Author: lardcupcakes

I love my children.

I would give my life for them.

But, I don’t always want to share with them.

Sometimes it’s for completely selfish reasons, and other times it’s to create boundaries and acknowledge everything isn’t theirs.

My morning time is one of those moments.

It’s sacred.

I use this time to exercise for anxiety relief, recharge, pray, and overall inwardly reconnect alone before the whole house wakes for the day.

And when this time is interrupted, it can just about wreck my day.

Enter children.

“Mom, can I exercise with you?” Sprite asks.

“Honey, I get up really early to exercise. I don’t think its wise for you to wake at that hour and exercise with me.”

Cue downcast face.

Cue weighty mom guilt.

“But, mom, I really just want to spend some extra time with you.”

Cue additional mom guilt.

I started to reply with no again, then I stopped.

“I tell you what? You can wake up early once a week and exercise with me. Deal?”

Sprite and Tempest then began to argue over wanting their personal, unshared special morning with me.

“Ok, both of you will have their designated day. But, if I notice a negative impact on your behavior, then we wait a while before we try again.”

We struck a deal.

I’m not gonna lie, I was really reluctant.

I did NOT want to give up nor share my morning time.

But, let me tell you, it’s been awesome.

After a couple of weeks searching for an exercise regime each kiddo enjoyed, we finally hit a groove.

Instead of us just sharing an exercise space, we also shared an exercise routine.

But, who had to change and adjust the most?

Me.

Not only did I have to change my attitude, but I also had to adjust my exercise routine.

By that I mean, I had to let go.

Release some control and embrace change.

My oldest two enjoyed completely different routines.

Sprite loves yoga.

It’s a slower pace, strength building, and calming.

It teaches her to love her strong, hard-working body as we transition from hold to hold.

It’s empowering.

She really enjoyed the following video. It wasn’t too kid-ish for my almost tween.

Tempest loves a busy, fast-paced exercise program.

I found one where you exercise with your stuffed animal on Prime Video.

So, here I am at 6:00 a.m. throwing a Minnie Mouse plush up in the air and catching it, and completing dance moves that probably make me look like a complete idiot.

But, it incited lots of giggling and created a memory.

She really enjoyed the video Go with YoYo: https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=eUUW3BKg0vo

Although this venture began with a reluctant attitude, its actually been a really great connecting opportunity for myself and my two oldest.

Also, Tempest thinks yoga is dumb.

I saw a Facebook post the other day of someone commenting about their inability to locate scissors, knowing full well plenty were in their home.

It made me think of my husband’s same complaint.

Any time he needs scissors, they are always missing.

Need to open an amazon box? Too bad.

Need to open a bag of cereal? Sorry.

Need to open any package requiring some sharp assistance? Oh well.

We’ve used all kinds of alternatives when the scissors are missing.

Forks.

Butter knives.

Pens.

Fingernail clippers.

Bobby pins.

Yeah, we’ve used them all.

But what we really needed were some blankin’ scissors.

So, Brent invented a contraption.

We have a mail and key holder in our kitchen, and in the bucket usually stores a pair of scissors.

To prevent their constant disappearing act, he tethered a pair to the key hooks.

It’s length only reaches to the trash can, a mere few inches away.

That’s it.

It’s super annoying, but completely genius.

Now, whenever we’re in need, they are always reachable.

The above picture is Sprite trying to open a bag of cereal and utilizing the newly tethered scissors.

She ended up spinning around trying to find the best angle to cut open the bag, and just shy of clothes lined herself when the tether length abruptly ended.

I make fun of him all the time about this “fix.”

But, like I said, it is undeniably genius.

If only other things could be tethered…

Maybe it’s a house full of girls.

Or maybe it’s lipstick.

Ok, it’s lipstick.

It’s a daily essential around here.

All my girls love it.

Especially, Banshee.

She’s watched her sisters apply endless amounts of lipstick since her birth.

So, her love of it began early.

Even at 18 months she was testing her lipstick application ability.

She practically shoved the tube up her nose, and gave it a good smear.

I wish I would have snagged a photo of her forearms – they were streaked with remnants.

This next photo is about a year later.

Her application improved slightly.

It’s less smeared, and she’s found her bottom “lip”.

About the same age, she covered her face in colorstay lipstick.

The label colorstay is well earned.

It stayed on for two days.

I had to stop scrubbing before I really irritated her skin.

And, looky here.

She now has more defined lines on and around both lips.

Steady improvement.

Ah, yes.

In this one, I left my make-up within reach and she decided to take it for a spin.

But, her lipstick application improved dramatically.

Considering this is only a couple of months following the previous photo.

Oh yeah, lets not forget an additional time she smeared her face with colorstay lipstick and required days for complete removal.

This beauty below is wearing a lipstick I purchased online in a color unknowingly too dark for my skin tone.

So, I wonderfully passed it on.

She makes me think of the queen of hearts from the live action movie, Alice in Wonderland.

Here we go, not only did she want to pose for a picture with her baby sister, she also made sure to look her best with lipstick.

If you look at her hand, you can see smears from her wiping it off from a previous application.

Just a few months ago, banshee wanted to put on a pretty dress and dazzle it up with some shiny, red lipstick.

She applied it all by herself.

This time, only on the lips and less smearing.

Question.

You know what’s scarier than a haunted house?

Leaving your lipstick application to your three year old.

Feeling it smear across my lips made me so nervous.

But, can you see that look of joy on her face?

Worth it.

Don’t forget the obligatory duck face selfie.

I call this look, why so serious?

Ah, yes.

Another good one.

I couldn’t even remember where she located this lipstick.

She decorated her entire face, arm, and car seat.

Seriously, though.

This kid has it going on.

She applies lipstick like a boss.

And we should all be jealous.

I think we can all agree 2020 has been absolutely hellacious.

In addition to a pandemic, social injustice, extensive unemployment, and more, it’s also an election year.

This particular election holds so much weight, and has been a cause for so much division and dissension among political parties, friendships, and family.

And, as I have watched our country in constant upheaval, and experienced some direct effects of these changes, I have been heavily reminded of the one who doesn’t change:

Our God.

He is steady.

“Jesus Christ is the same yesterday
and today and forever.”

Hebrews 13:8

Him and His will are perfect.

“As for God, His way is blameless;
The word of the Lord is tested;
He is a shield to all who take refuge in Him.”

2 Samuel 22:31

I ask you to remember these as the votes are cast, counted, and announced.

God has this.

“The Lord himself goes before you and will be with you; he will never leave you nor forsake you. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged.”

Deuteronomy 31:8

Rest on that.

Yesterday, we took a homeschool community field trip to a nearby pumpkin patch.

Unfortunately, due to impending rain, the tractor ride to the pumpkin patch was cancelled, which allowed us additional time for the on-site extra festivities such as giant pipe rollers, playground, rock box, baby animals, and a corn maze.

Side note: I don’t do corn mazes. I found myself punching through the walls of a corn maze like the hulk the last time I attempted to enjoy this autumn past time.

So, while we’re hanging outside, Brent and Sprite decide to conquer the corn maze.

Off they go, and I happily stay and tend to the other children.

I discovered at this time, I forgot my phone in the van.

After what feels like a long time, and having no way to check on them, I begin scanning the grounds.

After a few minutes, I finally see Sprite coming out of the corn maze with some of her friends.

But, I don’t see Brent.

A few minutes later he strolls out.

Perfect.

We play a little while longer then begin our short trek back to the van.

Upon arriving, I notice my phone and pick it up.

57 MISSED MESSAGES.

57!

All from Brent!

Who was with me the entire time!

What the heck happened?

Well, like I said, I cant take him anywhere.

The 57 messages he sent me over a 45 minute period of time explain this truth.

He can just be ridiculous sometimes.

I can just picture his smirk as he typed knowing I’d come upon them later.

This isn’t the first time either.

He just had a leg up on me because my phone wasn’t nearby to interrupt the insanity.

His only regret: not taking a Blair witch style selfie video running through the maze.

I guarantee you next year he will produce one.

About a year ago, I asked my friend and hair stylist, Felicia, to train me in the ways of hair cutting so I could take over the multiple shape ups my husband needs each year (we were cutting back expenses with the Dave Ramsey plan).

She did an amazing job patiently teaching me to properly navigate hair, clippers, guards, and scissor cutting.

My first assisted attempt was a success.

After this, we had months of me single handedly taking over as barber with little to no problem and becoming increasingly comfortable with all the facets of home hair cutting.

Then…a mishap occurred.

I just laid Torpedo down for her morning nap, so Brent situated himself in a chair with a towel around his neck and I gathered all the items.

I grabbed the clippers, set aside the no.8 and no.6 guards, and stepped behind him.

I intended to go ahead and get a start on a neckline.

But, for some reason I took the clippers and went straight up the back of his head.

Did you catch that a couple of lines up?

I set aside the needed guards, I didn’t actually put them on the clippers.

So, instead of going up his hair with a 6, it was a zero.

ZERO.

Only when I removed the clippers to place them for a second run, I noticed what happened.

Oh. My. Goodness.

I freaked out.

My hand went to my mouth in a realization of horror and a gasp escaped my lips.

How the H-E-double-hockey sticks will I fix that?!

“Babe, I did something really bad!”

“What?”

“I went straight up your hair, except I didn’t place a guard before I did so.”

“Ok.”

“No, it’s bad. Here, let me take a picture.”

*takes and shows said picture*

“Ok, well, want to just buzz the rest?”

“Um, no. I’m so sorry.”

I apologized repeatedly.

I thought, would my friend make a house call? Or maybe a FaceTime fix-it walk through? Could I maybe just not cut the rest of his hair and do a type of back of the head comb-over?

I started shaking I couldn’t believe it.

So, I stopped and took a breath.

I decided the best thing was to bring the “new” neckline up to the top of the mishap.

As you can see below, it was WAY up there.

His hair made me think of a monk or a friar.

My neighbor even asked my husband if he could have some mead.

Of course, like any amazing wife would do, I took a selfie of this historical mishap of epic proportions.

After I stared at his hair (for a very long time) and googled all the ways to fix it, I had an idea.

A fade.

But, I was terrified to try.

I really didn’t want to create a greater problem.

And, I was already appreciative of his okayness with his hair.

I legit would have lost my ever loving mind.

I mean, I was prepared to pack my bags.

After dinner I said I couldn’t take it anymore and I needed to try and remedy it.

I reached out to Felicia with a picture, and asked for help.

And, you know it’s special when your hair stylist double exclaims the picture.

She told me what to do.

So, I gave it my best shot.

His hair hasn’t been that short since, well ever.

But, overall, I was pretty pleased with my attempt to fade the hair error.

And, I have now used all the clip numbers in the set.

Even the 1/2 one.

Let just say, my husband is amazing.

He didn’t scold me.

He didn’t stomp around.

He told me it was okay. That it was just hair.

I am so grateful for his kindness and love for me that he could shrug it off AND let me mess with it again later to fix the original problem.

Seriously.

That’s love.

Also, if your itching for a monk or friar hair cut, I’m your gal.

Just know it may take a bit to snag an appointment.

My hair skill is in high demand.

Cue me doing the daily routine of clearing the kitchen table of unused cups, drawings, and other non-table items with an 8 month old on my hip.

As I am working one-handed, my eldest child, Sprite, begins struggling to open a container.

Upon further observation, I realize it’s a prescription bottle.

“Um, excuse me, what are you doing with that?”

“It’s not medicine, it’s filled with seeds that I got from Mr. T.”

He’s our neighbor who re-uses an assortment of items for his and Sprite’s many inventive ideas.

“Um, ok.”

I turn around to continue the mundane task of cleaning with children.

As I am ridding my mind of all the dangers a prescription bottle could hold, Sprite returns with a request.

“I need help!”

“Ok, what do you need help with?”

“I can’t open this bottle. You take a lot of medicine, can you open it for me?”

*a look of confusion crosses my face followed by an appalled yet entertained smile*

“Um, ok.”

I open the bottle.

*I think, I don’t take that much medicine. But, me opening this bottle so swiftly further supports the announcement of my pill popping probability*

I start snickering.

She starts giggling.

We then transition into a full roar.

Just so you know, my daily pill regimen consists of thyroid medicine (early in the morning when no one else is awake).

And, a nightly probiotic.

That’s it.

It’s a huge problem all these pills.

So, unbeknownst to me, I have a problem, a thyroid and a gut one.

Whatever kids.

It’s cool.

It’s totally cool.

Over the last few months we implemented a bedtime opportunity where each child gets a designated day, once a week, when they’re allowed to fall asleep in our bed.

They look forward to it all week long.

Sometimes, they’re excitement for said opportunity keeps them up past our desired timing, and is a cause for some confusing and irrational conversation.

And, Banshee, as of late, is requiring a little more bedtime redirection.

One evening last week, on her designated day we had quite the conversation.

I’m sitting on the couch where my husband and I are watching Whose Line Is It Anyway? A favorite of ours.

I hear the beginning whimpers and whining echoing down the hallway from our bedroom.

I wait to see if she will chill…that’s a no. (That little day of hope – squelched).

Her tone and volume increase so I reluctantly decide to check in.

She explains to me she doesn’t want Louie (the build a bear with her remaining pacifiers in her paws).

“Ok, do you want me to take her?”

“No! I don’t want her!” She quickly responded with emotion.

“Ok, do you want me to move her?”

“No!” She hugs her tight. “I want her!”

“Ok.” *Looking around in confusion* “Goodnight!”

I begin exiting the room.

*whining restarts*

I turn around.

“What do you need?”

“I don’t want her!” She whined.

“Ok, want me to put her on a different pillow?”

“No! I want her!” She swiftly added.

“Ok, Banshee, how can I help you? Do you want to keep her?”

“No!” She quickly said.

“Banshee, what do you need?”

*whining*

I reach for Louie.

“Nooooo!”

“Goodness, Banshee, where do you want Louie to go?” I respond with great frustration.

*whining and exhausted crying*

“Put your head on the pillow, and get under the covers.”

*she abides*

I tuck her and Louie in, and of course being very careful to not cover Louie’s face with the blankets.

*sniffles*

I say goodnight and begin to leave the room.

“Wait! I wanna give you a hug!”

*we awkwardly hug because she’s tucked in*

I begin leaving the room again.

“I wanna give you a kiss!” She says in a sweet voice.

I return for a sniffly, undoubtedly snotty kiss.

I walk back into the living room with hands on my head accompanied with a look of utter confusion and exhaustion.

“That chick is tired.” I say to my husband.

And, don’t think she fell asleep right after that either.

It was another 30 minutes.

Finally, I was tired and ready to sleep.

As I’m readying myself, more whining ensues because there is a pillow she doesn’t like sitting on the bed.

*eyeroll*

This unlikable pillow is just sitting on the other side, not hurting anyone.

Another firm response and additional tucking in and we were finally done.

Sheesh.

Seriously, bedtime over here is an Olympic sport.

This pandemic has really thrown a wrench in all the things this year.

From shopping at the grocery store to congregating for communal worship, everything looks different.

The prior week’s blog post shed light on the craziness that surrounds preparing for and attending church service.

But, what I didn’t share was my anxiety about attending service during a pandemic.

My anxiety surrounded unknown expectations.

What would service look like with all my kids moving around?

How will we keep them all occupied?

Would they be crazy disruptive?

How would be experience communion?

How do we greet one another without shaking hands?

How would I feel being among a larger number of people?

How would worship feel with a mask?

So many questions swarmed my brain.

I worried the night before.

I worried the morning of, and the entire way to church.

Like sick to my stomach stressed.

It had been six months since we attended an in person service, and watching service at home was increasing in difficulty.

It was time.

We were ready to take the plunge.

So, finally we went and it did not disappoint.

I missed it.

I missed it more than I ancitipated.

Just to be in the presence of other Christians, praising our steadfast God in the midst of all the craziness was emotional and comforting.

Many things flew through my brain while I observed all the differences, and it all boiled down to this:

Our church loves its people.

When the mandate was announced to suspend large gatherings, our church abided.

When the mandate was adjusted to allow for smaller gatherings, our church waited slightly longer to perfect their best practices for a successful pandemic worship for a larger community.

They adjusted its communion process to individually wrapped and ready to take packets.

The sanctuary was divided for the two services so everyone had areas to spread out.

They took time between services to clean the seating areas used by the previous service.

Provided additional means to welcome one another: jazz hands, waving, elbow bump, air high five and more.

Arriving and exiting in a manner that allows social distancing inside the building.

And, mask requirements for worship service.

The choice to implement these changes weren’t made out of fear, but instead made out of love for God’s people.

Following the first service back, my husband and I discussed why we waited so long.

Why were we so comfortable, or more comfortable, grocery shopping than attending service?

Why was that gallon of milk more important than our spiritual growth?

We all know stores (all varying products: grocery, clothing, etc) have taken many precautions to maintain their business.

But, church isn’t a business. It’s a community.

And my church community loved me and my family well by easing my anxiety with their loving adjustments.

I encourage you all as you contemplate attending your church service: hesitations and concerns are totally okay, but I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised.

“For where two or three gather in my name, there am I with them.”

Matthew 18:20

Right after we had kiddo no. 4, this pandemic hit and everything changed.

So, finally after months of Sunday’s at home, we decided to brave it and attend church service.

Getting us up and out the door was insanity.

Our morning went a little something like this:

“After breakfast, brush your hair and teeth, change your clothes, and put on your shoes.” I say while the oldest three are eating.

Silence.

I repeat.

In a collective monotone reply, “ok, mom.”

Following breakfast, guess what happens?

They return to cartoons like my request to ready themselves for church was just a farce.

So, I repeat my request with some extra…fervor.

Finally, they respond, but in the absolute slowest possible pace known to man.

Oh. My. Freakin’. Goodness.

*deep breath in, deep breath out*

Brent senses what’s happening and steps in: “Ladies, we need to leave in 30 minutes. Please hurry.”

Commence the changing of clothes.

*Tempest screaming* “these shorts feel funny!” *immediate self-depantsing*

*Tempest screaming more* “ugh! I don’t have anything to wear!”

I respond, “Sweetie, I just did laundry, you have plenty of clothes on the small couch (laundry couch). Go check there.”

“Mom, I don’t like anything!”

I reply, “sorry you don’t like anything. You don’t like many things, and I’m not going to wash the same clothes every couple of days. I’m not gonna do it.”

*gutteral otherworldly sounds escape as she flings herself face first into the clean laundry*

I walk away. Sometimes I just can’t with that chick.

I meander down the hallway to my room so I can finally get ready, and just as I cross the threshold I hear screaming.

I step back into the hallway to locate the sound – it’s Banshee screaming at Sprite because she’s using her mirror.

*eye roll*

Banshee is trying to apply lipstick and is focused on her reflection, and therefore, no other individual can use nor come near it.

*eye roll again*

“Banshee, this mirror is for everyone. She can use it too.”

*the whining intensifies*

We are now T minus 10 minutes.

Two of the four girls have disappeared.

“Brent, have you seen the girls?”

He’s getting ready for church and replies, “maybe they’re downstairs?”

I stand at the basement stair opening and bellow their names, making sure all corners of the basement bounce off my request for their presence.

They obey (oddly enough) and look at me inquisitively.

“Have you brushed your hair and teeth?”

In collective apathy, “no.”

“Ladies, you cannot go downstairs until you are completely ready to leave.”

They scurry to the bathroom and I attempt once again to cross my bedroom threshold.

As I do, Brent and I exchange glances, I hand him the baby, and he jumps into the lions den (It’s a tag team event Sunday mornings).

Success.

We are now T minus 5 minutes.

I run around like a chicken with its head cut off trying to finish getting ready, fixing my hair, trading glasses for contacts, picking shoes, and all the other things.

Now, I’m ready.

The real work of leaving begins.

All the excuses and protests are now flying out of their mouths.

“I hate these shoes!” *said shoes flying across the room*

“My lipstick looks weird!” *my kid angrily removing all lipstick from her lips, and possibly skin too*

“I didn’t eat breakfast!”

My response is the same to each of them, “I’m sorry, get to the van.”

After all the crying, whining, and dragging of feet, they finally make it to the van.

Now, its fighting and arguing in the small confined space of our van.

“My seatbelt is stuck!”

“Mom, Banshee won’t move her feet!”

“Sprite is kicking my seat!”

“I forgot my stuffed animal!”

“Mom, Tempest wont give me back my pen!”

It’s constant.

By the time I plop into the passenger seat, this following multiple trips back inside the house for forgotten items, I’m exhausted.

I look at Brent, “this is ridiculous! Why is it so hard to get out the door!?”

It’s taken Sunday after Sunday to realize the real issue at play.

It’s the devil.

He’s our Sunday morning thief.

Trying his best to thwart our joy and excitement of the opportunity to worship, commune, and learn more about God.

“Be alert and of sober mind. Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.”
‭‭1 Peter‬ ‭5:8‬ ‭NIV‬‬

It can be crazy to get out the door for any outing, but specifically Sunday mornings are extra intense.

But, going to church is worth it. It’s necessary, and we want our girls to know that we need Him.

We need Jesus everyday, and especially Sunday mornings.