Daddy, Aren't I Pretty?

Justin and I read through a couple of books that are intended to help you get a better understanding of your spouse.  There were some great chapters and some not at all useful ones.  They are meant for a husband to read the one about wives and visa versa, but we read through them together.

I found it fascinating reading about “how women think”. I am one, and have no idea what drives me to react the way I do to things.  One of the chapters was about how a woman feels loved: a woman’s need to feel pretty (in compression to a man’s need to feel respected).  I’m a pretty confident woman and I don’t necessarily find myself unattractive so as we started the chapter I thought “well this doesn’t apply to me”…but oh how it does.  It was the example they gave that stuck out to me (paraphrased because I’m on my lunch break at work and the book is at home):

Imagine a little girl in a new dress twirling in the living room.  She shout’s, “Daddy, look at me, aren’t I pretty”?  Your wife feels that same way, but as an adult doesn’t walk around saying, “Husband, don’t I look pretty”? But deep down, she needs that.

WHY as women do we constantly compare ourselves to others? We all do it.  That other lady walking passed you at the grocery store…we find that one thing about her that is ‘obviously’ better and focus on that: I wish I had hair like that, Her eyes are so much nicer than mine, Her belly doesn’t hang over her belt… and so on.

And now time for confession.

I sometimes dwell on these things too long.  And it leads me down a path of self pity and I HATE when I get there.  Because deep down, I know it’s just a slap in the face to my creator.

Here’s how it plays out…

Justin tells me I’m pretty (by saying it or expressing it using non verbal queues):

My translation:  He’s just saying that because he has to (or because he wants to get something out of it).  He doesn’t really mean it. I know he thinks that one actress from that one movie we just watched is much prettier than me.  He probably wishes she was his wife. She’d be such a better wife – she takes better care of herself.

OR

Justin spends a day doing frustrating homework/work and is his brain if exhausted.  He relieves that tension by playing a game or watching some TV.

My Translation: He doesn’t want to spend time with me.  I’m just an inconvenience that gets in the way of things he’d rather do.  I must just add to his frustrations.  If I was a better wife he’d want to spend every second of free time he had with me.  He just tolerates me because I am sometimes convenient to have around.  If I was a better wife he’d try to get all that stuff done while I’m busy so we could do stuff together when I’m around.  If I was a better wife he’d be the one to initiate alone time for us more often.

Do NOT read this as an insult to my husband.  That’s not the point (he’s pretty awesome). The point is my SIN! That when I get wrapped up in my relationship with my husband I lose sight of the relationship that matters more.  That I get focused on finding my self worth in my husband and not in the God who created me.  I put an unfair expectation on my husband to be my sole comforter and provider and don’t turn to the ultimate comforter and provider.  Because in the end, my relationship with my husband is NOT what really matters.  It’s my relationship with my savior.

So, this last week has been one of those times I’ve dwelt on this.  I’ve been mopey and moody as I start to pile up all the ways Justin dislikes me because of how unattractive I am, or how boring I am, or how naggy I am.  The worst part is, I KNOW I’M DOING IT! I’m trying to dig myself out of this hole and thinking, “I don’t want to bother Justin will all of this because saying what I’m feeling will be hurtful and I know deep down I don’t even really mean it. So I’ll just work through it alone”.  Alone… instead of turning to God like I KNOW I should.  I pretend to go through the motions of a “good Christian” and pray about it – but again, I KNOW I don’t mean it.  I know I’m still holding onto the crap with a clinched fist and just telling God, “Hey I have a bunch of crap in this fist you should take care of, but I won’t let you near it”.

THEN, it rained.  I know you don’t understand how that is relevant.  I’ll let you in on a secret.  The only reason rain exists is because it’s my love language.  It’s how God communicates with me.  You might think it rains because it spreads water across the earth and helps things grow.  That’s only a side effect.  Really God created rain because he knew I’d need it.  He knew that I’d be having a little pity party today as I walked to my car for lunch.  He knew I’d be thinking that it sucks that it was “supposed” to rain today and didn’t.  So as soon as I sat down in my car the rain came.  And that fist so tightly clinched around that crap finally loosened. The rain was my reminder that God always provides and he is always there when we need him.

Granted…I only loosened that fist so I know I still have some more heart work to do so I can fully let it go. But at least I am now moving in right direction.

Wurs Enemy

When I was in 4th grade (about 20 years ago) my biggest concern was being the fastest kid on the playground (I totally wasn't and gave up on that dream for more realistic goals like getting to the monkey bars first). 

So imagine my surprise when my 4th grade daughter (last year) asked these questions...

1. What does rape mean?
2. The girls in my class sit on the boys on the playground and move around and say they are having sex.  Is that what sex is?
3. What is a slut? The boys in my class keep calling me that.
4. What's a condom? A boy in my class told me he didn't use a condom so he's worried.

So here I was, having to explain these things to my 10 year old to ensure she heard the truth about these things and not what a bunch of other 10 year olds were saying.

Would you say I was all that shocked when she came home half way through the year with a 'secret' boyfriend? (not so secret because I may not be the best parent, but I can still see when she's lying or hiding something)

No, I was not surprised.  I was disappointed that she hadn't talked to us about it before it happened, but not surprised.  So again, Justin and I were having to talk to our 10 year old about things she should not have to be dealing with yet.  After we talked about it, she decided she should break up with the kid.

Before you judge us to harshly about letting are obviously way-to-young-to-date daughter make this choice you have to understand something.  She is a stubborn kid. We knew that if we 'forced' her to do it she would just do what she wanted anyway and then hide more from us instead of feeling comfortable to talk to us about stuff...even stuff she knows we don't approve of.  So although this could have ended in her deciding to keep her boyfriend, at least she knew she could come talk to us about this sort of thing.  And from that point on she has, but OH BOY is hard to stay calm sometimes.

So, here we are.  Our 10 year old daughter is breaking up with her first boyfriend.  It seemed to go well.  They wanted to remain 'friends'.  However, HIS friends were not as understanding.  Slowly over the next few months they would begin to spread nasty rumors.  They were saying increasingly hurtful things and getting more and more people to gang up on her.  She was being ostracized by most of her class and we could see the impact it was having on all the other areas of her life.  She was not doing a good job processing these feelings and things were happening...

1. Outbursts of rage and yelling at teachers
2. Cussing like a sailor's parrot (because she'd only repeat things she heard from school that she usually had no idea the meaning of)
3. Picking on her siblings just to get a reaction
4. Digging her nails into her skin until it bled

My poor, innocent, 10 year old girl was dealing with the nastiness that is the world and nobody was doing anything about it (obviously Justin and I were aware and trying to talk her through it).  Every conversation with teachers/principal ended with a "we will get the kids together to talk out their problems".  That was it.  They would sit for a few minutes and each side would tell their side of the story and were expected to just move on.  These kids attacking her had all the 'right' things to say during those conversations so nothing ever happened.

FINALLY, my now 11 year old snapped.  She wrote this letter...

Dear Carlos, 

Hey, the reason I am writing this is because you and most of your friends are idiots like you. I wish you were never born and you were the biggest mistake I ever made. By the way, I already found some one. Tell Araya that she led and that we are just good friends now.

Worst Enemy (aka ex)

Taylor

Now there is written proof that obviously Taylor is to blame for everything.  Obviously, she's the one causing all the problems and being mean to these kids. Obviously. (In case you didn't pick up on it, that was sarcasm).

YES we know she did not handle things correctly.  She should NOT have sent that letter and we told her that.  But deep down I am sort of furious.  These people are supposed to PROTECT our children, but here we are with the 'victim' getting the blame.  Taylor is by no means innocent in all of this. I know that. I'm realistic.  But how can we expect a now 11 year old girl to process all of this stuff that she is not mentally ready for?  How can we not take her concerns seriously?  Even if she was just flat out lying (which she isn't - exaggerating is likely, but not lying) is it not worth these adult's time to understand the heart of the issue?

I'm not saying it is their fault that she wrote this letter. But I am saying they are surely not helping resolve the issues so she's doing it the only way her immature brain can think of.

That Time Team Davis Fell Apart

As Justin and I stand on the stage of an empty sanctuary practicing the worship set for the morning I glance at the pews.  I see 4 awesome kids huddled together, sitting quietly and calmly.  I glance down the aisle and see 3 other kids – one sitting inside a hoodie (like it’s a sled) with his 2 siblings using the sleeves to pull him full speed down the aisle as they laugh uncontrollably through squeals of delight.  The 2^nd set of kids are my kids.  My 3 bundles of pure energy. I look at the differences in these two sets of children as a direct reflection of my parenting and translated it to a failure in parenting.  Why can’t my kids just sit still and keep quiet?

I had given up on trying to force it.  It always ended in a crying mess on both sides.  They do sometimes manage to do the “quiet” thing, but more often they are balls of chaos. Well... what I considered chaos. 

However, over the last year I’ve realized more and more they are just “living life”.  This revelation was inspired by our Children’s Director at Church (the amazing Sara Hughes).  She lives her life AND more importantly (to me at least) she helps my kids do the same.  She encourages them to be creative in their learning with plays they create to demonstrate the lessons they learn.  She has parties filled with food and confetti cannons.  She finds reasons to celebrate life and the craziness of what life can throw at you.  She meets them where they are just like Paul explains in 1 Corinthians Chapter 9.

I admire Sara and her ability to do this.  I am very much NOT that person. I’m an over-planner.  I need to think 10 steps ahead of my next 50 steps.  I over-organize things in order to feel some sense of control.  And sometimes, God likes to remind me what little control I have.

Then comes the real reason for this blog…I’m talking about that week(ish) in December…that week where God was like, “Oh, so you think you have everything under control? You think you have ANY say on what will happen tomorrow?” ::insert Godly giggle…well probably bellowing laughter…I assume God doesn’t giggle::

On Saturday morning Elijah comes into my room and says his tummy itches. He lifts his shirt to reveal a small patch of tiny red dots.  It looks like a mild skin irritation, so I tell him to take a shower to get clean and I’ll put some cream on it to help with the itch.  Problem solved.  Then that evening he complains again and reveals that small spot has spread rapidly up and around his side and back so to Urgent Care we go.  A 3 hour wait and we find out he has shingles. Not the worst case scenario so we move on with life.

Shingles.

Fast forward 4 days.  That amazing Sara lady I mentioned earlier walks into our Youth Group (where Justin and I are) and tells me Taylor was hurt and, in a VERY Taylor fashion, is letting the whole world know that her life was ending.  I walk down to get her and assume her tears are her typical over-exaggeration, but after a few minutes I realize she may actually be hurt.  So, another ride to Urgent Care (shout out to Tommy here for being willing to get the rest of my family home that night).  And we shortly find out her hand is broken AND it’s her dominant hand.

Shingles. Broken Hand.

Fast forward 5 days.  Jordan is outside happily enjoying the warm evening (and yes it was December and like 70 degrees outside at 5pm).  I’m inside cooking dinner with the other two and Justin is out studying (or maybe writing a paper) for finals.  I hear Jordan walking up the stairs crying.  I hear her open our storage room door and put away her pogo stick.  I hear her open the front door and I walk into the living room to see her clutching her chin with blood oozing from her fingers.  I calmly (calm on the outside, but inside hyperventilating) walked her to the sink to rinse off and quickly realized that the massive gash in her chin was in need of more than a bandaid.  So, I call Justin and tell him to hurry home, now! And tell Taylor she is in charge for 10 minutes until dad gets home.  Now I’m stressing about the amount of blood leaving one child’s face and the fact that Taylor was about to ‘babysit’ her brother for the first time.  I was almost certain that in those 10 minutes Justin would come home to the house on fire.  And so I sit, in Urgent Care once again.  Jordan needs 10 stiches.  She takes it like a champ…I almost pass out twice.

Shingles. Broken Hand. Stiches.

9 days later Justin gets a cell tumor removed from his hand (his dominant hand and more importantly his strumming hand) 4 days before our Christmas Eve services at church.  The tumor removal was more invasive than they anticipated so even now (over a month later) it is still bothers him sometimes.

Shingles. Broken Hand. Stiches. Hand Surgery.

Add to that I was 8 months pregnant and due “any day”.

Now, as Justin can attest, any one of these things would typically send me into stress overload.  Unplanned events creeping in and causing my perfectly organized schedule to become a mess.  But for some reason (probably for only the 5^th time in my life) shrugged it off and thought, “Why not? What’s next?”  At some point I just decided to giggle/laugh right along with God as I realized I have absolutely no control.  Silly me for thinking otherwise. And here we are a month later back to our chaotic, crazy, normal.