Choices

The last time I talked to my mom was on June 2, 2006. She called me to get my sister's number to wish her a happy birthday. We had idle conversation about whether my sister had a child (she does), had a husband (she doesn't), if I had a husband (I do), if I had any kids (I do), what was my address (which I dictated to her while she wrote it down). My birthday followed that October, my 30th, factually, I was not happy about turning 3o; I was not hurt or saddened that I did not receive a phone call from my mother or a card in the mail.

More than four years prior, I had finally chosen to walk in forgiveness for the painful years of unmet expectations about what a mother should be, what she should or should not say, for what she had not taken responsibility, for lies and half-truths she had said, for not being what I needed her to be for me, and for anything that may happen in the future. I have very few fun, happy or loving memories of my dysfunctional relationship with her. She had chosen to live a life void of accountability, fullness or hope. I chose to not allow any of her future choices to pierce my heart. The bitterness I held toward her was gone. I no longer held her to any standard of expectation, so when a seldom phone call or card came, I talked with her, I read the card, but the hurt was gone, but at some point along that road, so was the opportunity for any vulnerable fellowship. At some point, my boundary for what was going to be healthy and acceptable for me did not include any intentional fellowship with her.

She had met Barrett for the first time when we ran into each other. She saw me in the parking lot of a Home Depot near my hometown and approached us as we were walking into the store. He and I had been dating for almost a year.

The next time I saw her, about 18 months later, I had taken Barrett with me to visit her at her work unannounced because of an alarming phone message my sister had received from one of my mom's coworkers about an incident that happened my mom's second husband. Since my sister hadn't spoken with my mother in almost ten years, I made a choice to go check on her. We walked in and she approached us, asking if she could help us with something...
"It's me." I said.
"Can I help you with something?" she said again to the couple she saw standing at the entrance.
"Mom, it's Melanie, your daughter."
Watching her jostle her memory as if coming out of a stupor or trance, I could almost hear the gears of her mind creaking to put it together, when her mouth opened I thought for a brief moment that a receipt was going to print out.
"Oh," as she studied my face, "your hair is darker than I'm used to," she said, not sure what to do next.
At that point I was married and just a few months pregnant, she didn't notice my rings and I did not tell her that her third grandchild would be born, she hadn't even seen the first two, my nieces. Emotionally, she was all over the place. Jibber-jabbering one moment, crying the next, interjecting that Barrett "looked like Dale"- What?! Dale who? - "Dale, Jr." (my mom watched NASCAR? something you'd think a 28-year-old daughter would surely know about own mother). We walked her to her car, made small talk, made sure she had my contact info once more.

I didn't hear from her again until that day in June, her calling to wish my sis a happy birthday.

My mom gave birth to four daughters, three of which are living, fellowship with none.

Sometimes I wonder if she regrets having chosen her self-imposed victimization over seeking healing, taking responsibility and making amends. I haven't given up on the idea that it could happen, but regardless, those lost years, she'll never be able to get those back. She didn't see me walk down the isle, never held a newborn grandchild, never heard them call her grandma, she has never even seen my boys beautiful faces.

I choose to walk in forgiveness towards my mom.

C'mere...

So yesterday afternoon, Whittaker climbs up in the glider and I warn him again about not getting the chair rocking off the ground.  He pauses and says, "I'm Momma."

I say, "Nice to meet you Momma."

Whittaker then says to me as I am holding Harper, "C'mere, I feed you."  Then lifts up the right side of his shirt exposing his right "nickle" and then repeats, "C'mere, I feed you."  As he pats his "nickle."

As if this wasn't enough, we went to church and after service Barrett headed upstairs to get Whittaker from his class and the teacher informed him that Whittaker nursed one of the dolls infront of everybody (3,4 and 5 years olds).  He actually lifted up his shirt and put the baby doll to his "nickle" and said, "I need a feed him....OUCH!...he bite me...be careful!"

What did you teach your kid this week?

A picture says...

...so many words!

"Do you understand the words that are coming out of my mouth?" #1

Do you ever feel like screaming this out loud to your children? Now don't get me wrong I absolutely adore Whittaker, but lets face it, some times the boy don't listen. I guess that is the run of the mill 2 1/2 year olds parenting experience.

So I find myself talking louder and louder like I am speaking to my moms 3rd cousin at Christmas dinner and still no response. To make it even worse Whitty is looking right at me, and low and behold he decides it is best for him to go ahead and lick my eye glasses just one more time. Sound familiar to you...well I will tell you who it sounds like the most.....Barrett! (I had to tell on myself)

How is it that as a parent we tend to forget that we do the same things that we ask, tell, and eventually yell at our kids about. The only difference is that God somehow never seems to yell at me. He just sits back and adores me licking his glasses. Although I am pretty sure that I have never done that to Him when he was standing in line waiting to vote for O'Nunya Business.

So to say the least I find myself blowing up and doing things I said that I would never do like clapping or snapping or well......YELLING!

After you have found yourself in the position of "What am I doing?" you feel like crap but great things can come out of our impatience with our kids when you let the Lord in to guide you even after you have blown it. I am going to post a video of a song I wrote as soon as I can get it formatted. Let me know what you think.