Craigslist, Cops and Moms...

Let me start this post off by saying I don't have much experience with the police.  I have been pulled over, different times, but never receive any tickets.  Well, actually I have... on 23rd in front of OCU... a public warning to all OKCers, never go 2 miles of the limit on 23rd between Penn and Classen, they are vicious. You're welcome.

Back to my story.  Okay.

It's not every day that I get a call from my friend Jenn... wait... yes, she does in fact call me most days... BUT this day hot summery day was different.

"Yeessss..." I said, as I answered my cell.


"What are you doing?  I have a favor to ask you.  Feel completely free to say NO, I mean, if you have things to do... "


"What is the favor?  I am intrigued.  Things?  If things include bottoms to wipe and mouths to feed, um, they can wait!" I answered.


"I have to meet someone that bought something from me off of Craigslist, will you come so I don't get murdered?"


Since I couldn't let my poor friend Jenn venture into the hands of a cereal killer alone, I told her to come on over.  We loaded my mini-van up with our brood of children and headed off.  We figured if the dude was in fact a creep, we could just turn the DVD off, throw M&M's out the windows and unleash the kids on him... he wouldn't stand a chance, believe me.


As I am pulling our loaded down minivan out of the driveway I ask, "So, where are we meeting this person?"


"At the fair grounds, I guess there is a horse show there today.  I am hoping he's a cowboy or something.  If he's not, I am sure a cowboy will rescue us if we need him to." 


(And this is why she is my friend... such sensible logic!!  I totally get her!)


So, off we drive.  As I cruise down the boulevard to the main entrance of the fair grounds, she tells me we are looking for a "black and white ford sedan".  I start gong through my (very limited) mental catalogue of cars, and the only "black and white" cars I can picture are those driven by law enforcement.

Then, I say, "It would be so funny if we were meeting a police man." 


"Okay, pull right here, in front of this main building" Jenn says, not paying much attention to my side remarks.


We parked the car on the curbside of the main building, in the middle of horse trailers, men with chaps and kids decked in every version of camo your heart desires.  "Well, this isn't a parking place, but I feel super safe."   


As Jenn is looking down texting the incoming consumer, she says, "Oh, okay, he's almost here."


"Jenn look!!!!" I point, as a cop car makes a U at the stop sign in front of us.  "IT. IS. A. COP!!!  Oh my gosh!!?..... WHAT ARE YOU SELLING HIM!?!?!" 


In a frantic voice she snaps back, "A video game!"


"I mean, should I drive off?  He is parking behind us, Jenn.  I can't believe you sold something to a cop on Craigslist.  Are you totally sure you are not selling him drugs?  IS THIS A BUST!?!  ARE WE GOING TO JAIL?!"


"NO!! I promise, I didn't know he was a cop.  I am just selling him some games for the wii?!" 


All of a sudden I am eye to eye with the clean shaven mid-thirties policeman.  After the awkward seconds of eye contact, he taps on my window with the bend of his middle finger, as if to say..."so, are you going to roll down the window".

I fumble around like a fool to find the button to roll my window down.  Again, I just awkwardly stare and smile, and I am sure Jenn if doing the same thing behind me, but I am unable to turn my head around because my body is completely frozen with fear, then without thinking, I blurt out, again in complete awkwardness...  (lots and lots of awkwardness is occurring, just so you know)


"ARE WE ILLEGAL?!" 


The policeman laughs and says, "No, are you the one selling the video games?" 


"Um, yea, um, not me, no... I mean, my friend Jenn here..." then I just turn and point.


Finally, Jenn gets out of my car, pops open the back hatch and unloads the goods.  I watch the entire transaction in my rearview mirror, not completely convinced I am free of jail time from this incident.


Jenn walks back to the car and get's in.  I drive off and never look back... trying my best not to speed, but doing my best to fly out of there without an indictment!!


"JENNN... OH. MY. WORD.  I cannot believe that happened!!"


"I am in shock," she said, "The only thing I worry about, is now he will know all the details of my wii fit profile... bummer" 


So, friends, the moral of this story... well, actually "morals"... are:

1: Policeman are real people!!  J/K but seriously they might be buying your items off of Craigslist!! 

2: Mother's will do just about anything to get out of the house, including lucrative unsafe adventures with friends who call and ask them.  



Thanks for reading friends!!

Bananas in Bed

For your entertainment only....


11:00 PM... I climb in my bed donning my husband's hoodie, ski socks, sweat pants, and double fisting huge piles of kleenex. Denver is already in bed asleep, snoring in fact.  I lie my head down, cozy into my memory foam pillow, which was stiff from my cold north facing bedroom.   My eyelids touch for 2.3 seconds and I hear crying from Dutchy's room.

11:20 PM... Husband gets up and tries to get baby back to sleep... all is quiet for moments before he is laid back into his bed and crying commences yet again.

"What's wrong with him?", I say.

"I don't know", Denver says.

"I guess he will go back to sleep eventually", I say.

11:58 PM Barbaric scream comes from boys room... Daxx wakes up due to excessive crying and pillaging from the ravage toddler, and we hear pitter patter of feet coming toward our room for refuge... I throw back the covers and Daxx crawls into bed, and then we all three lay there and listen to the restless Dutchy-doo....

12:20 AM... One hour of awakeness has passed... I am about to loose my mind.  All I want is sleep.  I have chills... my nose is dripping like the kitchen faucet I kept trickling to prevent freezing the night before last.   Two boney feet shove through my back and elbows fly into my face.

1:00 AM... Dutchy is still not asleep, and has reached maximum cry capacity... I muster my feverish body out of bed and march down the hallway.  I reach in to pick Dutch up and I realize there is something gooey and sticky all over his bed, and also throughout his hair.  Immidiatly, I empathize with the poor fella.  He must of thrown up... from crying.  Go ahead and call me the worst mother on the planet. After I get him to sleep, I have decided to walk in the subzero temps to the police department and turn myself in for child neglet... I let him cry until he threw up... pooooor guy.  So, I rock him.  And he stares... for hours... at me... and never...closes... his eyes....



Finally I ask, "Do you want to go back to bed?"

"Yes", he nods.



So to bed he goes, and to bed I go... only to find my bed taken over by the littles and Denver zonked out in the pink bunk bed down the hall.



I turn and hobble around to find Denver and say...

"So Dutch threw up, and I am a horrible mom.  I can't believe I let him cry until he threw up.  I feel so bad."

"No.  He didn't throw up", he says.

"Yes.  His hair was crusted to his head, it was all over his sheets... I had to change them, " I say.

"It was a banana", he says.

"WHAT?! A banana?", I say.

"Yes.  I put him to bed with a banana", he says.

"Why?!  Why would you put a 18 month old to bed with a banana?", I say.  "Are you crazy?"

"The other two wanted a banana, so I had to give him one too", he says.

"Well, I am glad he is alive and I guess that news makes me a good Mother again, thank you!", I say. 



Welcome to my reality.  And, please, never put your 18 month old to bed with a banana, not only is it a choking hazard, it creates an insane mess...overnight the banana-mush solidifies into a cement like substance that can only be removed by soaking baby for 1.5 hours in a hot bath.     

Thanks for reading friends :))

2014 The Year of Surrender

"O unbelieving generation," Jesus replied, "how long shall I stay with you? How long shall I put up with you? Bring the boy to me." .... Mark 9:19


O unbelieving generation, Jesus said...


O unbelieving generation


O unbelieving woman


As I stood tall on the second row this Sunday, the smooth wood of the pew beneath my clinched fingers, I looked up as the towering ceiling seemed never to end and the stain glassed light beamed down on the alter.  Behind me, together, voices sang in a slow low tone the familiar words, "all to Jesus I surrender", as if our emaciated souls were being dragged to the cross, starving and unable to run.


Why!?!  Why aren't we running to the alter.

O unbelieving woman

Why do I stand paralyzed in the front of the sanctuary and I don't run to my Jesus, arms open, tears flowing?!

O unbelieving woman

Why don't I come to you abandoned and free, instead of paralyzed with shame and pride.

O unbelieving woman


O Jesus, wake me up,  stand me up, and with my hands up, truly, then I can surrender all!!!!!!


Stir within this unbelieving woman.  Stir within me.  Set the spark in my heart afire.... send it forth Lord.


For 2014, all to you I do surrender, God.  I am not sure what that looks like; in the same breath I breath in fear and excitement, but my hope lies in you.

When Jesus has Left the Manger

My Christmas tree is propped in the corner of my living room, tilted a little to the right.  Ornaments litter the top half of the tree while the bottom half sits bare from the hands of little thieves.  (Eh-hmm... specifically, my 1 year old, Dutchy!)  Atop my tree, all prickly and dry, sits a glittery white star, iridescent and old; jewels missing and wires bent.

We have a Christmas tree.  We have stockings.  I have even perched a jolly stuffed Santa on my mantle, clinging tightly to painted piece of wood which reads, "Believe in Santa".  And, then, to my left sits a plastic manger, perfect for teensy sticky hands to touch and hold.  Jesus is missing though.  He has been lifted from the stable and placed amongst the other toys, somewhere, unknown.  I silently laugh as I say to myself..."Attention Everyone: JESUS HAS LEFT THE MANGER!"

But then, I sit here, in my living room, looking at my crooked, half decorated tree and the empty manger, and then to my rosy-cheeked Santa, wondering to myself if this is the praise my God deserves as I celebrate the coming of his one and only son.  Maybe Jesus leaving my smudgy manger wasn't a bad thing... maybe he left on purpose... and maybe, that is what I need.  

The fact is that this holiday, the plastic baby Jesus wrapped in a stark white blanket, and surrounded by golden piles of lush soft hay is not who I seek.

This year, I need the real Jesus to show up.  My family has experienced crisis.  Since the week after thanksgiving, I have had a close family member in the hospital, fighting to regain his life.  I am looking for a miracle this Christmas, the type of miracle that only Jesus himself can accomplish.

The Jesus I am looking for does not fit in the plastic manger on my in-table, and he will not be sliding down my chimney on December 24 in the form of a Saint named Nicholas.  Nope.  And, also, no light display can compare to the glory of the Jesus I pursue.

The power of my Jesus totally eclipses this other "stuff"... this "stuff" that Christmas has become.  God did not send Jesus Christ to this earth in the form of a tiny baby, so that I could give my child a Star Wars action figure this Christmas.  For me to believe this and perpetuate this belief is ridiculous and boils down to blasphemy.

Lord, this Christmas am I like Rachel, in the book of Genesis, who hides her father's idols in the bags of her saddle...clinging so tightly to tradition that I am unable to reach for Jesus?!  I pray not.

Jesus Christ came in the form of an innocent baby, to break the curse of sin and death, and give me HOPE.  A HOPE THAT THRILLS MY WEARY AND DEFEATED HEART....

Hope for the one who is fighting to get his life back, hope for the Mother who has lost her son, hope for widow and the fatherless, and hope for the poor and the meek.  Nothing about Jesus's life represented abundance, or wealth, or glitter and tinsel, or fame and fortune... Jesus's message was about becoming less, expecting nothing, and recognizing the FREE act of faith.   How then friend did Satan twist such a beautiful story, with a lowly message into a celebration causing debt, guilt and heartache?  (<-- That's for another post...)

This Christmas I need Jesus.

I come to him on my knees, touching his garment of healing for my friend with cancer... I come before him carrying my dear loved one pleading ... I come to him afraid, and yet believing... I come to him at the end of my rope, seeking hope and trusting in his promise.


I look at the empty manger, and I am thankful; more than thankful... I REJOICE.  I am eternally grateful for the gift of Jesus Christ, but friends HIS gift lies beyond the stable.... I need him to walk the earth, to die, to be resurrected and to sit by the father and be my intercessor to the most Holy God.

Isaiah 9:6 

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the 

government will be on his shoulders. 

And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, 

Mighty God, 

Everlasting Father, 

Prince of Peace.

Thanks for reading, friend.



Romans 10:9- If you declare with your mouth, "Jesus is Lord," and believe in your heart that God raised him from the dead, you will be saved.

My Daughter and her Dolls.... A Letter About Motherhood.

My daughter is 3.  Everyday, all day, she sits at my feet and begs me to play "babies" with her.  

"After breakfast will you play babies with me, Mommy?"  

"Mom, can you play babies with me after Daniel Tiger?"

"When you are done going potty, will you be the Daddy... and then I will be the Mommy?" 

I can't shake this little girl... she is relentless.  No matter what my excuse, she has a come back that I cannot turn down.  Between the sink full of dishes, the exploding dirty diapers, and running from very vicious laundry monsters, who the heck would willingly "PLAY" house!!!!  Eeeekk... can't I get a break, even in imaginary land?  What about playing dress up, or hair stylist, or doctor?!?!

But, alas, the twinkle in her eye pierces my little heart and all of a sudden my to-do list shrivels up and the windex falls from my hand and I am heading to her room and I am on the floor feeding 16 babies oatmeal for breakfast.  

As I am sitting there in a floor full of babies, I realize something....Playing babies is nothing like real life at all.... what was I dreading???? This is a dream!!!  No crying, no whining and a bunch of clean babies with smiles plastered to their faces (literally) grinning back at me!!  

As I watch my little girl tend to her tiny orphanage of unclothed babes I laughed.  If she only knew what a REAL baby was like... (muhahaha)

Dear Zadie, 

Did you know that... 

1: Real babies cannot be picked up by their heads and carried around. 

While I know this is a viable solution for transporting tiny plastic humans, please do not resort to this tactic in real life.  Your baby will probably suffer long term brain damage and hopefully someone will call the authorities on you.  Shame, shame.

2: Real babies take more than 1 bite.

I realize that as you are feeding your babes lunch, they only require one quick and easy bite of food for an entire meal... wellllll not so much with real babies.  Not only do they require more than 1 bite of food, it also requires the fine art of getting the food into the babies mouth.  This will at times, require funny noises, silly faces and throwing all your dignity out the window.  ... Yea, and I am not sure when that dignity returns. 

3: Real bottles don't refill themselves. 

If someone wants to make millions and millions, possibly trillions, of dollars, make a real bottle that fills itself back up with milk... or orange juice... (or a little Benadryl)... because I know a trillion moms who would buy it, and then kiss your feet as they throw wads of cash in your face.  Yes.  Someone, please, invent this. ( I swear I will be refilling bottles and sippy cups until they are in college.)

4: Real babies, they don't stay where you put them. 

I know it is fun to line up all 24 of your babies to go to sleep.... it must be, I can't imagine.  See, I have been fighting this very fight for 6 years now... trying to lay a baby in one single place and then be able to shut off the lights and return in the morning.  Yea... it has never turned out like I plan.  I probably would have 24 kids if I didn't have to argue with a brick wall to get them to stay in their bed at bedtime.... and then, to wake up without elbows and toes in my face the next morning, that would be nice too.  

5: Real babies cry... they cry a lot.  

Out of all your baby dolls, one of them cries.  That one baby has a paci sewed to her chest.  When you put the paci in said baby's mouth, the crying ceases and cooing commences.  Well.  Wouldn't that be nice.  (No, not sewing a paci to a babies chest... but that would be ah-mazing too!)  A house full of babies that didn't cry, not even one little wince... yummmmm, I could just eat all those imaginary babies up with a spoon.  I love them already and they don't even exist. 

You know what, Zadie.  I was there too.  I played babies when I was three...and then a long time after that... and I loved it.  I loved picking out their little outfits and brushing their hair.  I loved being their mommy then.... but now... I reaaallly love being your Mommy today.  You know why?  Because...  

Real Mommies get REAL hugs and kisses.

Real Mommies get to watch squirmy little boys drift off to sleep after hours of rocking, back and forth, back and forth. 

Real Mommies get to listen to their child sound out their first words and paint their first pictures. 

Real Mommies laugh as they watch their babies smear themselves with spaghetti for 20 minutes at dinner and then spend the rest of the evening cleaning it up. 

Real Mommies cry big huge crocodile tears as their teensy little baby walks through the halls to kindergarten. 

Real Mommies can kiss boo-boos away with magical superpowers. 

And when Real Mommies are having the very worst days, they get to hear small voices say"I love you", which makes everything worth it. 

Keep rocking those little dolls, sweet girl.  Pick them up by the head as often as you want, and enjoy those silent cries and imaginary bellies needing food.... but know that none of the luxuries your wittle-fake-babies offer compares to the beauty that real motherhood has ahead.  

Oh, and there will be crying, lots of crying.  (By both baby and Mommy...) 

Never say I didn't warn you.

But, the sweetness brings so much more joy.  

Thanks for Reading, friends.