The Not So Perfect Mom and her Baby

I've been telling this story on stage lately. Last week, upon reaching our room at the Holiday Inn Express in Nashville Annie let out a great big ole,

"HOOOOMMMMEEEE."

Ryan started dying laughing but my stomach dropped and I immediately started to cry tears of embarrassment.

I am the most ghetto fabulous mom in the world.

My baby thinks Holiday Inn Express is her home.

With tears streaming down my face I asked an all too familiar question...

What kind of mom am I???

It all became very clear to me last night...

***

Annie is getting her molars in. All four of them at once. That, or she has been possessed by a Tickle Me Elmo gone terribly wrong. She has been screaming bloody murder every night this week and last night I yelled back at her. Well, ok, I didn't yell but it was mean and loud and completely uncalled for.

"Annie PLEASE stop crying Mommy cannot take it anymore baby. Please. You HAVE to stop CRYING."

She started crying louder and scratching herself in frustration.

Awesome.  My kid scratches herself. That cannot be a good reflection of her anger management skills.

Then I started crying partly because my kid has anger issues and she's only 18 months and party because my horrible response only made her feel more scared and frustrated and hurt and partly because I was so freaking tired and defeated that I actually considered drawing a bath in the Clarion Inn bathtub.

And y'all. That's desperation.

She cried louder. I cried louder. She cried louder. I cried louder.

And in that moment I realized... she beat me.

She beat my spirit and my will into defeated smithereens and I am pretty sure I gave up on life for a brief moment. After she cried inconsolably for two hours straight at the hotel- and I had no idea what else to do- I opted for the only thing I had to make life more bearable.

A rice krispy treat, pintos and cheese from Taco Bell, and Jimmy Fallon.

Not for me.

For her.

At 11:30 last night Annie sat on the hotel bed happy as a lark eating her refried beans, rice krispy treat, and laughing with Jimmy Fallon.

And once again, there was that voice,"Oh my gosh, what sort of mother does this???"

To which I replied, the sort of mother who was about to take a bath in the skank-nasty Clarion Inn bathtub. No offense to Clarion. But come on, can you imagine how many hairy feet have been on that bathtub floor? I already offer penance every time I put Annie in those things to bathe her... so to voluntarily give myself up to one... well, that is the kind of thing only a desperate woman does.

It all became very clear to me last night...

***

Yesterday a girl saw me and Annie in the lobby of the church we were performing at and she invited me to come to their MOPS meeting. "There's homemade food and a speaker and free childcare...

(Can you just see the angels dancing around those words?  ~*Free Childcare *~)

Say no more.

I would not have cared if I had to sit through a lizard convention or Star Trek memorial service.

Free childcare will get me to do crazy, crazy things.

So I went to my first MOPS meeting. And it all became very clear to me...

***

I have finally discovered my calling in life. Not a professional whistler or friend or even singer lady. Nope. It has all become quite clear. I will be a professional speaker to MOPS conventions and other mother events and I will be billed,

Jenny Simmons, in comparison, she WILL make you feel like a better mom!

If those ladies had any idea what kind of company they were keeping yesterday at MOPS. What kind of mother was in their midst. What kind of things I have done to my poor baby this week... I would have been in the corner.

The "example corner."

And it would have said, "Look at this mom! She WILL make you feel better about yourself as a mom!"

***

Awe. The joys and deep guilt of motherhood. The joys and deep guilt of life. How else would we be humble if we didn't end up giving our kids fake pinto beans, pure sugar, and late night television? If I didn't let my kid sleep on the floor of a bus on top of a vibrating engine? If I didn't bathe her at the Clarion Inn? I might think I was a totally awesome mom who had conquered and perfected the art of being an awesome mom if it weren't for the many, many things that keep me very humble.

And there's something to living in humility. Isn't there?

Thank God there is grace in our shortcomings. I haven't lost too much sleep over the Jimmy Fallon and I have asked Annie several times if she remembers mommy yelling at her and she puts her nose on my little face and in the most perfect voice I have ever heard she says, "NUUU-OH" and then kisses me.

All of a sudden I forget that I'm not a perfect mom and remember that my little girl gives me kisses so it can't be all that bad.

***

I say all of that today because I am launching a brand new website that is SO CUTE!  And I thought it would be the perfect time to show the CUTEST pictures of Annie and I from our fall fun day at Northwestern College in St.Paul this past Sunday! And it would be so easy to put all this new flashy stuff up and lead you to believe that we are the cutest, most perfect, happy little family in the world.

So I thought I'd remind you first...

we are not.

If you've ever thought, "That mom is so cute," her kids will "save the world" and my little girl might not "make it to second grade" because she has "severe anger issues" and if I have to see another cute mom walk into MOPS that "looks like a skinny 16 year old" I will puke because for once I just want everyone else "to suffer four molars coming in and a bad hair day" the way I am.

Well, we might be able to be best friends.

So enjoy these perfect pictures from a not so perfect family and if you feel the need to compare yourself to me, just remember...

I gave her a rice krispy treat at 11:30 p.m. last night...

And I yelled at her and then cried like a nut-job...

And she scratches herself...

And she's so dang cute...

but most babies are cute when they are sitting in the leaves, aren't they?

Love you friends! Have a perfect weekend and welcome to our new blog!

Gift Giving.

When I was a little girl, I fell in love with giving people presents.

Don't get me wrong, I loved getting presents too. And, I loved saving up my money to buy things for myself. One of my earliest memories is going to Fred's Salvage in Laurel, Mississippi after I had worked a very hard Charlie Brown Sno Cone stand sale in my front yard.

I made three dollars.

All I wanted to buy was scotch tape, cherry chapstick, and garland.

I loved the smell of the first two and was convinced that I needed shiny red and green garland strung all over my room to have a truly magical Christmas. Plus, garland, I rationalized, would attract more customers to my business ventures. And at five years old, I was all about starting my own businesses in my bedroom.

Buying scotch tape, cherry chapstick, and garland is one of my earliest, most cherished memories.

But even more than saving money and buying things for myself, I couldn't wait to pick out the perfect gifts for other people.

I liked giving gifts so much that as I got older my parents would never give me money for my birthday because they knew that as soon as I got birthday money in November, I started Christmas shopping for the month of December! And as much as I wanted things for myself, it was just too alluring to have the money to spend on the perfect gift for someone else. And that's what I did, and still do. I habitually use my birthday money and gift cards to start buying up the perfect present for someone else.

I can't stand it. If I had a million dollars I'd blow it in an afternoon... mostly on other people.

Skye

There's a sixth grade girl who absolutely adores Annie. She babysits her from time to time while I get work done around the house and I hear them squealing and laughing together. It's really sweet.

A few months ago Skye was at a weekend event with us (her father was the speaker) and when we came back after lunch she was beaming. She spent her break buying Annie and I presents. She bought Annie a mirror because, "Annie loves looking at herself more than any baby I've ever played with!" Next door was a funky, cheap jewelry store and she picked out a bracelet for me to wear on stage. One that matched the outfit I was already wearing! She's a fashionista. Her dad was so confused... he was shocked that she wanted to go shopping for us and not for herself.

I found myself telling her, the way an older sister tells their little sis, "Skye, God has given you a tender heart. A lot of times you think about other people before you think about yourself. That's why you love to give gifts. But be prepared: not everyone will give the way you do. And sometimes when you give, you won't get anything back. And sometimes you'll spend a lot of time thinking of the perfect present for someone, and it won't even cross their mind to ever buy you a present. It can hurt your feelings and make you bitter if you're not prepared for it. But you just keep giving anyways. Whether you get something back or not. Keep thinking about other people."

After it spewed out of me, I wondered, where did that come from? Poor girl just bought us presents and I'm lecturing her on the shortcomings of inadequate gift givers. I sounded like a bitter old woman who got coal in her stocking one too many times!

Truth Is

We aren't born with an instinctive nudge to place others ahead of ourselves. In the gift giving world this means that while we might find a million things we love at Target for ourselves, it may not cross our minds to think of someone else while we are shopping. You might be guilty of this if you seem to leave a Christmas shopping trip with more things for yourself than anyone else. You might be guilty of this if you find yourself in the aisle of a department store or browsing online catalogues and seem to be at a complete and utter loss of having any idea what to even get another person (the person is often a close friend or family member at that!). You might be guilty of this if you cringe at having to spend money on someone else besides yourself... like you dread birthdays because- there goes your Galleria money down the drain!

As a mom, I'm excited to teach my daughter how to avoid these pitfalls, and instead, how to become a joyful giver. I believe the reason Skye found so much joy in buying us presents is that she has seen someone in her life exemplify what it means to joyfully think of others. To be excited for someone else. To give, just because.

Oh, if we only learned earlier what it means to cheer for someone else. To want their best. To give them a better present than we get ourselves...

the world would be sweeter

My mom taught us to be good gift givers. She was always excited to give my dad the perfect present. She was always excited to give us each and every birthday gift because she had been looking for them, thinking about them, and buying them for months. The perfect present. You could see her face about to explode she was so excited.

One year I told my mom, "You need to get something else for dad because he got you the most amazing thing in the whole world. It's huge! And I'm afraid you don't have enough for him." I think my sisters told her the same thing. We were very nervous that Dad had "overbought" for her and so she started searching for another gift. And, a few days before Christmas I remember her coming home with another gift. A leather jacket. It cost one hundred dollars, might as well been a million. We assured her that now they would be even.

Dad got mom a full sized body pillow that year.

It was the biggest thing we had ever seen.

This always makes me laugh.

Teaching our Kids to Give their Best!

I've never written a blog like this, and I have to admit, I feel rather old- or out of place- assuming that I have wisdom or advice to pass out to other parents! But I guess I' about to turn thirty, so here goes:

What my mom taught me about gift giving:

1. Listen to those you love and watch what they get excited about in stores or during TV commercials. Keep a mental note. Or an actual note! Go back to the store that day if you can and get the very thing they were mentioning. Keep it for their next big celebration. If you have kids, make a point to say, "Girls, let's remember that daddy really loved that lawn mower and start to save money so we can buy it for him." Teaching our kids to be interested in what their brothers, sisters, or friends like, sets them up for a lifetime of intentionally listening in order to give to others. Setting aside money teaches them that sometimes we give up things for ourselves in order to give someone else a special gift.

2. Start a present closet at the house. When you are at a store with your kids, allow them to pick out a few clearanced items for the gift closet. While you might want to let them get one small item for themselves, the point of the gift closet is to stash away really cool gifts for other people. It teaches them a great lesson to be able to say, "I know you'd love that too, but it will be more special for Julie if we just buy it for her birthday!" The gift closet is about always finding a bargain and having gifts on hand at any given moment, but more importantly, it is about teaching our kids that they can fall in love with fun gifts and be excited about giving those things to their friends instead of having them for themselves.

3. Allow gift giving to be fun. Keep your eyes open for discounted gift bags, ribbon, wrapping paper, etc. Encourage your children to put together the gift themselves. Even if we weren't with mom when she bought things for the gift closet, we always knew what was in there! For me, one of the most fun parts of the process was going into the gift closet and picking out two or three things to put together in a package. Even if it was an odd mix like: snow gloves, lip gloss, and a hello kitty t-shirt, I took great pride in putting together funky gifts and my friends never knew the difference! Giving our children freedom to be creative in the gift-giving process allows them to put their own stamp of approval on the gift and feel like it's truly their own creation.

4. Finally, it's never too late for you to become a great gift-giver. This doesn't mean you spend a lot of money or stress yourself out over finding the perfect gift. There is NOTHING more unattractive about a gift than a giver who tells you her grief over finding the gift, her annoyance, her mall induced headaches, or someone who throws in the occasional, "Well, he better like it. It cost a fortune." Yuck. It's better to give a gift card or a wad of cash than to be in a foul frenzy over buying presents. That's not what I mean!

What I mean is this, as moms and dads- as humans- it's never too late to begin to take joy in other people and what they love. So ask yourself, when is the last time I really listened to my husband and picked up on something he is enjoying and bought him a gift? When is the last time my kids came home from school and I picked up their favorite _______ just because? Go through Target. You don't even have to buy anything, but mentally make the trip about other people and not about yourself! Hard to do, I know!

It's never too late to model what it means to be excited to love on someone else and to show our children how that translates into gift giving ... whether that's a homemade card, a home cooked meal, a fun gift for a friend, or a surprise for dad/mom. Teaching our kids to take joy in bringing joy to others is a priceless gift!

On that note, I thought I'd share my latest purchases for the 'gift closet' that I hope Annie will fall in love with one day. These are ALL from Target and they are all currently 75% off... so go stock up for your gift closet and let the kids do the buying!

Bag of Balls: $5.08

Rake: .75 cents

Lion Bubble Blower: $2.24

I bought one bag of balls for Annie and one for the gift closet. Annie is in LOVE with her $10 ball pit! Summer pools are on sale for $5. Balls are $5. This is the greatest idea I've had in a long time!

The red clearance stickers that I have so grown to love at Target!

Bright Pink Sand Wagon: $2.87.

It comes with a shovel, sand pale, and a few other gadgets. Annie has been pulling it around the house, with her balls in it, all night.

(Another idea: Buy up these blue and pink wagons and use them for your next baby shower gift! Stuff them with baby diapers or teddy bears and use them as a decoration or a gift bag!)

Penwheels: .24 cents.

Party favors or fake flowers for your little girl. You can even chop these penwheels off their sticks, tie string through the middle and use a coat hanger to create your own sparkly mobile. For 24. cents there are about 24 million things you can do with these things!

Hope these ideas have helped. Happy Gift Giving.

Not dead, but barely alive.

Don't worry, I'm not dead.

And if I do die (I think about these things which is weird, I know) I have a contingency plan for letting you all know. I hate to make light of it, but you will simply get an e-vite to come to my life celebration party. If such an email arrives, please don't be sad, just bring a cupcake and have a party and sprinkle me all around the country in my favorite places! I expect my memorial service to be a party with lots and lots of food, a gospel choir, a slide show with pictures (please, only put cute pictures of me in this slide show), cupcakes, and a few people can talk... hopefully they will say that I loved them well with a love that was never my own. It's going to be a really fun party. Everyone gets a bean burrito on the way into the service and a cupcake on the way out. I expect a pot luck dinner afterwords that puts a Baptist church to shame. And then a dance party! I expect a few tears... but mostly smiles and stories. Tell good stories. (Like the time we got stuck in the snow on the top of the mountain and you peed your snow pants because we were laughing so hard. Remember that, Brandi?)

And, most importantly, on the way out, I want to be handed out as a party favor.

I'm being serious.

In cute little purple silk sachets.

And then I want everyone who takes a little piece of me to bring me to one of the most beautiful places they know and let me go there. And don't tell anyone, but someone should definitely sprinkle some of my ashes in my favorite Mexican food restaurant, Ninfas. And my favorite coffee shop. And my favorite cupcake joint. And maybe leave a little bit of me up at my church. And, creepy, but maybe in one of Annie's teddy bears. And give some of me to my mom. She will probably set me in the windowsill or in the prayer garden by her little stone saints. My sister Melissa will probably keep me around somewhere and talk to me. Maybe Sarah will plant me in her garden. My dad? Well, he won't think this is funny or even proper to talk about. But I think he will probably bring me on a hiking trip and leave me there. And Ryan... well, we've had this conversation, to which he replies,

"You do not get to plan your own funeral and we are NOT handing you out as a party favor. You are really, really weird Jen."

He doesn't like to think about the fact that I might die sooner than later.

I don't like thinking about it either. But it's there. It hovers. It's a real possibility. So I want to make it easy on everyone. I want a party. And I want it to be sponsored by Sprinkles Cupcakes and I'd like for there to be really good music for the after party. Toby Mac? What What! Yes! That's perfect! And then I want my sister to teach a yoga class so everyone can calm down and finally learn how to stretch properly... and then everyone can head home.

And now I have to stop and ask myself... what in the world are you talking about Jen???

Here's the deal:

I started this blog by saying I'm not dead. I have been quiet for over a week now and I didn't want you to be worried. So I started with saying I'm not dead. But now that we have cleared that up, I can move on.

I saw a real live water moccasin swim right past my feet yesterday morning and I almost peed my pants.

Church Camp

I'm at church camp.

I am in Leakey, Texas.

Population: 387.

What an unfortunate name for a blip on the map.

Leakey.

Makes me think of a moldy roof or those spas in New York that are puttin leaches on people to eat away their nasty dead skin. Or leaky gut syndrome. Look it up. It's real and it's unfortunate as well.

Leakey, Texas.

I've been a Texan since the third grade and have never heard of this place. And with good cause. It is both a hidden treasure and a modernists worst nightmare.

No coffee shops. No Internet. And the only cell reception I can get is down by the river... with the water moccasin who almost made me pee my pants.

There are bugs in my camp room. Ryan killed a spider crawling above Annie's bed last night and I have single handedly expelled twenty bugs back into the wilderness. I woke up from a nap the first day covered in mosquito bites; there was one sucking my blood as I came to.

It's been in the high 90's here and we are playing OUTSIDE. Never have I loathed the outdoors the way I have loathed them this week. Who decides that playing outside in the middle of July in Texas is a good idea? It's cruel and unusual punishment. That's the nightmare part.

The hidden treasure part? The kids. They are great kids. The hometown restaurants that have saved us from the camp's cafeteria food. The pecan groves and the beautiful Texas Hill Country houses that back up to the river. The river that's fed by twenty or so natural springs. It's crystal clear and as cold as water flowing right out of the Rockies. It's full of catfish, and I've seen a five deer come to the banks of the river to drink early in the morning.

Poor deer. I hear the echo of rifle shots booming in the thicket and I want to hide them. Dress them up like horses or ponies. I want to tell them to go home a different way. Like the wise men tell Mary to bring Jesus home a different way. I want to warn them. But they scamper off to their deaths and this ruins the beautiful moment I am sharing with them.

Listen, while we are talking about the woes of camp, could we make a universal decision that all the Baptist camps out there that end with "baptist ENCAMPMENT" be changed to something that sounds a little less prison-like? What about just 'Baptist Camp' or 'Baptist Church Camp' or "Really Bad food and Mosquito's- Turn Here?" Every time I pull into an encampment, I think I might as well turn over my wallet and get ready for my strip search. And don't even think about leaving at night time, cause they got the old man volunteer shutting the gate by 9:00 pm.

Update

I am not at church camp anymore. I am home. And thank God because on the final night of camp Ryan Gregg pulled down his covers to get into bed and a great big ole' huge cockroach came scampering out of the sheets.

If I had known this, I would've faked an illness, and driven home.

I failed to mention that the first night we arrived to camp, I had a break down. I begged Ryan to let us go find a bed and breakfast.

We slinked out of camp without even telling the guys.

Let me back track.

The week before we had six flights. That's a lot with a 15 month old.

At one point we flew into Minneapolis, played in Wilmer, Minnesota, and then drove to South Dakota. Drove. Nine hours. With a 15 month old who has just flown twice and spent the day outside with babysitters she had never seen before.

We are driving and somewhere, in the midst of cornfields, the road in front of us disappears into dirt and tractors. The guys turned around and went back to the nearest city... but not my dear, sweet, adventurous husband. He took this as a sign that we should drive through the gravel roads that go through the cornfields. And for a little over an hour, we drove through bumpy, gravel roads weaving in and out of cornfields pretending to chase tornado's. Men.

We played at Hills Alive festival in South Dakota (the perfect family vacation for next summer if I do say so myself) and flew home Sunday night. Landed at 8 pm. Home by 9 pm. And had to leave Monday morning at 9 am.

This gave me about twelve hours to bath the smelly child, do four loads of laundry, repack our suitcases, and shift gears from playing for festivals in civilization to going to camp in a city with a population of 300. That's right. The number gets smaller each time. There is no way there are more than 300 people in that place.

But I'm home? Did I say that? Did I tell you we finished camp yesterday morning and drove six hours to get back home and that I didn't change Annie's diaper the entire time?

Did I mention that I fed her a dinner of champions... guilty that all week long I stuffed her face with crackers and bread and macaroni and very little fruit; I fed her every fruit in the fruit family for dinner last night. And some cheese. And bread with olive oil. And a vanilla wafer. And two whole sippy cups full of apple juice. And I am telling you each food because when someone pukes and the chunks are in your hair and dripping down your arms you very quickly remember each and every food in slow motion. You smell, in a rancid torrent of nastiness, each distinct fruit, and you wonder, why Lord? Why did I give her dinner in the first place? Why?

Annie threw up all night last night. We changed her sheets three times. There are huge strawberry-blueberry fruit stains in her carpet now. I bathed her in the dark at 2:30 am and 3:30 am while Ryan disinfected and started laundry and lit candles and picked chunks of food out of the carpet.

I laid her on my chest where she threw up a third time around 4:00 a.m.

And this morning?

Well, she woke up next to me on the couch at 7:00 a.m. Sits straight up. Eyes still closed. Hair splayed all over the place. And with vomit breath she says...

"Momma. Booberry."

Blueberry? She slid off the couch and walked, eyes half open, straight to the kitchen.

I've given birth to and raised a small food monster.

It's 8:26 am on Saturday morning.

I have the week off.

I need a pedicure and a massage and a babysitter and a date night.

Sorry Dave Ramsey... the budget... the very, very small budget, cannot be maintained this week. I am in recovery mode. Recovery from roaches and cornfields and puke and spiders and water moccasins and cannot afford any guilt over using money from savings or credit cards or wherever it must come from... I can't! So stop staring at me! I feel your eyes!

I am in recovery. Recovering.

Here's to being home and not being dead and not being thrown up on anymore and blowing the little money I have saved...