods, watched Scandal, and rode through the woods in the RTV.  I’m currently waiting for steaks to come off the grill and plan to sit in the hot tub after dinner. And all this happened with perfect fall weather (finally!) and without having to change one single diaper. Perfection.

It’s been a really hard week, and honestly, I’m still really struggling. This retreat to nature and solitude is just what I needed.

Happy Friday! No politics today – yay! I love hearing about people’s weird pet peeves, so today I thought I’d share one of mine.

It drives me nuts when people pronounce this:

Like this:

Charlotte and I have been working on this diligently.

Gotta raise her right.

Kindness is the character trait I’ve been working on the most with Charlotte. At three years, 10 months old, she is definitely egocentric, and she has a long way to go before she masters empathy. She sees things as black or white, real or pretend, right or wrong. And right now, her focus is how people or situations make her feel, rather than how they make anyone else feel. As a result, her responses are not always kind.

She’s brave, though. Her bravery is bold, and it fills me with pride. She makes new friends quickly and easily, because she has no qualms with engaging with kids she’s never met before. She tries new activities and challenges herself, even if at first she’s nervous. As a former scared kid who missed out on a lot because I wasn’t brave, she inspires me.

Recently, every time I drop Charlotte off at school or any other place where I’m leaving her, I look her in the eye and say “I love you. Be kind and brave.” It’s kind of become our thing.

Kindness and bravery are equally important, and both worthy traits to strive for. My challenge right now is how to be kind, offering love, grace, and empathy, while at the same time being brave and speaking up about those things that I feel so strongly. It’s a tricky balance, and I know I don’t always get it right.

But if I’ve learned anything from the last 48 hours, it’s that this country desperately needs both kindness and bravery. Kindness without bravery leaves lots of people feeling like their struggles and genuine hurt gets minimized by an inspirational meme or flowery Bible verse. Bravery without kindness just alienates people and causes the divide in their differences to grow.

I’ve been thinking a lot today on how I can be what I’m asking my daughter to be: kind and brave. I don’t apologize for anything I’ve written this week, because every word is my truth, and I’m still bewildered and angry. But I do apologize to anyone who feels like I was questioning their faith, accusing them of being a “bad person” or labeling them with traits that I ascribe to our next president. That was certainly not my intention, and if you felt this way, I am truly sorry.

I will, however, continue to speak out against the hateful rhetoric and unfair stereotypes that are plaguing our country right now. There’s too much at stake and too many lives that I care deeply about for me to be silent now.

I want both of these to be true for my life. I won’t always get them both right, but I’m going to keep trying.