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parenting

Family, Love, Parenting, Patience

My Favorite Child…Bonus edition

A few months ago, I overheard a conversation while away on a girlfriend weekend in the Texas Hill Country.  I had taken a phone call in the next room, and was walking back to join the gals when I heard them discussing the issue of having a favorite child, and if they had to choose one, which it would be.  I was chuckling on the inside, and then I heard one of them say, “Which one would be Brooke’s favorite?”  I stopped, wanting to hear who the lucky boy was.  After a pause, another one answered with, “She doesn’t really have a favorite, she is pretty equal with all of them.”

It was the best and sweetest compliment I’ve ever received.  Especially from those gals, as they know the good, bad, and ugly of me.  We are all moms and two of them occupy the same boat I do – Bonus Mom.  It is crazy that two of my best friends also married men who have custody of their children.  We end up spending more time with our bonus babies than we do our biological babies.  You will never hear me complain about this, I didn’t have children to get every other weekend off.

When Hubs and I got married and blended our boys, I did it without any hesitation.  I have always loved kids and kids seem to love me, so I figured how hard could this be?  After a couple of months into our blending I realized that being a Bonus Mom would teach me more about the patient side of love than anything else could.  For the record, we do not usually refer to any child in our home as a Bonus Boy – but to save confusion and to make a point, for this post I will – besides, who doesn’t love an added Bonus?!  Especially for extra credit.

I made several mistakes in our first year.  A lot of them stemmed from the assumption that he chose me, when in actuality, none of our children chose to have a Bonus Parent.  Hubs and I carefully chose each other.  We were crazy in love, but more importantly – we trusted the other would value and love our child(ren), and made the decision to unite with that belief.  Four years in, we know we have had it easier than some in blending a family.  It has still been a learning curve. I rarely give advice, as I usually realize what an idiot I was yesterday – the following are lessons we’ve learned thus far.

Mistake #1 – I came in hot.

Lesson #1 – Don’t come in hot.

I laugh when I look back at my naivety.   I mom so hard, so I just assumed my 10-year-old Bonus Boy got the memo that I was a good one. At first, I was confused that he had to warm up to me and figure out who I was, how I was going to change his life, and where I was going to fit in.  Trust was earned slowly.  Somedays were slower than others.

Forgive me for making the following comparison, but for me – everything is related back to animals.  I’ve rescued a lot of animals.  At the beginning of saving/adopting one, they are usually timid.  Some have been abandoned or mistreated, and have trust issues.  If I came in aggressive – even aggressively loving – they would shrink back or run and hide.  Most of the time, if you just be yourself and sit still, they will figure out you are not a threat to them and eventually will warm up to you.

For my Bio Boys, they know mom is going to constantly hug and kiss their faces – I come in hot on a daily basis, since they were born.  They had a head start on my Bonus Boy, who moved in and thought I had lost my mind.  For years it had just been him and his dad (and an amazing grandmother, an Aunt/Cousin hybrid, and extended family), but now this crazy “Bonus Mom” was always hiding around the corner, grabbing hugs and planting kisses on his head whenever she wanted.

Word of Advice – CHILL.  Walk into your new traditions slowly.  Let them know you love them in small, subtle ways, I promise they will not go unnoticed.  They are watching you, waiting for your crazy to come out, expecting your crazy to come out.  Give them their space to learn and navigate this new journey, and show them the respect that you want in return.

 

Lesson #2 – You are not your Bonus Child’s disciplinarian

Thankfully, we had an amazing counselor give us this advice, and we followed it. In our house, the biological parent does the disciplining.  While we have boundaries of requiring respect from all children, it’s not the Bonus Parent’s job to come down hard.  I have watched this in other families and I want to immediately arrest them, take away the sweet label of Bonus Parent, and slap them with the Step Mom/Dad title.

Bonus Parents, please hear me when I lovingly say this – Unless that child does not remember a time without you in their life – meaning you have been there since infanthood – disciplining is not your job.  I don’t care the situation, back off.  Hand that responsibility back to your spouse, the biological parent.  This requires A LOT of communication between the parents on how to handle specific situations that arise, but surely us adults can do that right?  It is definitely a tight rope of supporting without overstepping, but you can do it.

We have not dealt with an outright disrespectful child.  So, if that is your issue, I encourage you to seek a professional for advice.  I just slept at a Holiday Inn Express last night, who am I to know?  We have dealt with a cranky kid who has been disrespectful, in that case we fall back to how we would treat anyone who isn’t respectful in our house.  Tar and feather them.

I’m kidding.  We are clear on our expectations of respect and rules.  Here is what is required in our home.  Tone of voice is also important in any situation.  Kids are not dumb, they are actually brilliant.  They know if you like them, they know if you are pretending in front of their parent – if you aren’t being honest, they will take note.  If this is the case, go gather yourself, do some soul searching and praying.  I encourage you to simply realize that you are dealing with children, be loving.  You can be a stern fist if you want and let everyone know you run the show, but you won’t earn their love with that hardness.  Be flexible.

 

Lesson #3 – Be Fair

I don’t do everything right – but I am fair.  What I do for one child, I will do for all.  They have the same rules (or will, when they get to that age).  I just want my tombstone to be honest, “She loved us in a big way, she was fair, and she leaves behind a big closet.”, so that’s how I live.  I understand that not every situation has all the children living in the same house, which would create some creativity in equality.  I can only give advice on what I know, and that is them being under the same roof.  BE FAIR.  If you let one do something, then sister (or brother), you’d better let them all.  Don’t be sneaky either.  Nothing makes me sadder or madder than watching kids be treated different or unequal.  If you aren’t feeling that bond with your Bonus Baby, then FIGURE IT OUT.  Fight for it.  Find a common ground and build from there.  I promise it is so worth it.  When a teenager – bio or bonus – chooses to spend time with you, that is the biggest compliment of LIFE.

 

Lesson #4 – Do not talk negative about the other Parent.

This goes for EVERY PARENT, Bonus or Bio.

I don’t care what your opinion of their other parent is, it needs to be kept to yourself.  If you and your spouse need to communicate frustrations behind a closed door – knock yourself out.  But that baby better not hear it.  Or feel it.  And don’t be sneaky with the passive aggressive comments either.  KIDS ARE BRILLANT – they see you, they feel every single comment.  Because guess what?   They are half that person, and if you are talking bad about their parent, they will internalize it as there must be something wrong with them as well.

My biological parents divorced when I was 8 months old. I didn’t hear many positive things about my biological dad until after he had died.  My mom was young and didn’t know any better, but I felt every single negative comment about him.  I didn’t realize this at the time, but what I did recognize was that it didn’t feel good to hear bad things about him.  I don’t think I truly paid attention to how it made me feel until I was a divorced adult myself, and had to chose my words carefully, even when I was madder than a hornet.  My biological parent’s situation was different than my children’s, and I know my mom had a lot of frustrations, they were just hard to hear.

I’m not saying you have to lie and sugar coat things about an absentee parent.  If the child needs to talk, listen and validate their feelings.  But don’t add your opinion or manipulate the situation.  Divorce is hard enough for them to maneuver through, don’t add more junk.

 

Lesson #5 – You are not in competition with your spouse’s child(ren)

I’ve seen this enough times to say…STOP IT.  That child was there before you.  They need some quality time with their parent, alone, without you.  Create a space for that to happen and support it.  You are an adult, do not make a child feel that they are in competition for their parent’s time, love, and attention.  “Anything that feeds a rivalry will corrupt your strength.”*  Be an adult.  Take the egos out of this and build a strong family.

In the end, kindness covers a lot.  When in doubt, reach for kindness.  We will never have all the answers, nor will we always know the right thing to do or say.  In the beginning, it may seem that you will never get through all the hurdles – show them and yourself grace as you navigate through them.  For those who do the work that someone else has the title for…show up as a safe haven, not a mini savior.  No one needs a mini-savior, yet everyone could appreciate a safe haven.

Our Bonus Boys are definitely a bonus – they are little extensions of the spouse we chose and married. There is such a sweet side of loving a child that is shared with you, and being loved in return.

*Lisa Bevere

 

 

April 16, 2018 by
Family, Gifts, Lessons, Parenting

Parenting through the pecking

“Raising children is like being pecked to death by chickens.”

That quote has hung in a family member’s home for years, probably still does.  I whispered it often during the early years of raising boys, sometimes still do.  In my most exhausting moments of Motherhood, that quote has served my children well.  The assurance that other mothers also felt this exasperated on the journey was protection for my daring little chickens and their scissor sharp beaks.

The chickens have grown. I miss those dang chicks and their itty bitty pecking, it was really kinda cute looking from this angle.  Especially since we’ve learned that raising teenagers is like riding a rollercoaster with a blindfold on.  Some days it’s steady and smooth as you track up the hill on the Judge Roy Scream, only to be pushed off the top and realize the track gave way to the old Texas Giant with its wooden, rough ways – jerky enough to break your bra (a tragic true story).

There are moments of complete pride, realizing how far they have come in their maturity.  There are also moments of desperately begging God for more time to train the monsters.

Recently, while I was cooking with Mason, McCray strolled through the kitchen and dipped his finger in the sopapilla cheesecake filling. Big brother yelled, “Don’t do that! It has eggs in it and you’ll get melanoma!”   Hearing this, my face scrunched up and I just stared at him, wondering how he made it to through 12.7 years of school.

I held some hope that McCray, the freshman, would correct him. Instead he rolled his eyes and said, “It’s malaria you moron.”  Which explains his grade in Health class.  Bless you teacher. We should have sent a better Christmas gift.  Would a sopapilla cheese cake suffice?

I should remind everyone here that I’ve never claimed to be a good teacher.  Also, Sopapilla cheesecake has precisely zero eggs in the ingredients.  I informed them the sickness they were looking for was Salmonella. To which they both shrugged and said, “Same.”   It’s a wonder we fail at HQ trivia every day at 8 p.m.

Our oldest is a Senior, he graduates in exactly too soon of days.  A fact I have grieved and dreaded for the entirety of his eighteen years.  I can’t imagine not seeing him for longer than a week, or walking to his room for a goodnight hug.  I don’t know how I will pack him up and drive his belongings down to Austin, only to get in my car and DRIVE AWAY FROM HIM.

My baby.  My first born.  My boy who fills so much of our house with his unique character and audacious personality.  Tears are flowing as I type this.

And yet, the same precious, growing child that I am crying tears over can drive me absolutely crazy.  I’ve been told that God has a way of helping us weepy parents let go, by allowing them to act like know-it-all-fools in the last months they are in our home.  This is true. The same child that can make me gush over his adorable ways, makes my head explode and my heart ache while watching him learn life lessons and navigate tough choices, sometimes making the wrong ones.

God is so gracious.  How does He do this from heaven?!  As Bob Goff shares, “I think a Father’s job, when it’s done best, is to get down on both knees, lean over his children’s lives, and whisper, “Where do you want to go?”

I have returned to that visual a lot this past year.  Where do you want to go my son?  These boys have been watered with love and light, and a pile of prayers.  For the eldest, this has been the year of mom stepping back and allowing him to steer more.  I haven’t done this perfectly, as every-person-in-this-house accuses me of being a back-seat driver, but we can unpack that another time.

I’m trying.  I’m learning.  I’m clinging to the fact that while childhood is only a chapter in their life, we remain parents forever.  Once a parent, always a parent.

Which is my rebellious way of choosing joy in this season.

Choosing stubborn gladness throughout the journey of my heart being pecked to death by this thing called parenting.

 

 

March 26, 2018 by
Authenticity, Brave, Clothing, Family, Lessons, Parenting, perfection

The Depth Finder

Deep calls to deep in the roar of Your waterfalls…” Psalms 42:7

As the kiddos have entered into the teen years, we started to feel them slip away from spending as much time with us, the parentals.  I’m sure you are as shocked at this news as we were. They didn’t get the memo that we are totes cool.  We were sad about this fact since we really kinda like those kids.  So, in a desperate attempt to attract teenagers back to the fold – we bought a boat.  Worked like a charm – yolo.

My favorite feature on the boat is the depth finder, it seriously amazes me.  However, the infatuation I have with that little tool of information is distracting to everyone else on board.  Especially since I usually end up sitting wherever there isn’t a kid, tucked in a corner where it’s hard for the Hubs to hear me yell, “Chad!  How deep is it here?”

He will mouth back, “Huh?”  Then point to his ear and shake his head – the universal code for “I can’t hear you.”

I’ll repeat my question until he slows the boat down enough to hear me and then give me the answer.  The answer is always followed with one of my children rolling their adorable eyes and telling their friend on board, “She is obsessed with the depth finder.”  Imagine this scenario on repeat x 101.  It only took us a whole summer to come up with a code for my same ol’ question, because we are quick problem solvers.

Look at those teens, WITH their parents. #winning

It’s fascinating and terrifying that there can be 86 feet of water under us one minute then, without a sign or warning bell, it goes to 23 feet deep.  I just need to know where we figuratively stand with this water thing.  My friend Christine would feel better if the lake could be drained, just for a day or so, then we could see exactly what is under the boat.  I think this plan is brilliant, no matter how crazy the Corp of Engineers think we are.

I wish people came with a depth finder gauge.  Think of all the small talk we could cut down on – we could fit so much more in our day if we simply checked their depth gauge to determine if it is worth the energy of a chat or not.  I have a friend who is honest enough to admit she has a disdain for small talk, and claims to be horrible at it.  She is best suited in the deep waters of conversation, this has found to be true.  She can give you several embarrassing examples of her attempt of the task.  Word to those who want to converse with her – throw on a lifejacket and doggie paddle out to the deep.  I love this about her and, for the majority of the time, I am dog paddling out there alongside my friend.

In my own life, there are areas I can go as deep as the ocean, and then others I’m about a shallow as a kiddie pool.  My most shallow moments show up while organizing family photos – the highlight of every mother’s year.

Since a young age, I always wanted three boys. What I did not account for was planning boys outfits for family photos. Especially now that they are all basically the same sizes, and throw fits when I try to dress one in burgundy colored jeans to pull in the color from the other kiddo’s plaid shirt (Sorry son, sometimes you have to take one for the team, just think of it as a character building moment).  It isn’t trendy or cool to completely match, we have to simply coordinate. Coordinating is supposed to look seamless, almost as an afterthought.  Kind of like we all showed up, looked down at our clothes and airily laughed that we all wore the same color scheme, how precious.

It is freaking hard. Gone are the “Everyone throw on a black shirt with your jeans, and let’s go take a picture.” days. I miss the Aussie hair product family’s advertisements, where they proved how simple and fun matchy-matchy family photos could be.  Gone are the simple times with robes.

Nothing says “Happy Family” like matching robes. Nothing.

For our 2017 family photos, I text the oldest darling at work and said, “What are you wearing tomorrow for family pictures?”  We went back and forth discussing what he had and what we might need to shop for that night. T-minus 22 hours before execution.  I informed him we were going with grays, warm neutrals, with a pop of red. He replied that we had already done red. I reminded him that was maroon, and his little brother had asked to do red for years and we had ignored him. Mason said, “Fine. But what kind of red are we talking about – Blood red, Lorena red, or like a muted red?”  You see how I’m used to the deep waters of topics and conversations.

By the time we actually show up for family photos, I’ve given up on caring about the perfect-nice-normal-family photos.  The pop of red was thrown out (sorry bud, maybe next year) and we just smiled.  No matter my level of stress, the photos always turn out amazing, because any photo with my babies captured in it usually is.  They are just handsome little suckers that will always have my heart, no matter the depth of our current water.  Also, I might have had a wine spritzer inside of my yeti to help me chill out – this is just an assumption, not an admission.

See? Perfection.

To be authentically you, one has to be the same at 1 ft. of depth than you are at 80 ft.  Authentic – who doesn’t love people who are described by that adjective?  To show your real self, to live in your own skin and stand in the truth of who and whose you are is the best gift to give the world. And yourself.  To put it eloquently, you do you boo.  I’ve frequented both levels on my journey -swimming in the deep or wadding in the kiddie pool, and I’ll take deep waters over shallowness any day.  Each come with their own scary stuff (Jaws and alligators – both equally as terrifying), but life is less peopley in the deep end, there is much less chatter.  For that fact alone, swim out sister. After family photos of course.

* 2017 Photos by Taylor Nicole Photography

**Not the Aussie Hair family photo…that was produced by google.

 

 

 

 

 

December 11, 2017 by
Family, Forgivness, Grace, Hope, Lessons, Love, Parenting, perfection, Prayer, Renewed

Sanitized Martha and Transforming Grace

Sunday morning started down a rough path…beginning on Saturday.  The oldest darling had sent me a text stating what his weekend plans were (with him now being an adult and all).  I replied that his social calendar was fine with me as long as he was asking and not telling, and that we were planning on going to church the next morning, so to make sure and factor that in. The whining that began was enough to make you want to donate your ears.  The arguments ranged from, “This is my only day this week to sleep in”, to “I don’t have anything clean to wear” to finally, “Are we going to the really EARLY service??”.

Irritated, (as he only goes to church with us twice a month due to our co-parenting schedule) I informed the entitled, overgrown tyke that we were going to the same service we always went to, then followed up with a short text telling him, “Don’t be a butt”.  Only I didn’t say butt.  Jesus fill the gaps.  (Feel free to message or email me for any further mothering tips.)  May God help me recognize earlier when to insert gentle teaching moments, as I clearly have some parental growing to do.  That is a scary realization when you have teenagers and hear the clock ticking down on your job being mostly done.

Mason has always referred to me as the “Blind Side Mom”, and I now see why.  I thought he had always based it on the “Get your feet off my dash.” line in the movie, also the fact that I will take in anyone – whether they have two legs or four.  I want to focus more on the opportunities for grace-filled, building moments and less snap-you-up moments.

Have you ever noticed that your attitude can sometimes determine your circumstances, and always seems to have a say on your outcome?  Obviously I haven’t.  No doubt, my attitude laid the foundation of our Sunday morning (starting on Saturday).  Mason was meeting us at church, since he had stayed the night with a friend.  McCray had decided to drop his brain in the toilet, which short circuited his memory into forgetting what he is allowed to wear to church and walked out to the car looking like we were headed to basketball practice.  “WHAT are you wearing?” is a sentence I learned not to waste my time on with boys, due to it never being answered with a good reason, but I relapsed.  I was stressed because my morning started with getting full out dressed (aka wash, dry, AND fix my hair…angels be near.) and load the car with all the fixings for Sunday lunch with it being my week to cook.

By the time we got to church, I felt as though I had fought my way out of a fierce swarm of bees, with some stingers still tucked inside my skin.  Irritation was written all over my body.  I might as well have been on a 24-hour college bender, because that’s how tired I felt.  Was the fuss even worth it?  It’s so peopley here today, with all these perfect families.  What did I just teach these boys with my attitude about them getting here to worship our God who is into simplicity?   Good grief, what a missed opportunity.

Then, we sang a song with the chorus that sings,

O church, come stand in the light.  The glory of God has defeated the night.”.

All the stings, given and received, and the past eighteen hours melted – like holy calgon, taking it away.  They say that hope begins when you stand in the dark, looking out at the light.  I believe hope is also realizing that our notion of a sanitized, perfect Christianity isn’t really what Jesus taught or intended us to strive for.  Hope is a whisper that says, “Come stand in the light beloved, no matter how dirty you feel.”

I had spent the last two days getting worked up that my boys didn’t have the right attitude about church or dress perfectly for church, that I missed an opportunity to attract them TO the church – the act of worship and the practice of filling your bucket.   Oh Martha, dear Martha, why do you have to show up here again?

When McCray was an infant, I started (note started, didn’t finish) the bible study, “Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World”, based on the story of the sisters in Luke 10.  I not only identified with Martha, but I felt so sorry for her.  Everyone was being so hard on her, wanting her to be more like her sister.  Clearly Mary wasn’t going to cook, clean, and prepare for Jesus, so who did that leave?  Martha!  I want to have a pep rally for Martha, or create a power point explaining her perspective, because every time I read the story, I see myself in her actions and frustrations.

Martha, dear Martha, you’re fussing far too much and getting yourself worked up over nothing.  One thing only is essential, and Mary has chosen it – it’s the main course, and it won’t be taken from her.”  Luke 10:41-42 (The Message Bible)

There is no space for sanitized Christanity in transforming grace. Transformations are messy, yet grace can clean better than a Roomba and bleach.  Grace can easily tackle messy foundations and sanitized surfaces. Poor Martha’s wholehearted service got tangled up in sanitation while Mary did the good thing and sat at the feet of grace Himself.  Grace says to our Martha moments, “You are worried and troubled by many things, but choose the GOOD part.  Calm down and come sit down, right at My feet beloved.”

I think I heard grace also say, “Who in tarnation cares what that boy is wearing, we are aiming for his heart, not his fashion sense”.  I’m pretty positive I heard that whispered.  God is into simplicity.  Let’s join Him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

November 27, 2017 by
Family, Lessons, Love, Parenting, Prayer

The Endless Titles of Parenthood

Actual conversation in my house this morning.  Before caffeine or centering prayer.

Child who lives here, “MOM! Someone took my short, black socks that were tucked inside my shoes.”

Mom-trying-to-wake-up-and-channel-the-patience-of-Jesus, “Like who?  Which shoes?  When?”

Child, “I dunno, but they were there, and someone took them.”

Mom, “Bud, no one else wears those type of socks.  I highly doubt someone broke into our house this morning, while you were brushing your teeth, to steal your coveted socks.  Go look in your drawer or the pile of clean laundry on the couch.”

While throwing clean clothes all around the couch, “Nope, they aren’t here. Someone took them.”

Child finds another pair of short, black socks and heads to school.  Twenty minutes later, mom finds the socks on the kitchen table, where he left them.  Text a photo to the child of irritation, for him reply, “What are those?”  At that moment I was just thankful he was at school, under the protection of his principal, as I wanted to gently wring the bones in his cute little neck.

Bless my soul. Bless your Momma soul, since I’m pretty sure this type of conversation happened all over the globe this glorious morning.  Today, I am completely over my bratty children.  Tonight, I will gush over how precious they are.  This is Motherhood- the real kind, a perfect balance of adorable and frustrating.  A combination of zealous, superhuman love for the darlings and a continuous prayer line of inquires, and the occasionally begging of patience.  Parenting is a love so big that it requires the grounding of both feet just to manage it.

My darlings refer to me by several names; Mom, Momma, Mother Dear, Madre, and Brooke.  I don’t particularly care what they call me, just as long as I get to hear their sweet voices.  And that it is respectful, let’s be clear. Momma’s not raising thugs. I don’t necessarily need one politically correct title, this job is too important to be limited to one name.

I think God feels the same.  Father, Abba, Most High, Highest Power, Yaheweh, Jehovah, the Alpha & Omega, and so many more.  I think God would rather have our hearts reach for Him, than to have us tangled up in the specifics and rules.  God is into simplicity, and is too big to be packaged in just one name.  I don’t believe He cares which name from the list that we use, just as long as we call him.

I use Creator a lot, the thought of the Divine creating me to be exactly Autumn Brooke, is soothing to my heart.  On hard days, it’s also restoring to my soul.  I won’t pretend to understand the adult acne added into the package, but whatever.

A few years ago, my mind was flooded with uncertainty and questions.  This doubt was so unsettling that I drove two hours north to discuss it with the pastor from our “home” church.  I loved belonging to that church, something about entering those doors brought me a wave of peace.

I recently found the list of questions I took to the pastor.  Not that it was missing, as I’ve kept that paper tucked in my bible bag since that meeting. The list resembles questions that perhaps a kindergartener might ask. I got down to the basics and worked my way up.  He patiently answered my queries, never making me feel guilty for my doubt.  One answer he gave calmed my qualms and infused my faith, “I don’t know, but I’m kinda glad I can’t fully explain God and his mysteries.”  He went on to explain if God was a force that could be explained completely, then we would be able to put him in a box.  If we could understand everything about Him then we would know as much or more than He does.  Who wants to learn from someone that knows less than you do? Who wants a Creator who can be bottled like a genie?

Not this girl.  As much as I loved dreaming of Jeannie and her master, I want a larger, most divine Master Designer. With this in mind, I think I’m okay with not having all the answers.  I’m content being a small part of this grand plan.  Even on the days that I collect more questions than answers, I believe that God is okay with my questions, frustrations, and sorrows.  Even my anger.  I’ve even been known to throw up a prayer asking Him to please help me find my lost keys (aka short, black socks).  He is gracious enough answer without an eye roll, and will gently lead me to exactly where I left them.  Usually in the car.

He can handle it.  Because I am conversing with Him.  Talking and listening, giving and receiving.  It’s a relationship.  He can handle our words and labels, as long as He gets to hear our sweet voices and have our hearts.  Call Him what you will, just call Him beloved.

 

 

 

October 2, 2017 by