Tag: mom

Special Feature

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I am honored and excited to share I have a post featured on Her View from Home today. You can read it here.

A little disclaimer . . .

We all process grief in different ways, and writing has been one of the ways I have worked through my feelings this year- along with buying multiple holiday inflatables and planting a backyard full of vegetables. No joke, Alex was worried he’d get back from a recent trip and find I had tilled the entire back yard and planted corn. What can I say, grief can make us do crazy things!

But seriously, writing has been therapeutic for me, and even though this isn’t the most light-hearted of posts, I do hope it serves as a good reminder to soak up the joy of the small things.

After all, sometimes the seemingly ordinary events end up being the most extraordinary.

Love you, friends!

Katherine

The Bigger, the Better

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As a parent, I’ve discovered there are a few things I can never have too much of. I can never have too much athletic wear or too many wet wipes. I can never have too much patience or too many Goldfish. And, above all, I can never have too much wisdom.

This has been especially evident the past few months as we have tried to help Brooks get used to “big boy school.” It hasn’t been easy, and we have relied heavily on the wisdom of friends and experts. Thanks to a Sunday school lesson a few weeks ago that focused on James 1:5, we have also started to rely on God’s wisdom.

Last week, Alex and I prayed for wisdom of what to do next, for guidance and clarity. I went on to pray for all of the adults in Brooks’ life to have wisdom for the best ways to help him as well.

Alex chuckled at the second half of my prayer, telling me he didn’t think I could pray for other people to have wisdom, to which I very maturely replied, “Yes, I can. I can pray for whatever I want.”

They say my stubbonrness is genetic.

But seriously, in Psalm 109, David, a man after God’s own heart, asks for his enemy’s days to be few. Then he asks for his enemy’s children to be fatherless, so I think asking for adults I respect to be blessed with wisdom is actually pretty kind and compassionate, comparatively speaking.

Later that morning as I was driving to school, I thanked God for being a God who listens and for being a God who lets me ask for a wide variety of things . . . and that’s when it hit me.

Isn’t that what we all want? To be asked?

Think about it . . .

Do we actually want to chair the fall festival at school? No, probably not, but it sure feels good to be asked.

Do we honestly want to go on a blind date with our best friend’s quirky cousin from out of town? Chances are not really, but it sure feels good to be asked.

Do we seriously want to single-handedly organize a field trip, complete with spreadsheets and permission slips? Nope, not even a little bit, but (say it with me) it sure feels good to be asked.

So, if we don’t have any interest in completing the task, why does it still feel good to be asked? It’s simple: Being asked shows us someone believes in our ability, thinks we’re capable, and needs our help. Ultimately, it means someone trusts us, and that feels good.

God wants the same thing from us too, a relationship where we feel comfortable enough to share our deepest desires, our hopes, and our dreams. A relationship where we trust his ability and rely on his help. He wants us to ask him anything because it brings us closer to him.

Now look, I’m not saying we’re going to get everything we ask for. God isn’t Zoltar, ready to grant Big wishes. But he is willing to listen to everything we ask for.

John 9:31 tells us that “if anyone is a worshipper of God and does his will, God listens to him” (ESV). Paul expands on this idea in Ephesians 3:12 when he writes, “in him [Jesus] we may approach God with freedom and confidence.”

In other words, we don’t have to worry about what we ask God for because he’s not going to judge us or laugh at us or get angry with us. He’s going to listen to us like the good father he is. And, I would imagine, he will be excited we finally had enough faith in his ability to ask him to do something for us he’s wanted to do all along.

So, as you talk to God this week, go ahead and be bold in your asking. Go big! Be honest with God, and be honest with yourself. You have nothing to lose and so much to gain.

WWJJD?

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Nope, that’s not a typo. I will be the first to admit, my fat thumbs have been known to cause some crazy chaos in my texting, but that extra J is there for a reason. Here’s why . . .

My boys, they fight. A lot. And one of my biggest worries is that they will never learn to like each other, much less be friends with each other. Now, I’ll be the first to admit, I don’t actually know a whole lot about sibling relationships, seeing that I’m the only child of an only child. But seriously, the way my boys act can’t be normal. The amount of wrestling, yelling, and stomping that goes on at my house is unbelievable. It’s like WWE on steroids.

In a recent desperate moment, I knew I had to seek advice, so I did what a wise and respected Sunday school teacher, himself the father of two grown sons, told us to do in times of trouble– I turned to the Bible. And you wanna know what I found? Brother relationships that were way more dysfunctional than my boys’. I mean, let’s hope Jackson and Reeves never throw Big Boy Brooks Bryant into a pit, fake his death, and then sell him into slavery! I’m telling you, after reading about Cain and Abel, Jacob and Esau, and Joseph and his brothers, I was feeling pretty good about my parenting skills.

But I still needed some sage practical advice, so I turned to the next, most logical fount of male sibling knowledge . . . the NFL. You laugh, but the NFL is full of siblings, from players like the Mannings to coaches like the Harbaughs. My personal favorite group of siblings is the Watts–JJ, Derek, and TJ. Three brothers who like to tackle and have mega-watt smiles–sounds familiar to me.

I follow JJ Watt on Instagram, a fact Reeves has deemed “inappropriate” on more than one occasion. One weekend when I was really in the weeds of parenting three rough and tumble boys, JJ was using the question box feature in Instastories to give his followers the chance to ask him questions. I submitted mine without hesitation: “How did your mom encourage you and your brothers to get along?” (I also wanted to ask how his mom afforded to feed the three of them when they were in high school, but ultimately, I decided I might not actually want the answer, since I’m guessing it may involve selling a kidney on the black market.)

Anyway, I was soon rewarded for my celebrity fangirling as JJ responded to my question with these words of wisdom, “She locked us out of the house until it was dark.”

Now, some of you are nodding along, thinking, “Yep, that’s exactly what my mom did.” Some of you also did not grow up in Columbia in August. I’m sure being locked outside in Pewaukee, Wisconsin, on a balmy, 78-degree August day was delightful for the Watt boys, but I have a hard time believing that locking a three year old outside when the forecast is literally “hotter than the surface of the sun” is the best answer to my problem.

And honestly, I’ve tried it, and it doesn’t work. I just end up with three pitiful boys pounding on the door and whining to come inside . . . which I just realized may at least unify them in some sort of weird prisoners versus the warden kind of way.

So, I’m bringing my problem to you, friends. Surely there’s a sibling success story out there somewhere. What worked in your house? How did your parents encourage you and your siblings get along? Help a mama out! I would love nothing more than to hear your advice, and if it works, I promise to to fill in blank of What Would _______ Do? with your name.

It Takes a Village

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A guy typically dreads asking his girlfriend’s dad for her hand in marriage.  In the South, this process can often include a shotgun, a background check, and a lot of intense questioning.

Alex, on the other hand, really dodged a bullet when he decided to propose to me.  Since I grew up with just my mom, he only had to ask for her blessing, and she would have said yes to any guy with a college degree, a job, and a good head of hair just to get me off her payroll.

Very quickly, though, Alex realized something unique about my situation.  After one of our wedding parties in Rock Hill, he looked at me and said,

“You have a lot of moms.”

“Yep, I do.”

“It kinda scares me.”

“Yep, it should.”

And Alex was right to be a little nervous.  See, I have been blessed throughout my life to be surrounded by a pack of protective moms.  These weren’t your ordinary moms.  These women ran restaurants, held political offices, led government programs, chaired church and civic boards, and loved me like one of their own.

They taught me how to ride a bike without training wheels, how to get my ducks in a row, and how to pop the heads off of shrimp like a champ.

I continue to be amazed and inspired by the women around me

Over the years, I have watched women bravely fight cancer with courage and grace.  I have watched women lose their husbands and their children too soon, yet somehow maintain their faith through it all.  I have watched women fight for the families they have and fight for the children they long for with determination and fearlessness.

Over the years, I have watched friends lose moms before they could celebrate milestones together and have then watched these same friends honor their moms every day by the way they live, the causes they champion, and the way they raise their own children.

Biological or not, all of these women have molded me into the woman I am today.

One of my favorite movies is War Room.  If you haven’t seen it, stop finish reading this blog right now and see if you can find it on Netflix.  In the movie, Miss Clara has been a mentor for Elizabeth, guiding her through a rough time in her marriage.  At the end of the movie, Elizabeth asks if they can still meet, and Miss Clara provides her with a challenge, saying, “You need to find a young woman to invest in, and I’ll do the same.  We all need help now and then.”

I am lucky to have so many strong women as role models.  My hope is that I will take all of their love and support and pay it forward, just like Miss Clara encourages Elizabeth to do.  Navigating relationships, building careers, raising kids . . . it’s hard work.  The key is to remember we’re all in this together.  Some days, the struggle is real, but we can strive to make the journey a little easier for one another.  We all make an impact on other people, whether we mean to or not.  Personally, I want my impact to be positive, building others up the way my moms did for me.

I hope one day my boys will look back and think I was a good mom, but I won’t be able to take all of the credit.  If I’m a good mom, it’s only because I learned from some of the best.

These are just a few of my Rock Hill moms.

Rockin’ Spring Break Like 1987

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I don’t remember much about my Spring Breaks as a child.  I’m guessing they involved playing Barbies, choreographing music videos to every Debbie Gibson song on the radio, and riding bikes all over my neighborhood.

The only thing I remember for sure is that my grandmother spent Spring Break at our house.  Now I loved my Mimi, but bless her heart, she was a bit of a nervous Nelly . . . so much so that when I went out riding bikes, she wanted me to come back and ring the doorbell every five minutes so she would know I was still alive.  The main problem with this plan was that I lived on a hill.  I had very short legs back then (you know, as opposed to now when I have legs like Gisele), so once I rode down to meet my friends, it literally took me five minutes for my little legs to pedal my bike back to the top of the hill and confirm my safety.  Get In Shape Girl ain’t got nothin’ on Mimi’s hill workouts!

Fast forward to Spring Break 2017.  As this year’s Spring Break approached, I started planning all the fun and exciting things the boys and I could do during the week.  I wanted this week to be jam-packed with magic and memories, the kind the boys would always remember.

It only took me until Tuesday to realize I wasn’t having any fun.

We were in the middle of dying Easter eggs when I figured out why.  I was so busy trying to dye the perfect eggs for the perfect Easter centerpiece to make the perfect memory, I was missing out on the pure joy Jackson found mixing all of the colors together into a “potion” that fizzed when he added vinegar.

Then, when I realized three of the eggs we were going to dye had cracked, I was so disappointed because the day just wasn’t going like I had planned.  That’s when a four year old, who is way smarter than I am, came up with the idea for us to use those “ruined” eggs to make egg salad and then have a picnic in the back yard.  From the mouths of babes . . .

Right then and there, I decided I would let Jackson lead the way and tell me how to make the egg salad like he did at school, and I didn’t even stop him when I thought he was adding a little too much mustard.  In other words, I stopped trying to control every little detail.  Watching those chubby little hands peel the eggs- a task I didn’t even know he could do- will be one of those memories forever etched in my mind.

When we finished making the egg salad, Jackson tasted it and declared, “Oh yeah, it’s perfect.”  And it really was.  Once I let go of all of the pressure I had put on myself to create the “perfect” Spring Break, I actually relaxed and had a perfect Spring Break.

I didn’t end up changing any of my plans for Spring Break- we still tried out a new park, ate at the boys’ favorite Mexican restaurant, picked strawberries, and spent time with friends and family.  What I did change was my attitude toward Spring Break.  Instead of trying to orchestrate all of these magical experiences, I started appreciating the little moments.  Once I got out of my own way, I was able to let the week unfold the way it was supposed to and truly enjoy my time with the boys.

Turns out, my girl Debbie Gibson was right way back in 1987 . . . sometimes the most memorable experiences really do come Out of the Blue.

Sorry, Rev, Seat’s Taken

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Several Sundays ago, one of our pastors asked if she could sit with us during church. She had just returned from a trip to the Holy Land the day before, so she didn’t have a part in the day’s service. Now, don’t get me wrong, I love Pastor Carly-she’s from Rock Thrill, so you know she’s awesome-plus, I’d love anybody who loves my kids as much as she does.  But still, my first thought when she asked to join us was to tell her, “Seat’s taken. You can’t sit here.”

My response had absolutely nothing to do with her. It’s just that every Sunday from 11:00 a.m. to 12:00 p.m., my sweet, angelic four year old turns into a rabid spider monkey, and the only way we can tame him is with a steady supply of gummy bears and candy canes. (If you think it’s strange my child is still eating candy canes in April, just read last week’s post. It will make perfect sense.) Anyway, I try not to advertise the fact I’m running Willy Wonka’s candy shop in my pew for fear of my questionable parenting skills being judged.  Then it occurred to me that it might actually be good for a member of the clergy to have a front row seat to see what happens to said spider monkey when the sermon runs long and the candy runs out.

The other reason I didn’t want Carly sitting with us was that I was a bit intimidated.  See, there were three great hymns listed in the bulletin, and I was ready to rock them out.  There was only one problem:

I can’t sing.

Actually, there was a second problem:

Carly can.

I mean, I can carry a tune, but Carly sings on a whole different level.

My college roommate, who was quite the Furman singer herself, once told me what I lack in singing talent, I make up for in passion.  Looking back, that may have been a back-handed compliment, but it’s a pretty good life lesson as well.  So what if I’m not ready for The Voice?  If belting out Pour Some Sugar On Me after a long day at school makes me happy, I’m gonna do it . . . with passion.  So what if I’m the only person reading my blog?  If writing these posts fulfills a childhood dream, I’m gonna do it . . . with passion.

Is there something you already love to do or something new you want to try?  Find your passion and go for it with gusto. If you’re waiting for the “right time” to chase after your passion, you may end up waiting forever.  Who cares if you’re not really good at it? Who cares if it will never make you rich and famous?  Embrace your passion anyway.

After the service, a very nice lady sitting a few pews in front of us turned around, looked me dead in the eye, and said, “You have a beautiful voice.”  For one delusional second, I felt like Adele at the Grammy’s. Then I came crashing back to reality and realized she had really heard Carly’s voice, and since I have a thing about trying not to lie in church when the preacher is standing beside me, I gave credit where credit was due and went on about my day.

If you’re ever in Columbia on a Sunday morning and need a soprano to back up your alto, come join me.  We can sing our hearts out.  Even better . . . I’ll have candy.