I Live With Terrorists!




img_7332This wouldn’t be the first time that I have been accused of dramatics.  I can assure you, this is not exaggerated. I looked it up, so it has to be legit. Terrorism is the systematic use of terror as a means of coercion or to achieve a goal.  Two blonde, curly headed terrorist are coercing their way through my life.  It is not only of little importance, but it is no less terrifying that they are four and seven.

Now before you go judging and telling me that “I am the mother” and “I should have more control over my house,” I would first like to say, “You don’t know me” and dare I say, “The chances that you are living with terrorists as well are pretty darn high.”  These tricky little devils somehow manipulate you into thinking that you, in fact, are in control and that it’s not so bad. I think this is called Stockholm Syndrome, which is where the hostages (us) start to express empathy and have positive feelings toward their captors (them).  Ya’ll can live with your head in the clouds if you wish, but it’s a thing. And it’s real.

Are you one of those that put your kids to bed at the exact same time every single night? Because you are in control and they need routine? I hear what you say…but is it possible that they turn into tiny monsters from the Netherworld when they are up past their bedtime? Is it possible that the very thought of having to deal with that is too much to comprehend? Don’t roll your eyes. I am not saying you are a bad parent. I have been trying desperately for the last 7 years and 9 months to put these tiny insurgents to bed on time. This has gone smoothly exactly zero times. I wish I was lying. #truth

Parents do all kinds of things to keep the peace. Ever see that little girl in the grocery store that is wearing a pink tutu, rain boots, and a gorilla hat? That parent lost the good fight. The kid that ate red dye number 40 with gluten and dairy and high fructose corn syrup?? You don’t know my life. I try. But I’m tired and sometimes it’s just whatever.

As I have blogged about frequently, my oldest has autism. Basically this is like a weapon of mass destruction that he carries around. The rest of the family lives in fear that he may unleash this terror at any moment. It’s been a long road, but I am now able to take a shower…with him awake, with the door shut and locked, and no bloodshed occurs. This is still a new phenomenon so I’m not trying to act all badass about my new found freedom. The last time I took a shower with my husband out of town, I flew through that shower like a murderer was beating down the door. As I got out, soap and conditioner not fully rinsed off,  clothes flung on, not looking to see if they were clean or dirty, much less inside out or backwards. I opened the door and breathlessly yelled, “I’m done!” like I was the first to the finish line of an epic race.  He looked at me all, “Why are you telling me that?” I think I have PTSD.

This is all fun and games (kind of) except for that it’s true.  I am not scared to tell my children no. I know they will have lots of disappointment in life. But I have come to realize I am terrified of certain responses. The ones that make me dread my day. The ones that make me wonder if my child is legit possessed. The ones where I  wonder where exactly did I go wrong.

I’m hoping this will all come out in the wash. (Are my deep south roots showing?) I want to raise boys that are productive members of society. I want to raise boys that love their momma fiercely and their God even more. I want to raise good daddys and good husbands. Leaders, thinkers, givers. Men who put others first and always come visit their momma, often. It’s important, for real. This has it’s own set of problems, raising a son that doesn’t fully understand the whole empathy thing. A son that thinks saying, “I don’t want to hug you because you stink” is completely acceptable if it is, in fact true…well that’s for another day.

So know I am trying. I, in fact, do negotiate with them and sometimes, they win. Do me a favor. Don’t offer advice. Don’t judge me or talk about my mad parenting skills. You can, however, pray for me. Maybe a high five with a side of “ME TOO!” because parents just don’t stick together like they should. I am a work in progress. And also I am terrified.

Day 5: My Stinking Thinking



I stroll through Kirklands without a care in the world. My children were at home with baby daddy and no one was trying to break anything or poke each other in the eye or play tag amongst the breakables. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t have mattered if I was looking at horse manure. I was kidless and it was quiet and it was glorious. Out of nowhere I caught a glimpse of a figure.  A slim but shapely, beautiful figure.  For a brief second I didn’t realize that the figure was me…but distorted. I stood there with my head slightly tilted trying to make out my own reflection. This was magnificent! It was like the best Instagram filter ever right in front of me. I couldn’t stop staring at my thighs, they were so thin! I can’t imagine how I must have looked to the other customers.  I soon realized that this full length voodoo mirror was tilted upward. It was an optical illusion and I LOVED it. I immediately thought, “Ahhhhh if only that were real. If only that were my true reflection.” I felt deflated as I walked away…and my thighs inflated back to their normal, fleshy reality.

Today’s challenge was to identify the negative self talk that plays in our head and begin a 5 step process to change it. I immediately thought about my encounter with the magic mirror. The truth is, I have been much thinner than the mirror portrayed. Unfortunately, I can’t remember a time when have I been satisfied with my body.  If I actually had the thighs in the mirror, would I have been satisfied?

I remember going through nursing school, learning in depth details of the human body. I was shocked that anyone could know the intricacies of how our anatomy worked continuously in perfect harmony to sustain life and not believe in God. Our bodies are perhaps the greatest work of art ever created.  We have been given a gift far better than all the riches in the world.  My eyes have seen the most beautiful scenery from nature. I have visited ancient castles and tasted the best wine from their sprawling vineyards. I have felt the ocean waves and enjoyed the sun’s warmth on my skin. My nose has been able to smell the natural sweetness of my son’s skin where his forehead meets his thick, curly hair.  My eyes have seen the beauty of a baby coming into this world. My body has carried 4 humans.  I will forever cherish the privilege of seeing my husband’s face as the church doors opened and my daddy walked me down the isle. I watched him mouth, “I love you” and saw him biting his cheek…a trick I knew he used to hold back tears. Almost 15 years later, I’m hoping those were happy tears. I have used my hands to give life saving treatments and  provide comfort and care to my patients as a nurse. My body has never failed me. It is truly a gift. A gift that I have never fully appreciated. I can only imagine giving someone the most amazing gift my human hands could muster, only to repeatedly hear complaints about the way it was made. My body is so much more than what society has brainwashed me to believe is acceptable.

My plan of action seems simple, although I know this will not happen overnight. I will catch these negative thoughts as the first step in the process suggests, and I will slowly but deliberately change my flaws. Not the dimpled flaws on my thighs, but the thinking that has caused me to see my life giving, beautiful gift as less than.

Day 3: Mirror Work

Ummmm I kind of wanted to skip this day.  My relationship with the mirror is much like my relationship with the scale. It’s a necessary evil.  I weigh too much…that is, too often. I get anxiety when I can’t have access to a scale, i.e. vacation. My self worth has been tied to the scale and the mirror for quite some time.  There are times when I realize this flawed way of thinking and can kick it’s arse. However, most of the time it happens subconsciously and I only reap the aftermath it has on my day like the destruction of a tornado.  I can be having a perfectly fine day until the number on a small box tells me I am not up to par. I immediately think I’m a failure and the tidal wave of negativity snow balls. I know, how dare I allow a number to dictate my mood. I have even taken the battery out and placed the scale in the back of my closet so it would be difficult to pull out and put back together. Turns out it isn’t that much of a nuisance to put a battery back in.

The same goes for the mirror. Small glances from afar are usually not a problem. Most of the time, I can appreciate the image that stares back briefly. It has taken a long time to appreciate that reflection. From a very young age, I vowed to get my nose fixed as soon as I graduated high school.  Thankfully I have decided that my nose makes me look like…well…me. Changing it would feel like putting on someone else’s face, which just didn’t feel right for me. But my battle with acne has been an ugly one.  You would think at 35, I could catch a break. Not so much.

I feel guilty to admit these insecurities. I know I am a beautiful woman. Apparently that is a taboo thing to admit, but every woman has a beauty to reveal. I know this to be true. God created women and yes, he created them to be beautiful. If you haven’t read ‘Captivating’ by Stasi Eldredge, I would highly recommend it.

So today’s challenge to do “mirror work” seems a little daunting.  To look into my eyes, past my eyes, and to not focus on my face?  The directions are to say out loud, “I am lovable. I am worthy. My worth is not connected to the size of my body (or the clearness of my skin). I have purpose.” I have come a long way from the chubby middle school girl that was ridiculed for my weight. Or the dangerously thin high school freshman with an eating disorder.   My stretch marks that I once despised, I no longer notice.  They signify the strength of my body as it stretched to carry and nourish the children I so desperately prayed for.  I wear my scars as badges of honor. Some make for good stories like the huge one on my leg from flipping a three wheeler.  And of course my C section scars from which my babies were brought into the world. I have a long way to go. I want to accept it all. I want to love it all and appreciate what I see in the mirror in it’s entirity. I am lovable. I am worthy. And my God given purpose can not be wavered by a number or a reflection.

Day 2: What Would Love Do?

This question almost seems to be rhetorical. Mostly because it comes with such a loaded response, it can’t possibly be able to be answered. Not fully. My short answer would be that LOVE WOULD CHANGE EVERYTHING. Yes, I mean everything. The bible says that christians will be set apart by the way they love. Unfortunately, that simply isn’t the case. Hypocrisy and judgment and exclusion are not loving nor are they biblical. But I digress. this post is not about the actions of the misguided…or is it?

My oldest son has autism. One of the most heartbreaking realizations was that, while you can teach someone what to do in a given situation in order to be socially acceptable, you can’t teach emotions. Once when I told him I loved him, he responded with, “I love you too…I think…I mean I think I love you. It’s hard! How am I supposed to know what love is? What does that even mean? What does it feel like?” Heartbroken, I didn’t really have an answer, other than tears. My son doesn’t even know whether or not he loves me.  After a lot of thought and prayer and acceptance and mommy tantrums, I think I have made sense of his questions. Love is not an emotion at all. It evokes emotions that are wonderful and euphoric. But loving someone also unleashes a passion which means that person can also hurt you the most, even cause anger or rage. Someone that means nothing to you can not cause such responses, not on the same level.  Anyone that has been married for any length of time can surely attest to this.

Love is a verb. Love is an action, a continuous and conscious effort that doesn’t always come easy. It takes maturity, self awareness, and most importantly, it takes selflessness. To imagine a world filled with love would be to imagine a Utopia. Something that surely won’t be seen this side of heaven. But what if love started with me, with you? Can we change our world for the better with love? Would it even make a difference? The bible says that without love, you are nothing, it’s all in vain.  “If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but do not have love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and give over my body to hardship that I may boast, but do not have love, I gain nothing.” (1Corinthians 13:2-3)

So I get it, love is important. But what does that mean? How do you show love, exude love, emanate  love in our daily life. Apart from His love, our love will never be perfect. But how do we strive for this magical potion that changes the world? In 1 Corinthians it goes on to say that love is patient, kind, humble, selfless, honorable, is not easily angered and does not hold grudges (emphasis mine because I may or may not have…ummm…issues with the latter two…uh, let’s move on).

If love embodied every person on this earth, truly filling their heart to the brim, overflowing to their actions, wouldn’t that change every single wrong doing?  But what if we showed ourselves these same mercies. What if we were patient and kind to ourselves? I can only imagine that it would put us in a different headspace. A space that could repel and forgive the negativity even if it came from our own thoughts. A space that could love the unloveable and allow past transgressions to melt away, including our own. This isn’t something that can fully be achieved, but the journey can be encouraging, empowering, rejuvenating, and all together lovely.


Day One: New Year, New Me

I was invited to a Facebook group which gives you writing prompts for 31 days and calls itself the 31 Day Self Love Diet Writing Challenge.  I love to write…I could use some self love….why not?

Day One: Write a self love letter or prayer or mantra (whatever that means).

It is New Year’s Eve which is basically a giant Sunday before the Monday that you start something big. Isn’t that always how it happens? “I’ll start my (diet/behavior/exercise program/project, etc) on Monday.” The New Year always comes with such hope and longing for new beginnings.  It’s a giant reset button to finally get your hot mess self together and act like an adult.

I always say I don’t make New Year’s resolutions because it’s so cliché.  This could also possibly be a cop out because I won’t have to face failures. However, one thing I would love to, no NEED to do differently this year is to love myself.  Not just accept but love. Not just resolving to be okay with myself, but learn to give grace every step of the way.  So on this new journey to love me, here is my letter to myself…

First of all breath. This mothering, wifing, friending, life-ing thing is hard. Just because it seems like everyone else feeds their kids kale smoothies after waking them up post 5 am workout, no one has it all together.  If everyone threw their problems in a pile, you would want to take yours back. Your littles won’t be little for long and you will mourn those hand prints on the mirror and the legos left on every square inch of the house. You will miss the incessant questions because they show the innocent wonder of a child. You will miss the tiny socks on the floor and even the big ones from your husband.

You know how you look at old picture and miss THAT body? Remember how you felt about your body when the picture was taken? We never enjoy or love what we have. Beauty seems to be something that is right out of our grasp. But what if you already possess it. Not past tense, but right now.  Not when you lose 20 more pounds, or when you get your sagging boobs fixed from nursing two babies, or when you repair your diastasis from carrying those miracles you so vigilantly prayed for. But right now. You ARE beautiful. You are a good mother. You are a good wife. You are a good friend. You are enough. You have abilities and gifts that God has given you that no one else was granted. Not in the exact same way, at least. You were put on this earth for a purpose and only YOU can fulfill it. Give grace as you go through this journey to love YOU. Look for the blessings and give thanks for them often. Gratitude  is what leads the way to having a life that you love. Being in a body that you love.  Accepting your destiny and the roles you were born to fill.  Focus on the beauty, focus on the love, the rest will fall into place.

But I’m A Nurse Not A Teacher


I have had to eat crow many times in my life.  Some much bigger and harder to swallow than others. I once said I could handle anything as long as I didn’t have a child with autism. That was before I had a child with autism. In my ignorance, I thought all kids with autism wouldn’t let you touch them or hold them and couldn’t communicate. My son is articulate and loving and though he doesn’t want others to hug him, gives the best bear hugs in the world. For the record, I wouldn’t change a thing.

I also said I would never jump on the gluten free bandwagon because nursing school (10 years ago) clearly stated only those with celiac should exclude gluten from their diet. 3 out of the 4 in our household can’t tolerate gluten. I’m the mom I made fun of when bringing my gluten free cupcake to the birthday party so my son can participate. Eating crow is better than a sick kid.

I made strong statements about wearing leggings as pants. They are not, and should never be worn as pants!  But then I met Lularoe (I do not sell it and no I do not want to host a party). These leggings are made by angels and fairy dust and have made me rethink my whole life. How have I lived without this silky, soft goodness for 35 years? No worries, I still cover my robust backside and my rotund hips but if wearing a long shirt/sweater with these magical garments are wrong, then I don’t want to be right.

The last thing I said NUMEROUS times in my life was this: “Why do people homeschool? Why do people think they can do the job of someone who went to school at least 4 years to master? I’m a nurse. You don’t come to the hospital and play nurse and I won’t play Teacher.” This is my second year homeschooling my 2nd grader full time.

Homeschooling has been a life changer in so many ways. I have learned more about my son and how his beautiful brain works than I would have ever been able to do otherwise. HE teaches me daily. He shows me the world through a different lens and it opens up beautiful conversations and experiences for both of us. He has taught me how he learns. As I conform to his way of thinking, his mind is able to soar. He literally amazes me everyday. As I’m reading to him, he’s running in circles, he’s rolling back and forth on the floor, he’s picking up anything he can to look at, squeeze, toss in the air. He interrupts me for seemingly nonsense like, “Can we have bacon for breakfast tomorrow?”. He looks out the window while jumping up and down. At the end of the book (a few hundred page chapter book) I ask him cumulative questions for comprehension. He knows EVERY SINGLE ONE. Some of them, I have to look up to see if he’s right. Fine details that I completely looked over, he can recall in vivid detail. The first time this happened, I looked at him with tears in my eyes and said, “I thought you weren’t listening!” He looked at my like I was so silly and said, “Of course I’m listening! But I have to move a lot or my brain doesn’t work.”

I will never say homeschooling is easy. But my son has excelled in every area as a result. Not because I’m a good teacher, but because I allow his brain to function the way it was created. I want to empower him, for him to feel safe to be himself, and to foster a love of learning. If spinning, running, and jumping off of anything in sight is part of that process, so be it.  I love the flexibility and the times we can stop when I see his brain is saturated for the day. Or when we can go off on tangents by looking up every video and article imaginable on astronauts.  This is something I fell into by necessity, but I am falling deeper and deeper in love with the experience. Some days end in tears, sometimes from both of us. But I will never regret this decision.

However, there’s this one lingering pit in my stomach that I can’t seem to shake.  I AM A NURSE. I am a GOOD nurse with a passion for the mentally ill. I spent 10 years doing something I loved and filled a part of my soul that was otherwise empty. I went to school for 5 years with one goal in mind. When I got to write ‘RN’ behind my name for the first time was one of the proudest moments in my life. That may sound silly, but I believe I was put on this earth to work with psychiatric patients. My family always says it’s because I understand them because, “you are them.” (insert eye roll but also #truth) I love being able to show love to a population that is shunned. A population that is so deeply misunderstood yet is in need of empathy and understanding just like the rest of us.  It doesn’t matter that they will throw every bodily fluid on you (including breast milk…shout out to Green Oaks-Adult 2), call you every name imaginable and then some you’ve never heard of. It doesn’t matter that I’ve seen more naked people quoting scripture than I care to remember. I still don’t know what makes psychotic people want to be hypersexual, hyperreligious, or violent. Either way, naked people quoting scripture while throwing a chair at your face need love too. I’ve always been up for the challenge.

Homeschooling, along with our circumstances surrounding our inability to have someone else regularly watch our oldest, prevents me from working at all. I can’t do what I love, what I worked so hard to do. I feel slighted. Like a limb has been cut off but I am supposed to carry on, business as usual. So here I am. Devastated at the career I have lost but positive that God wants me to teach my child at home. How does that make sense??

I am doing a bible study called ‘Captivating’ and I read something today that left me in tears. It talks about a women that had a great education and career with hopes and desires to continue. But then she decided to give up her own life to bring life to her son.  This required more of her heart and soul than she ever thought possible. This is the kicker; “God called (her) to the high position of mothering, and she is choosing to die a thousand small deaths to her self every single day while at the same time falling ever more in love with her son.” And you know what? God is meeting her there. God is meeting me there. He is stretching me and molding me and making me realize that that emptiness can be filled by taking on an irreplaceable role to my son. G.K. Chesterston wrote, “How can it be a large career to tell other people’s children the Rule of Three’s, and a small career to tell one’s own children about the universe? How can it be broad to be the same thing to everyone but narrow to be everything to someone? No, a woman’s function is laborious, but because it’s gigantic, not because it’s minute.”

So I am trying to rest in the knowledge that seasons change and there is a time for everything. I hope that one day I can return to my first love of nursing. But right now, I have the privilege to help my son grow in the best environment I can provide. To watch his eyes light up with excitement and wonder. To watch a brilliant mind be able to function on different, but beautiful terms. Both jobs I will never regret. But one thing I have learned is that broad, uneducated statements should not be made without research and realizing that each situation is different. Cause, I mean, those leggings ya’ll….


I love that word. It comes from the gospel of Luke when it talks about Jesus breaking bread and giving thanks. The original word for “giving thanks” was eucharisteo. I read an entire book on this called ‘One Thousand Gifts’ by Ann Voskamp. I would say it is one of my favorite books but it got a little weird for me there at the end. But up until Ann went off the deep end, the book was literally life changing. Basically she surmises, and I agree, that eucharisteo is the secret to life.  A life we were meant to live. Let me explain…

I wish I had a cool hidden talent or a party trick that I could tell you about but I do have a gift. I see beauty everywhere. I guess that’s better than the little boy in the Sixth Sense… I can honestly say, I have never had an ugly friend. My husband vehemently disagrees. I can’t possibly see you as my friend and not see your beauty. I don’t see beauty as the world defines it. But I see a giver, or an encourager, a listener, a welcoming heart, an accepting spirit. These things make you beautiful. You see, we are all drawn to beauty. Every single one of us.  It may be art, nature, a beautiful home, a woman. We strive to make ourselves beautiful. We worry that our beauty is fading and we always feel that it is right out of our reach. But what if our search for beauty is actually a gift. A taste of what God has to offer when our time on earth is finished. Eucharisteo changes everything. The word is used 39 times in the new testament. Our command, not polite suggestion, is to give thanks.

Eucharisteo is like a filter. A gift from God as we pass through this world. So many times we look at the negative, and there is plenty to choose from. But His gifts are everywhere, like treasure just waiting to be seen. This world is not the way God intended. But that is not to say there isn’t wonderful, beautiful, perfection all around us. In the book, Ann writes 1000 gifts, things she is thankful for in a journal. Sounds daunting. I mean, this is exactly what happens at Thanksgiving when you go around the table and say what you’re thankful for. Ummmm family, food, shelter, lycra in my pants so they stretch, and I can eat all this food….But I quickly learned there is so much more, right in front of you.

A funny thing happens when you decide to look for things to be thankful for. The more you look, the more you find, and the easier you see why this command is one that changes your life. We rush through life and forget to look at…well, life. It’s being thankful for the smell of a baby. It’s my son’s belly laugh that comes from his toes, his whole body shows joy. The colors changing in the fall. The way that the most beautiful colors in nature can’t be replicated. The vibrant reds with hints of gold in the trees. The blues and greens and purples in the coral reefs. God’s artwork is everywhere and we walk right by it. The sunlight on hardwood floors in the early morning. The precious curls that perfectly frame his face, the face that is almost identical to his daddy. A first kiss, a long embrace, the way he looks at me. The first pretzel from a fresh bag. I don’t know why but there is something about that first one. Don’t judge, this is my blog.

The point is that being thankful is a continuous mission. God gives us so many gifts and we don’t even stop to notice.  The best part is that as you begin to see them, look for them, the world becomes different. The filter is in place. Even during wars, famines, divorce, lost love ones, violence, depression, and all the anguish that comes with this fallen world, His gifts are abundant.

I think the story that made me really understand this concept is when Jesus is traveling and comes across 10 men with leprosy. Of course He healed them, cause He’s Jesus and all. But out of the 10, only one “threw himself at His feet and thanked Him”. Jesus asked, (and I’m paraphrasing a bit) Dude? Weren’t there 10 of you?? Where are the others? “Rise and go, your faith has healed you”. Here’s the thing. They were already healed. All of them. So why did he tell the ONE that came back to thank Him that he was healed. It’s because he knew the secret to eucharisteo. He was healed from a life filled with worry and dread and hopelessness. He was healed from relying on others for his joy. The leper that came back knew the blessings that follow giving thanks. “In EVERYTHING, give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.”  Everything. This is the secret to an abundant life. One filled with a glimpse of what is to come.

I had the pleasure of meeting a wonderful lady a few years ago. Her laugh was contagious. She found joy in the mundane and had a heart for others that was probably the most evident of her gifts.  She never met a stranger and was the first to offer encouragement, support, or a laugh when needed. This story doesn’t end well. It happened so fast and my head is still trying to understand. Cancer is ugly and tries to take everything you have; your strength, your hope, your health, your will, your joy, and even your beauty is affected by this disease. But from the moment of diagnosis, to the time she drew her last breath, her joy never wavered. When her pain was unbearable and she could barely breath, she would ask to be taken out to the porch to enjoy the fresh air. As she physically deteriorated, her spirit stayed strong. She knew the secret of eucharisteo. To give thanks in everything. To see the light in the midst of the darkest days.  That is a life I want to live. To find joy and hope and peace in the midst of the chaos. So I will continue my journey to see the gifts, the beauty, the treasure. In EVERYTHING give thanks.

Going Home


In a few days, I’m going home.  Just typing those words evoke more nostalgia than my Teddy Ruxpin bear, cabbage patch kids, sleepovers, first car, subsequent first wreck (Louisiana used to give you a license at 15, what in the all out….), first boyfriend, prom, graduation, all combined. Especially since I lived in the same house since I was in 7th grade.  Almost nothing is the same, yet for some reason I get all misty eyed the more things change. My high school has been renovated to accommodate double the students, yet it seems much smaller than I remember. The bank I worked at right after I graduated was bought out years ago. The roads that were once surrounded by trees and the occasional gas station is now miles of stores and restaurants with bumper to bumper traffic. Highways are widened, shopping malls are changed to churches, and areas I drove hundreds of times look foreign and unfamiliar. The entire city feels like a scrapbook where everyone can see the backdrop, but I am the only one that can see the pictures. The parking lot I learned to drive a stick shift, the house my best friend used to live in, the pier I used to go to with my friends when I skipped school. Even my childhood home seems to stand as a caricature of what it once was.

When you’re little you dream of growing up (whatever that means), going to college, becoming that thing/person  you always said you would be one day, getting married, having a kid or three (more than that is just ludicrous), and maybe even a dog. Never a cat because nobody has time for that. But then life happens.  The real life, not the one you assumed you would have, but the one God said you needed. I once dreamed of Sunday dinners at my parents house with the kids playing in the garage with all of Papa’s toys, riding four wheelers until the Louisiana state birds (mosquitos) nearly took us away. My big, goofy brother would be there too, with his wife and kids who obviously grew up with mine and were the best of friends.  The crawfish boils would be plentiful except for my mom, she always gets shrimp.  I don’t know when I realized my white-picket-fence fantasy was not going to happen. Or maybe it did…Just drastically different than what I expected.

I never expected to meet a handsome soldier at a bar with my fake ID. My momma said you’d never meet the person you’re going to marry in a bar. In general, she’s right, but I’m so glad she was wrong this time.  We tried telling people we met at church camp but then realized since he’s so much older, he would have had to be my counselor, and, well…that’s creepy.  I never knew someone could make me fall in love with him from, “What’s your name?” Our story hasn’t always been pretty, but it’s my favorite and I wouldn’t change it for the world. He whisked me away to far away places (not even cool ones) even though it never occurred to me I would not live in the same town my whole life.  We have been together 16 years and, as I type this, I live over 1,000 miles away. I told him when we got married that I would follow him anywhere, and I still mean it. Love does crazy things to your plans.

I never took into account that babies would be a struggle to bring into this world, or that the loss would still hurt 10 years later. I also saw motherhood much less of a hot mess and more Donna Reed, except with yoga pants and a messy bun, of course. I would cook amazing dinners and be the best wife ever (I don’t know what that even means), and we would spend evenings doing crafts or having family game nights. While we do those things, occasionally, they usually don’t end well, especially the dinners. And with a son that has autism and about 5 foods he’ll eat…Well I’m glad I met hubs after he had already spent years on his own, therefore he can fend for himself.  And as for those crafts, at the moment my two boys are running through the house in their underwear in what looks like an attempt to kill each other. I’m hoping they’re just playing, but the last thing I would do right now is hand them some scissors. I learned my lesson with glitter a long time ago.

I never expected my parents to get a divorce after almost 40 years of marriage. I told them they should have just done it when I was in 4th grade like my friend’s parents did. No family get togethers will ever be quite the same. I’m still settling in to my new normal.

Even the event I am going home for is quite different than what I imagined. A family member is getting married and the drama is in full force.  The bride will be beautiful, the wedding will be perfect, but someone’s feeling will inevitably get hurt.

My husband doesn’t like it when I call the city I grew up in, “home”. He likes to remind me that I’m married now and my home is with him, my rambunctious boys, and our 2 aging, incontinent weinie dogs…bless their little hearts. But if they pee on my rug one more time….

My life is good. I have all the material things I could want, a wonderful man and the cutest boys I know (notice I didn’t say most well behaved). I am blessed enough to have been a nurse for the last 10 years and even more blessed that I get to stay home with my boys during their challenges we never saw coming.  I live by the ocean in the cutest farmhouse ever.  The snakes can suck it but I have yet to see a mouse.  I have met some of the nicest people in the last 8 months that I can see being lifelong friends. But I won’t make too many plans for the future.  I think the saying goes that we make plans, and God laughs.  So as I go to pack in anticipation of seeing family and celebrating a marriage, I’m even excited I get to stay in my childhood house. But my heart is here. It’s uncertain at times and it’s always crazy but it’s mine. And if all else fails, at least I have cute kids…and I don’t own a cat.

Why I Love Messy People

I need people. Not that I want to be that needy friend that takes up all your time, but I need other humans in my life. I could never be the reclusive, crazy cat lady. Well, also because I hate cats. They’re sneaky and antisocial and poke you with needle like weapons that shoot from their paws.  I’ll pass. I moved to this house in March, 1400 miles from my tribe.  I broke before I was even halfway through the trip.

I have always been outgoing, an over communicator if you will. I tell too much about myself and am known to be an open book. This is been lauded as brave, for being willing to tell my story. I am learning that it’s a coping mechanism for controlling my level of vulnerability. It’s like coming clean when you know you’re about to get caught. It’s like quitting before you get fired.  I’m telling you up front, putting it all on the table so that you can run before the relationship moves forward. My brand of crazy isn’t for everyone. It’s better to know up front because what I’ve learned,  is that people just want to feel like they belong, somewhere.

We decided to downsize when we moved for simplicity’s sake. My husband and I had a conversation that no matter what, we would have an open door policy. If we were crowded and sitting on floors, our house would be filled with people. We would use it for bible studies and church groups, birthday parties and playdates for the boys, barbecues and cook outs.  It would be a safe place for people to land. A welcoming place for anyone that needed love. Because isn’t that what our houses are for?

The bible says Christians should be set apart by their LOVE. Unfortunately that is simply not the case. We judge to make ourselves feel better and only accept the people into our lives that don’t push our comfort level. When we wanted to start a life group at our house in Texas, I literally said (out loud), “But what if I don’t like them? What if we don’t get along?” Just wow. Pretty sure that is not “love” that is setting me apart.

I left a large group of support when we moved. I had family, church friends, church acquaintances, work friends, friends from the school my children went to, and even what my Pastor refers to as 2am friends. Those are the roses among the thorns. Those are the ones that drive 45 minutes to hold your hand and let you cry in the middle of the night. The ones that are faithful until the end. The ones that help you hide the body. Ok, just kidding but if there was a body…. just sayin.

I got here and my life fell apart. Everything was perfect except the hole I was falling deeper into. I’m not meant to be without people. So I joined a bible study and a church and a support group for parents with children on the autism spectrum and tried to find a homeschool co-op for my oldest. Something was still missing. I took a girl home one night I barely knew from church. As she was sitting next to me, she casually mentioned she wanted to have a bible study but didn’t know where to do it. “DO IT AT MY HOUSE!” I blurted out. Wait, what??? I barely know you and I don’t know who would come?? What if I don’t even like them?? Nope…that’s not love. The co-op for my son fell through so I decided to start my own. 50 moms later (not including the kids), I had to close the group. I invited them all over for a swim party before school started. Hubs gave me the look…I’ve seen the “look” multiple times in the last 16 years. It’s the “what were you thinking” look. He asked, “Have you ever met these people? Do you know how many are coming?” Nope, sure didn’t. But it has been a beautiful experience.

Here is what I know. People parent differently, come from different backgrounds, have different morals and religions (or lack thereof), different baggage and trauma and grief. They deal with life differently and do things out of desperation and utter despair. People turn away from religion because of past hurts or experiences and turn to other things that fill the void. But you know what is the same? We all want to feel like we are welcomed, accepted, and loved.

We didn’t (only by sheer circumstance) down size when we moved. I think God had bigger plans for my mission to be that 2am friend. I look back and think maybe that’s why I have loved being a psych nurse for all those years. A lot of my patients (at the hospital I worked at the most) were homeless. They didn’t always smell the best, or have the most pleasant communicable diseases;) But they were all shocked when you would treat them with love. When you would hold their hand and listen to their story. We are all messy if you think about it. Some can just hide it better than others.  Don’t we all just need to feel accepted? Just the way we are?  I hope at my funeral, someone says I stood out because of the way I loved, for being a 2am friend. I have a long way to go, but it’s a goal worth trying for.  Nobody cares if you can cook because everyone can attest that I can’t. No Pinterest inspired hors d’oeuvres at this house. I’m so classy I had to google how to spell that.And nobody cares if there are dishes in your sink, invite them over anyway. You’ll be glad you did.

Update On My House Arrest


The setting is nursing school and the main character is a hypochondriac with anxiety and OCD. We will call her Courtney, because that is her name. In nursing school you learn about most disease processes, and as a person riddled with worry anyway, I undoubtedly had every disease we studied (with the exception of prostate, testicular, fontanel malformations, and maybe cleft lip/palate….yep, the rest were fair game). This hypochondriasis was not unique to me alone. My best friend was convinced she had AIDS without any symptoms or exposure. But this isn’t a blog about her so let’s move on.  During third semester (give or take, this is my story) I became convinced I had lymphoma. The symptoms, albeit vague, were there and my lymph nodes were, in fact, enlarged. No big deal, I’ll just go to the Dr and let them tell me how utterly ridiculous I am and I will then find something else to worry about. The kink in my plan started when the Dr agreed with my diagnosis and thought that my theory was actually likely! After a plethora of labs were drawn and a biopsy was done to find the culprit of my symptoms, I was told, “We will let you know the results in 2 weeks.” Two….WEEKS.  As the days grew longer it consumed my every thought to the point that, not only did I have lymphoma, but I was dying. Part of me knew this was ludicrous (not to be confused with Ludacris). But those thoughts set up camp in my brain just to make sure that any rational thoughts on the subject were redirected back to Crazy Town.

So one night I remember going into the bathroom to wash my face. I don’t remember being sad or upset but when I looked in the mirror, I had this crushing thought. This overwhelming dread and fear that I was dying. Newly married, in nursing school, never having kids.  As the tears began to flow, I became angry that my life was over before it even started. I literally kneeled on the floor, in the dirty bathroom (the military housing was super old and never actually looked or felt clean), with the water still running (sorry Mother Earth, I do better now at conserving water), and I sobbed. Like the ugly Kim Kardashian cry (My bad, I will never reference them again, forgive me). I prayed, “God, WHY?!?”

And as instantly as this cockamamie debacle started, it stopped. I was jolted to my senses and God said to me (not audibly but just as evident), “Don’t you trust me?”  I couldn’t move. I felt a peace that I hadn’t felt in months and I felt so silly for letting something consume my every thought that wasn’t even reality (spoiler alert, I did not have lymphoma). “Don’t you trust me?”

When you are in the middle of the battle, real or perceived, you think it will never end. When I cried day after day that God would give me a baby (that would stay in my womb)….He did. When my first born only slept through (up to) one hour at a time for the first year with no naps and a need for constant movement, I tried to accept my fate. This is it, I will never sleep again. But I did. When a heartache from a broken marriage consumed me and I just knew that not even God could fix this one. He did, and made it better. When a family member was so lost in the throes of mental anguish for TEN YEARS and I thought she was gone forever. Her mind was restored. When I fell into the deepest pit because I was a prisoner in my own home (read my other posts for our family’s autism journey)…I see light at the end of the tunnel.

This Saturday, we have a babysitter coming for the first time in a year and 2 months. This Saturday, I will be in the same room with my husband in the dead middle of the day, without my kids. And not only can I go to the bathroom by myself without meltdowns and fear and panic, but I can go freely from one room to the next without a single scream. This Saturday my son will not see me and will not even know where I am. With a hesitancy and an inkling of a tear, he proudly said, “I’m ready. I can do this.” This may not seem like much to you. But to our family, this victory is monumental.

I say all of this because I talk too much….Oh and also to say this… Mark 4:40 says, “Why are you so afraid? Have you still no faith?” Still after being pulled from the rubble so many times? Still after turning devastation into beauty? Still after He has proved His grace time and again….”Don’t you trust me?”

I don’t know what will happen on Saturday. Honestly, I don’t care. The progress we have seen is so huge that I am ecstatic knowing there’s hope. There is a way out of that pit. No matter how deep or how far you’ve fallen. “Don’t you trust me?”…..