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How to Talk to Your Kids About Sex

“We had the talk today,” said my ten year old daughter Faith nonchalantly as she climbed in the car after school.

“Oh right, the puberty talk?” I nodded and inwardly groaned as my heart rate started steadily climbing and beads of sweat formed on my brow. “So, do you have any more questions they didn’t cover?”

(Please don’t ask me about sex. Please don’t ask me about sex.)

I looked in the rearview mirror. Faith took a deep breath and glanced up under her long dark lashes shyly. “Mom, why do I have to get a period every month? I mean what’s the point? It seems so terrible? Why did God do this to women?”

Hyperventilating, I thought to myself how this was so much easier with my older son. No curse of Eve, no sanitary items involved. Boners and sex 101, although awkward aren’t as complicated as the implications of the Christian female experience. And while Kyle asked questions much earlier and we had a running dialogue regarding sex –Faith seemed quite content to remain in the land of innocence and childhood naiveté, avoiding the topic altogether.

I paused, prayed and tried to figure out where to start. I don’t actually recall even having a sex conversation with my parents, until after they found a condom in the back of my car my senior year in high school (maybe a little too late…just saying). Sex was a topic, in generations past, we avoided. My husband remembers his mom casually saying, “Make sure to wear a condom,” as he rode over to his new girlfriends house on his bicycle his freshmen year in high school. Nothing against our parent’s methodology, but in our current hyper-sexualized culture, a proactive approach might be the better option.

Being a storyteller, I thought about weaving a tale of great rebellion, the fall of mankind and Jesus’ ultimate redemption and then throwing sex into the mix. But the epic narrative didn’t translate when I actually tried to articulate it, so after a few false starts, I just began with Adam and Eve and tried to stick to the facts without wetting my pants.

Here is what I’ve learned from talking to my kids about sex:

KISS (Keep it Simple Stupid)

Depending on how old your kid is, try and stick to what they ask you about. The details of intercourse are not necessary for a four year old asking about how babies are made. “Daddy helped mommy to put the baby in mommy’s tummy,” is probably sufficient. If they press for more, explain it matter of fact and without laughing. After a certain point –before your kids start school, use real names for sexual organs. Peanuts and Ya Ya’s don’t translate real well into elementary school.

Timing

When I explained to Faith how Kolby was conceived, her horrified face was enough to make me grateful I had waited until she was more mature. The last thing you need is your kindergartner telling his friends, “daddy sexed/humped/nailed mommy and now she’s knocked up.” Choose your moment wisely and then periodically check in to see if they have more questions.

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Explain Puberty in Detail

Puberty is a scary place. Celebrate the changes with your child and make it a sweet passage not a time of insecurity. We had a Man Ceremony with Kyle when his voice started changing at age twelve. Tim also took Kyle away for a dudes camping weekend and used a curriculum called Passport to Purity to start some great conversations. It was a little cheesy but it created openness and a level of safety for Kyle. Many of my girlfriends have also gone to a Puber-Tea, which covers some of the same info for girls and moms in a more feminine environment. (Apparently tea and scones helps a young girl come to terms with PMS and hormonal bitchiness better)

Don’t be afraid to talk about God and Sex.

God made sex. God made us to be sexual creatures. This is your moment as a parent to talk about the beauty of sexuality in marriage. Don’t use shame based language or act as if your kid is abnormal for having sexual desires. Affirm and build up marriage as the place God intended to let us experience this bliss.

Make sure you beat their friends to the punch!

Talk about sex with your child BEFORE their friends do. Talk about porn and sexting and how blow jobs are a sexual act and not a party favor, and all the things they will encounter in Jr. High. Christianity is not a hall pass for avoiding difficult conversations and don’t expect the youth pastor to do YOUR job!

What advice were you given as a kid about sex? Do you have any tips for broaching this conversation with your kids?

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Potty Humor

“Mommy, I made Elmo sad,” called little Kolby.

I hurried into the living room of my neighbor Keri’s house where Kolby was playing in their tot-sized plastic kitchen.  “Why did you make him sad?” I asked.

Two-year old Kolby hung her head low and sheepishly whispered, “I peed on him.”

I looked down and realized I was standing in a trail of yellow liquid.  Then I too hung my head low as I told my good friend my kid just urinated all over her floor.  Fortunately she was cool with it and reminded me our other toddler neighbor recently pooped in her garage.  Keri is gracious like that.

I don’t think I would have even tried this herculean feat of diaper eradication if it hadn’t been for Ms. Maggie –Kolby’s preschool teacher.  Ms. Maggie is very loving but also very firm and when she tells you to do something with her I mean business look, you generally do it fast. 

(Clearly she has the gift to intimidate preschoolers and grown women)

 Ms. Maggie said it was time to go cold turkey on diapers on Thursday afternoon when I picked Kolby up from school, so I immediately hid all the Huggies, made a trip to Kohls for some new panties and bought Pull-ups for bed-time.  By Friday we were ready to go. 

But Ms. Maggie forgot to mention how inconvenient cold turkey can be.

Now some of you are thinking, Sam you have two older children.  You have already done this. 

True, true…but motherhood has a way of erasing the really BAD memories and apparently I blacked it out because it was too painful to recall.

In all truth, it took Kyle a full year to figure out how to aim, fire and pee and he was well over three before I could relax.  And Faith, being my fairy-like unpredictable child managed to navigate the potty in a week when she was twenty months almost effortlessly  So, I have two polar opposite experiences to pull from that happened over ten years ago.  It’s not much to go on and I’m still as clueless as every other mother.  All I know is we are running out of Jelly Beans and stickers and blue Brach bunnies to bribe Kolby with to tinkle.

On Friday I had to take Kolby to the baby potty every twenty minutes to empty her pee pea sized bladder.  Sometimes she actually peed in the potty and made it burst out in song (thanks to a musical chip on the bottom of the bowl) and then she would jump off the potty mid-stream and yell and clap.

*Note to self* musical potties SUCK

It’s a crap-shoot (literally) to see what will happen every twenty minutes.  Sometimes she pees on daddy’s leg, or on the floor, or right next to the darn potty.  I feel like I have a puppy. 

When I finally put her Pull-up on for nap on Friday, Kolby and I looked at each other with great relief and a unanimous sigh.  At least for a few hours we could stop stressing.

On Saturday evening, after destroying about ten pairs of Minnie Mouse and Elmo underpants, we headed to church where I got schooled by the volunteers about how I am supposed to stay home during this crucial pee period.  And then Kolby hid in a corner of the church and pooped on Elmo just to proove their point.

On Sunday we ventured out to a birthday party at a park.  Kolby was doing great and keeping her panties dry. But about an hour in to the festivities she tugged on my hand and asked to use the restroom.  I ran to my bag and pulled out her princess potty seat cover and we took off to the public bathroom in the park. 

I sanitized the nasty toilet, put her little pink potty seat on the lid and placed my tiny girl on top.  Kolby smiled and started to pee, and the birds sang and the doves cooed and we were so happy for about a minute and then the world came crashing down.

The toilet was an automatic flusher and as Kolby slightly leaned forward it exploded as if a jet plane was taking off under my baby’s rear-end.  Kolby’s face contorted in fear and she started screaming.  She reached for me with tears and pee streaming down her cheeks and legs.  I grabbed my baby and then I started crying too and cursing the toilet. 

And then we stomped out of the bathroom defiantly and I grabbed a Pull-up and lovingly placed it on my girl’s bottom and we both stopped wailing.

I now belive cold turkey as a method when potty-training is highly overrated.  Kolby and I are more than content to settle for lukewarm, though I’m a little scared to face Ms. Maggie at preschool tomorrow.

 

 

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Ewoks, Evil Citrus and Eight Boo-Boo’s

I’ve started to feel like a teenager again.

But it’s not because I’m full of energy, hormones or even indecisiveness. Nope, my teen spirit smells like ProActive and Benzoyl Peroxide this time around.

Basically, I have become a zit face and it ‘aint perty.

I’ve been baffled by my usually clear skin’s change of direction. Have I done anything different? Is it stress?

Does raising teenagers give you pimples?

Could it be too much hanky panky? (Ha Ha, just checking to see if you read this dear!)

Then one day as sweet little Kolby counted eight boo-boos on my face and kissed them to make them “all betta,” it dawned on me whom the culprit might be.

LEMONS

I recently read how a dash of lemon in your water make you lose weight so I have been adding a wedge of citrus to every glass of water I down. (If I can’t get to the gym enough I can at least drink myself skinny, or so my reasoning assumed)

Now my mom is probably laughing right now, because unbeknownst to many, I grew up with horrible food allergies. I was that kid –the one who couldn’t drink sodas or eat pizza or have anything good because I would blow up and turn into an EWOK. Seriously –it was hidious.

But sometime into my thirties my food allergies waned. I ate my first egg in fifteen years and I lived. My husband says it’s all due to his amazing love because most of my allergies disappeared around the time we got engaged.

(Honey, it must be time for a vacation!)

So now I’m in lemon recovery and my zits are drying up and peeling off. It’s so attractive.

And I didn’t reaIize how hard it would be to starve myself of my little habit. I cheated on Friday and had a lemon drop martini and a small margarita on Saturday(which is clearly a lime, but closely related to the evil lemon), but overall I’m making great progress.

I must admit at one point I was having a whole lemon daily and sometimes two because I was so incredibly dedicated to the lemon diet.

So the lesson I learned is this:

  • Lemons might make you skinny but they will also make you ugly.
  • There are no shortcuts to getting in shape and drinking myself skinny is delusional.
  • The love of a good man can eradicate many illnesses but the force of a lemon is very strong and Tim just might need to head back to the Degobah System for some more Jedi training on battling citrus.
  • Sometimes you can’t make lemonade out of lemons. You just have to move on to a new fruit altogether.
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Growing up Faith

As we sat down to dinner Monday night of last week, my daughter Faith was on pins and needles.  She wiggled; she squirmed and at one point actually ran out of the room to scream into a pillow.  Her anxiety hinged on the release of the cast list for the upcoming production of the Wizard of Oz. 

“Sometime after seven,” she kept repeating like a robot.  Every second past the hour ticked by in pure agony.

After the meal was cleared, I heard the little ding on my iPhone indicating an email had come in.  I perused the cast list with anticipation, wanting to get first dibs before I shared the good news.  I glanced down and looked for my daughter’s name.  It wasn’t at the top, or the middle and then I started to panic. 

I scrolled and scrolled and somewhere near the bottom Faith’s name showed up as Snowflake and Popular Girl –both non-speaking roles I had never heard of.

What the BAD WORD?

I was more than confused –I was bewildered. I hadn’t been at the audition but I heard through the grapevine Faith had given a solid performance and sang beautifully.  With shuffling feet of regret I took the phone over to Faith and let her read it. 

Her smile was wide and her giggles ecstatic until she couldn’t find her name. 

Dismay spread over Faith’s lovely face.  Tears filled her almond-shaped blue eyes.  She looked up at me and her body started to shake with sobs. 

“Why mommy? Why didn’t I get a good part?” she wailed.

Faith ran up the stairs and slammed the door to her room.  I could hear her heart-wrenching cries and it ripped deep into my gut.  I felt so helpless.  Tim and Kyle and I looked at each other sadly but there were no words to make it better.

I ran upstairs and knocked on her door, slowly moving into the hot pink Roxy themed room she shares with her baby sister.  Faith was hiding under the covers crying with fluffy bunny, teddy bear and a Hello Kitty pillow covering her.  She unearthed her blotchy face and begged to quit the production. 

 
 

After a long drawn out conversation, Faith finally agreed to not make any big decisions until the morning.

Then we rallied.  I made her hot chocolate with a giant mound of whip cream and garnished with a warm Easter Bunny sugar cookie.  Tim ran to the store and came back with a cherry/lemonade Slurpee.

(When in doubt –always go with sugar to cheer up the child)

Eventually the tears stopped and Faith ate her treats quietly and went to bed.

In the morning I hesitantly walked in to her room and she turned and gave me a big confidant smile.  “Mom, I’ve decided to go to rehearsal today.  I’m going to talk to the director about their decision-making process and I’ll do my part to make the show better even if my role is smaller this time.”

I looked around to make sure I had the same kid.  No pre-teen diva in this room.  And then I choked up.

Maturity had descended into our midst.

I started hopping up and down, now energized and exuberant.  “Faith, do you know I am more proud of you than if you have gotten to play Dorothy? You are showing strength of character!  You are amazing!”

Faith’s face lit up like sunshine and she laughed and threw her arms around me. 

I sent her off to school smiling, even though I knew she would have a tough day telling her friends, struggling with emotions and dealing with the inevitable waves of disappointment.

But for a child who has always struggled with self-soothing this time Faith surprised us all.

And even though the play isn’t for a few months, I’m stocking away some funds now for opening night where I plan on having the biggest stinking bouquet known to mankind.

 

Because my Snowflake has STAR written all over her!

 

Flower: Source: google.com via Jess on Pinterest 

 

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Running, Falling and the Important Job of Mommy

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I have a dream. It’s reminecent of the Chariots of Fire triumphal entry. It’s of me crossing the finish line of a half-marathon. My three kiddos and hubby are waiting for me, arms raised and cheering as I sprint the thirteen miles like a bounding pup.

For a non-running type of person, this is about as big as my dream gets.

But even though I’m trying to reach my running goal by unofficially training with a few miles logged each week, my body is defiantly giving me the finger on this one. It’s not that I’m too achy, or injured or even a wuss -which I often am. The truth is I’m a little bit afraid.

Ok, I’m actually terrified to run.

On Sunday morning after a great workout, where I pushed myself and conquered a monster hill with the fifty lb stroller, I collapsed in the shower while holding the baby. One second I was on my feet and the next a freight train hit my head and I lost consciousness. I was aware of falling; of holding Kolby with a vice grip and then I heard in a far off place the thud of her bottom hitting the shower floor. I came to in a heap on my knees slumping over a hysterically crying Kolby.

Panic set in and all I could think about was watching Faith perform at church. It was Faith’s big day helping to lead worship in big church. No seizure or stupid loss of consciousness was going to stop me from watching my middle baby perform.

After drying off and getting us both dressed, I stumbled outside in shock and demanded my neighbors drive the baby and I to church. And then, only AFTER her performance did I let my husband take me to seek medical treatment.

(Thinking about that later, I can see how this might be a little irrational)

Despite the awfulness of it all, the baby (THANK GOD!) was unharmed and besides a few bruises on my knees and right forearm, which took the brunt of the blow, we are ok. After a slew of tests and a CT scan, my brain appears to be mostly normal –except for my usual social awkwardness, although I am on to some more rounds of tests with a cardiologist.

The doctor suggested I might want to add some water into my weekend regimen of coffee, tea, red wine, coffee, coffee and strenuous workout.

This makes sense unless you are a mother of three. I like water, I really do. I just forget to actually drink it.

When I called my mom from the hospital, her first response was hilarious. “Sam, you’ve finally done it.”

Me -“What did I do?”

Mom- “You’ve done too much.”

Me -‘Valid point mom. I’ll work on it.”

Now that I’m home and recovering, I realize the biggest problem (besides not having another episode) is that I’m slightly scarred (emotionally) from the experience.

I realized I have a tremendous fear of leaving my kids motherless. I mean let’s be honest here, who could love them like I do? Who would sing I love you forever to Kolby or get the knots out of Faith’s tangled locks or encourage my strapping son to dominate the football field with one look and our special sign?

Mommy is a very important job.

It was hard to get back in the shower today. I was scared. It was also hard to drive alone. I feel like a first timer quaking in my flip-flops at doing the most normal of things. And I didn’t want Tim to leave for work even though I knew he had to go.

Today I will be doing a lot of things with trepidation. And maybe, if I can work up the courage, I might take a walk.

And tomorrow or the next day, I’ll get back in the saddle, tighten my laces and try to run again and reach my dream.

I’ll just do it afraid.

And I’ll think about hearing “Go Mommy” at the finish line.

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On a side note, Tim received this e-mail last night from a lady I talked to in the waiting room at the hospital. It was so touching and a gentle reminder, no matter where we go or who we meet, God is always with us.

FYI…I’m Courtney in the scenario below. And Mary, I think you are cool not creepy!

Hi Tim,

This email is pretty random but I was so happy to have been able to track you down through Mariners Church.
We’ve actually never met but yesterday my mom and I sat beside you, your girls, and beautiful wife in the E.R. at Hoag…for a long long time. After you left, your wife and I began to chat a bit. (I believe her name is Courtney but forgive me if I’m wrong. Ever since we left Hoag last evening, I have had Courtney on my heart so strongly. I have been praying for her that her tests results came back with nothing abnormal, and yesterday’s episode proves to be a one time glitch.
It was so nice to pass the time with you guys. After spending just a short period of time with you, I felt pretty certain you were Christians. I love how the Lord’s shows himself in and through the lives of people we come in contact throughout our days. The family of Christ is an amazing thing!
I hope I’m not creeping you out by pretty much stalking you on google but I just really wanted to check and see how Courtney is doing.
I hope you and your family have an amazing Holy week, and celebration of our Risen King!
Love in Jesus
Mary

“Live the life God created you to live.”

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Teens, Jell-o, and Why Animals Eat Their Young

 

I always thought this quote was terrible –“Mothers of Teenagers Know Why Animals Eat Their Young” and yet now I can honestly chuckle and relate.  OK, I’ve never really thought about eating my kids but military school and/or a nunnery might be an option.

It cracks me up when parents of toddlers and small children insinuate because I have two older children –ten and thirteen along with my two-year old, that parenting must be easier.  I nod my head, hold my tongue and silently think, “Oh boy, you are going to eat those words someday oh parenting Yoda of a one-year-old.”

I’m not sure which part is easy?  I don’t even get the benefits of my kids dressing themselves.  I still have to check every article of clothing my daughter wears out of the house lest a hoochie mama try to slip by.  Then there is my son who tries to pull his pants halfway down his behind and wears jeans so tight skinny could be defined as the new loose. 

I get wrinkles from being up with a cranky toddler all night and then face a daily mental battle from my tween and teen.  Sick babies might be a pain in the you know what but they don’t even come close to the never-ending onslaught of brain cell destruction that parenting older children requires.  I feel like I need a graduate degree in reverse psychology and teen Latin (AKA kid speak) to get by.

How do I get my kids to not do stupid stuff when we all did stupid stuff at that age? 

I cringe when my kid’s start probing into my past.  “Mom, were you pure?  Did you French kiss?  Did you pray every day? How old were you when you first had sex, smoked, and stole your parent’s car for a joy ride on Balboa Island?” (Thanks dad for sharing that information with them)

Ummmmmm?  Is this a multiple choice question?  WWJD doesn’t seem to be cutting it anymore and I can’t repeat the acronym I am really thinking…

Sometimes at night, I hold little Kolby close and breathe in her innocence and thank God she is two.  I smile in delight at her temper tantrums and bossiness and adorable pouty face when she sits in time-out.  And I sing praises every morning because I can still dress her in whatever I want and put girly bows in her baby curls. 

Mostly, I thank God she likes Mommy better than all her friends.  Yeah for me! I appreciate this all the more because I know these moments expire around eleven -give or take a few months.

It’s difficult as a pastor’s wife.  People expect me to do it right and have all the answers.  The truth is, the only thing I have figured out is a reliance on the one who does –Jesus. 

I’m the one in church raising her two wimpy arms high in worship, not because I am spiritual, but because I am begging and pleading for direction.

I literally prostrated myself on the ground of the floor in my closet a few weeks weeping and crying out to for God to guide my family through these difficult years of high school and Jr. High.  Even though I have amazing kids whom I lavishly love and adore, navigating emotions and hormones and temptations is like nailing Jell-O to a tree –pointless and frustrating.

I guess if I am honest, I can thank God for these awkward puberty years too, because it certainly draws me closer to him. 

On my knees close.  Kissing the ground close.  Flat on my face close.

I sure miss the days when a crisis could be resolved with a Hello Kitty band-aid and a kiss.

Do you have teens?  Can you relate?

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Seattle with the Kellers

The Keller’s are on vacation…

I thought I would have more time to write. I’m supposed to rest, right? But I forgot I have three children and a trip with a small tribe, Tim Keller and my in-laws is not exactly conducive to contemplation. Fun…oh yeah! Quiet…not so much!

Keller Home

We are staying on Bainbridge Island which is seven miles across the Puget Sound from downtown Seattle. There are no words to describe how stunning it is. I should be paying my in-laws to visit. The Keller house perches on the water of the Sound with a forest behind them. I can sit on the sofa and see the skyline of the city over the crystal blue waves. It’s gorgeous.

Deck with a dusting of snow

From sun-up to sun-down we eat gourmet food, walk about ten miles a day through a rainforest and then drink great wine. It’s a wonderful way to get in touch with nature, expand my ass and get really strong calves.

Bainbridge Island from the Ferry

I wish I could say it’s been all relaxing, but thanks to my dramatic tween-age daughter who has been forced to share her iPad with her siblings and a ginormous lemon bar with the family at a coffee shop we have had DRAMA and tears. If this is a hint of PMS I am terrified. I seriously want to bang my head against the wall when trying to decipher Faith’s emotions.

Faith, Kolby and Me

I AM NOT EQUIPPED FOR PUBERTY! AAAHHHHH!

Pike Place Market

Why can’t they just stay cute and little like our bossy baby Kolby?

Seattle Aquariam

Kyle has fared well. He loves the cold and the rocky beach and he whittled himself a spear to stab deer in the face. Of coarse the only thing he has actually bloodied has been his finger. I think he imagines himself to be a wild mountain man surviving on the rocky beach with nothing but his weapon, some raw oysters and a small boat to ride the waves and survive. We like to encourage his dangerous fantasies and we send him out to play often.

We went on the Underground tour yesterday in Seattle. This is crazy and will mess with your mind. There is a whole network of the city underneath the ground. Talk about a subculture! The city apparently was built on a mud flat and after the great fire of 1889, they rebuilt the streets one story up-leaving a secret world for the red-light district, criminals and chinese immigrants. It was disturbing and creepy and they do ghost and vampire tours at night.

Dude, where is the vampire?

When I’m up here in the Pacific Northwest I appreciate the Twilight/vampire and Indian lore more because the climate is so moody. I can’t stop staring at all the gothic teens and yoga people searching for something -anything to make them feel better. It’s like these people can’t understand that what they are missing is freaking SUNSHINE (and maybe Jesus)!

Underground

I told my father-in-law I’m not sure I could live up here despite the overwhelming beauty. I honestly think I would be so depressed from the lack of light I wouldn’t be able to appreciate it.

Space Needle

It’s nice to visit but I’m ready to come home. And I know it’s sunny in the picture above. But I need more than a few hours. I’m greedy like that.

Did you check out Faith’s wolf hat? It’s to scare the vampires!

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Are you too comfortable in your relationship?

My husband mentors a group of twenty-something guys courageously trying to do dating different.  Fortunately in God’s economy, as much as Tim pours into dater dudes, they in turn flood our lives with uproarious laughter through daily text updates on their awesome dating adventures/catastrophes.  I adore these guys and I love how they make my husband light up like a Christmas tree.

So, I was talking to one of the dater guys at church the other day debating over how much looks should be a part of the process of his dating selection.  And as the conversation heated up, I felt myself getting agitated by his blatant bias towards beauty. Just as I began to climb up onto my soapbox and really lay into him- I got the nudge.

From the Holy Spirit that is.

And a vision of my own shallowness in the dating realm nipped at my toes.

“Really Jesus? Now?  I’m chewing him out so well.”

Yep.  Now is a good time Sam.

Right.  Deep breath.

So I fessed up.  I admitted I used to be a sucker for ripped abs and Tim had me at six-pack.

Dater guy looked at me with a puzzled expression.

Here I am busting his balls for dating hot chicks and yet one of the reasons I (initially) liked my guy was because he made me weak in the knees.

Dater guy looked at me weird.   “Pastor Tim?  Pastor Tim was fierce?”

Tim walked up then.  He rolled his eyes. “Is she telling you about how fabulous my abs used to be?”

Dater guy nodded his head yes.

And then Tim ratted me out.  “She isn’t exactly the same woman I married either.”

OUCH!

Ok, maybe I’ve let myself slide a little.  Ok, a lot. 

“Isn’t the fact that I used to be hot, enough dear?”

We laughed on the way home, because we love each other deeply and for way more than just the looks department.

But it made me think about how once we got married and oh so comfortable; we began to let ourselves go –one mystic tan and protein shake at a time.   I guess, since we already bagged the love of our life, it was a relief to stop the madness of trying so hard to be uber attractive.  It’s much more fun to relax on the sofa holding hands with a bag of Doritos and some Girl Scout Cookies.

But how far is too far?  Have I gone too far?  Clearly…I might need to shower more because exhausted mommy with baby poop on her isn’t doing it for my man.  (This was revealed to me on the way home)

So what is a good balance between apathy and relational confidence?  Between showing your spouse you care enough to be attractive and yet not overdoing it to get outside attention?

So I came up with a test. 

1. Do you shower most days?

a. Yes  +10  b. No -15  c. Define most?  -5

2. Is alcohol or chocolate one of your food groups?

a.  Yes  -10  b.  No  +10  c.  Does chocolate covered bacon count?  -5

3.  Do you wear clean underwear? 

a. Yes  +20  b.  No -50  c. Are you talking about the days I shower?  -25

4.  Do your pajamas have sock monkeys on them?

a.  a. Yes  -10  b. No  +10   c. The sock monkey is in the pajamas  +25 

5.  Ok Ladies…Are you within 10 lbs of your honeymoon weight?

a.  Yes  +10  b. No  -10  c.  Does my honeymoon weight include my wedding dress?  -25

6.  Hey Dudes?  Are you still sporting a mullet?

a.  Yes  -10  b.  No  +10  c.  I’d love to have a mullet because it would mean I had hair!  -25

7.  Have you had a pedicure in the last six months?

a.  Yes  +10  b.  No  -10  c.  Is it a problem if I rip sheets with my toe-nails?  -25

8.  Is lingerie a foreign word in your marriage?

a.  Yes  -10  b.  No  +10  c.  Does my husband’s V-neck t-shirt with pit stains count?  -25

9.  Is your idea of a hot date going to Costco and eating samples for dinner?

a.  Yes  -25  b.  No  +25  c.  Splurged on the ice-cream on the way out  +10

10.  Do you get moderate exercise?

a.  Yes  +50  b.  No  -25  c.  Men-if your primary wardrobe consists of sweet muscle shirts and you drive your Camaro to the gym twice a day  -50  Ladies-does Gymboree with my toddler count?  -25

Results:

Below 0=You might need a marriage makeover

1-80 = Soft in the middle…but on your way.

81 + = Keep Rocking it!

*Sidenote*  Sam got +75 and Tim got -25   (must have been the Camaro that took him out)

 

 

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Champagne Taste on a Beer Budget

Five hands reached out to the center of the table and piled one on top of the other.  Kolby’s little arm had to stretch really far, but she got the tips of her fingers in as our family made our New Year’s pact.

“One, two, three…Yo Gabba Gabba,” we yelled out to seal our commitment. 

The crowd at CPK (California Pizza Kitchen) looked at our table in open curiosity.  Our family isn’t exactly a quiet bunch and tonight we were celebrating Kolby’s second birthday.

First, we went around the table and affirmed our little girl.  Kolby beamed over her mac-n-cheese and pizza.  Then we picked one New Year’s goal each and shared it with the table.  We finished up by picking one crucial action item we could each do in the next few months to turn our goal into a reality. 

Our conversation was sincere, tender and full of cheers and encouragement.

The family next to us glanced over at us occasionally.  Their boys were dressed in the height of surfer cool and the mom and dad had the “OC well groomed look” (i.e. hours at the mall, salon, dermatologist and gym).  Each child got their own meal and soda.  It was obvious their entertainment budget had more wiggle room than ours.

Our family was out to eat on a gift certificate received from a congregant as a Christmas present.  Each of us split a meal and we made our kids drink water.  I dressed baby Kolby in a birthday girl t-shirt, just to make sure the restaurant didn’t forget to give us our free ice cream sundae.

Just as they delivered Kolby’s monstrous sundae (amidst a loud and lusty rendition of “happy birthday”) and the five of us dug in –snarfing like wild dogs on the baby’s treat, I noticed the other family getting served individual desserts the size of Texas. 

I looked at my husband and chuckled, “You know you’re the financially strapped pastor’s family when…”

  • The waiter hates you because the bill is always couponed, meals are split, and they have to ID your kids to make sure they are twelve and under for the kids menu (the hair on my son’s lip and almost six-foot status might indicate an older teen-ok he’s thirteen)
  • The baby yells out “Amen” when the food arrives because she is hungry and doesn’t want to wait for prayers.
  •  The homeless guy in the parking lot is wearing an outfit you have in your closet because the same rich family in town gave you both their hand me downs.
  • You get excited when your kid loses a tooth with a cavity in it. What a saver!
  • You re-gift nice gifts you actually want.
  • You consider washing the birthday girl t-shirt and wearing it the next time you go out to get another free dessert.  (The two-year old won’t catch on for a while)

You also really know you’re the pastor’s family when the rich kids next to you look longingly over at your table and wish they could abandon their big sundae’s and fancy clothes to come and hang out with the big, noisy family where the mom has just spilled ice-cream all over the son’s pants as they try to share bites and snort hysterically.

And even though I don’t love always struggling and pinching pennies, I also know there are some things money simply can’t buy.

 

 

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How kids affect your relationship

Two weeks after the honeymoon my new husband cornered me outside the door of our condo and whispered in agony, “The kids never go away, do they?”

I looked at him with all the empathy a former single mother of two small children could muster and shook my head, “No, they are pretty much around ALL THE TIME. Better get used to it babe.”

I really did feel sorry for my husband that day. It’s a big adjustment for a single (i.e. self absorbed and not used to sharing) thirty-eight year old man to get married and instantaneously have two children. Within a year, I was pregnant and then there were three munchkins running around creating havoc.

But to his credit, my husband adjusted admirably and I have watched in both delight and trepidation as fatherhood has transformed my sweetie into a more loving, sacrificial and humble human being, even though, by his own admission, it’s been excruciatingly painful at times.

The truth is kids affect the best of relationships because kids create stress. But it’s truly up to the couple to determine if the little stressors will be a blessing or a curse.

There is an antidote to the grass is always greener adage about relationships; it’s called –the grass is greener where the lawn is watered. If you take care of your marriage along with your children, both will flourish, but if you neglect one for the other, the marriage will inevitably wither.

The biggest shocker when the stork arrives may be the overwhelming demands of children on one’s time, resources, and sleep. While this may seem obvious, it’s still surprising how many people are baffled at what this actually entails- pretty much everything.

Sleep isn’t guaranteed, emotions become fragile due to lack of sleep, and sexual relations (also due to lack of sleep and post-partum recovery) generally take a nose dive during the toddler years.

There is an erroneous assumption all couples make as they stand at the altar and say “I do,” believing their romance will stay the same and transcend the length of their marriage. And it will, if they would continue to woo and romance each other for the rest of their days.

But generally, couples who spend a great deal of time meeting each other’s emotional needs in the early years refocus all their love, time and attention on the children, leaving their marriage high and dry.

The husband (feeling neglected) starts working longer hours and the wife glares at her husband each evening as he arrives home late while simultaneously blowing kisses to the baby (her new love). Little junior replaces daddy’s spot on the bed next to mommy and the internet become’s daddy’s new girlfriend now that he’s been booted to the sofa. Sound familiar?

In an age of child-centric parenting and skyrocketing divorce, many couples forget the best gift they can give their children is a strong and stable marriage. Kids need to know that their parents adore not only them, but each other as well. A child’s sense of security grows as they watch their parents display love, with all its imperfections, struggle, and willingness to choke out an “I’m sorry (even when we aren’t).”

Because I’ve been through a divorce (and don’t want another) there are certain non-negotiables in our marriage that we implemented right from the get-go.

My husband and I intentionally spend time alone catching up –usually over a long rambling walk where we air out both the good and bad. I make an effort to meet his sexual needs (always a challenge) and he tries hard to emotionally connect with my complicated female heart. We vacation together without our children (AKA “sexcations”). We affirm and admire each other and we go to counseling on a regular basis. We are honest with each other and try to always put our marriage first-even before the children.

All of this takes enormous effort and a hearty dose of unselfishness, but the results are a strong and healthy marriage that we both treasure.

Marriage isn’t for the weak or the namby-pamby’s out there, and it’s no walk in the park once the children enter the picture, but I believe it’s a worthy endeavor and if done well, can be a beacon of hope to a world desperately in need of something to believe in. Love –at its core is radical, sacrificial and a choice made every day in the trenches of dirty diapers and temper tantrums.

The greatest compliment my husband bestowed upon me was when he leaned over and whispered, “I know it would be hard with four children, but I would love to have another baby with you.”

*Note* I wrote this piece for a secular magazine. I tried to weave God into it, without being overly preachy. But ultimately, I believe God is love and marriage is a beautiful picture of the relationship between Jesus and his church.

Oh boy, do we ever screw this one up ♥

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