Mom Put Magic In The Christmas Stocking

December 23, 2019

Growing up, the Christmas stockings were the best part of Christmas morning. My brother would also agree. My mom would search for the perfect, meaningful gifts all year and at various places. “I got that while your dad and I were out of town”. My mom was always thoughtfully planning to make our stockings special, before Christmas was even a thought in our heads.

Each stocking stuffer was carefully wrapped, waiting to be uncovered by kids wondering what Mom had put in there this time. I’ve unwrapped mini 90s shimmery lipsticks and flavored lip balms. Novelty school supplies, such as a pencil topped with a vial of polished stones, because my mom knew I loved collecting rocks. There was also an oversized eraser with the printed phrase “Homework Causes Brain Damage”, because my mom knew what a struggle the school year had been and that I needed a laugh. Before there were fidget spinners and fidget blocks, there were my mom’s stocking stuffers. Mind puzzles that took fiddling with your hands to solve and items that quietly kept your mind busy. And for a kid that had an anxious mind, it felt like mom had put magic in the Christmas stocking. And sometimes there literally was magic in my stocking. I had a love for the art of illusion, optical illusion and the art of performance illusion. With dreams of growing up to be a professional illusionist, unwrapping magic tricks made my imaginative heart happy. To believe just for a moment that magic was real…

But for the observer, the stockings may have appeared to be filled with pointless, meaningless things. What a waste of time to spend all year on such small things. The perception of the observer and the perception of the giver and receiver can be worlds apart.

At the first Christmas, Mary had been fleeing for her child’s life when she gave birth in a stable. I’m sure it appeared less than magical. But for Mary, I’m sure it was more than magical. It was miraculous. Giving birth to her first child and holding him for the first time. Do you remember holding your baby the first time? The warmth, the smell, the joy. And not just any child, but the Savior. Mary was the first one to receive this beautiful gift that God had planned long ago. And this gift isn’t just for Mary, but is for each person on Earth. Tailor made for each of our needs since the first wrong. And for the receiver of Jesus, is found an abundant life for eternity. To have sins washed away, to have the promise of eternity, and to have the storms of anxiety calmed is more than magic. To the receiver, Jesus is a very welcomed miracle at just the right time.

And now I’m the mom filling my own kids’ stockings with perfect, meaningful gifts. Things that they love and make their hearts happy. I’ve come to understand that there was more than just magic in my stocking. There was Jesus. My mom had been pointing me to this precious gift the whole time with her thoughtful planning, love, kindness, and care. And my hope is my kids can find the magic and miracle of Christmas. I hope that I have pointed them to Jesus, especially in the smallest of ways. Even in their Christmas stockings.

When You See My Dog

December 11, 2019

When you see my dog, you may see an animal, but I see someone that is family.

When you see my dog, you may see a dog that’s loudly yapping at anyone that walks by, while leaving smudge marks on my window, but I see my guardian angel looking out for me.

When you see my dog, you may see an inconvenience, but I see a faithful, reliable, true friend.

When you see my dog, you may see a dog licking my face any chance he gets, but I see someone that loves me back.

When you see my dog, you may see just one more thing I have to care for, but I see someone that takes care of me.

I won’t deny my dog does doggy things and has his own quirks that are less than desirable. But what you don’t see are all the reasons he’s with me. The times I’ve cried, the times I’ve been ill, the times I’ve been anxious, the times I’ve grieved and been heartbroken. The times I’ve been filled with endless joy. The feelings of comfort and love my dog brings me that an observer can’t see but are real to me. They say that a dog is a man’s best friend. But have you ever seen a dog mom? She always has her dog by her side (more like in her lap). He knows no one loves him like his momma does. Because as much as I care for my dog, he always cares for me more. My family has me, and I have my dog. And I’ll be his person until the absolute end.

My Husband Is My Bestie

November 3, 2019

When my husband and I were first getting to know each other, I could tell he was really into me. No, he really had it bad. So much that he pointed me out to his dad and declared, “I’m going to marry that girl one day”. Of course, I didn’t know any of this until much later. But I could feel something was building, and I had to squash this idea immediately by making a declaration myself that I wanted to be friends. I had no idea what I was really saying, because a friendship was exactly where it was headed and was exactly what I needed and wanted. And not any friendship, a best friendship.

My husband is my bestie. He’s my best bud, best friend, best companion. This is coming from a girl with a lot of amazing girlfriends, many of more than ten years and some of more than 30. Some knew me as a kid, went through college with me, and walked me through break ups. These are girls I can call upon and rely on. But none of those friendships I have compare to the friendship I have with my husband.

I enjoy living each day with him. We love being alone and look forward to our monthly dates. We have a similar vision and similar goals, we share favorite songs and shows, we have a ton of inside jokes, and we even make the same joke at the same time, his stated more loudly, of course. I look forward to telling him about my day, even giving him the most trivial detail. I enjoy hearing about his day too.

They say love is blind. But I think true love allows the other to truly see. To truly see each other. I’m honest with him, even if it means the honesty may start a fight. It’s worth the risk and worth being accepted even after truly being seen. And just like besties, if we get into a fight, we find a way to make up again.

My husband is my bestie. I cheer him on, and he cheers me on too. It’s not a competition. It’s a friendship of mutual respect and admiration.

People sometimes treat marriage like you can’t lose it. They treat it like it’s a guaranteed forever, a vow that can’t be broken. And although you may decide to stay married, you can lose the friendship. Have you ever lost a best friendship before? I’ve seen many walk through divorce and the saddest thing about a dissolved marriage isn’t when the divorce is final, it’s when the marriage on paper is no longer a friendship. I don’t want to lose my best friend, even if we stick it out and stay married for life.

So, as cheesy and annoying as it may seem, we’ll continue to wear matching colors to weddings, we’ll finish each other’s jokes, and we’ll say “I need to check with my spouse first”. It matters that my husband is my bestie. Being each other’s best friend is the greatest benefit a marriage can offer. I choose each day to keep my husband my best friend, my confidant, and my person I check in with and tell everything to. I’ll make this friendship last through the end and will work each day at being his bestie too.

So, if your husband is your bestie too, hold on tight, cherish him, spend time with him, have fun together, pray for him and with him, listen to him, tell him how much he means to you, stay connected, believe in him, don’t keep secrets from him, and choose him each day. Take that risk to be vulnerable and honest. Make it a friendship that lasts until the end. And not just a friendship, but a best friendship.

To The Have-To-Work Moms

October 29, 2019

“I just wish you could stay home like I did”, my mom said while I was on a short maternity leave. And she wasn’t wishing alone. I wished I could too. It was a heartbreaking understanding that I accepted quickly in motherhood. I was going to be a working mom. But not just a working mom, a have-to-work mom. A woman whose husband had a humble paying career and a schedule, in which I high five my husband when he walked in, because it was his turn to parent alone. Fellow have-to-work moms know what that means without even an explanation.

To my fellow have-to-work moms, the ones that feel the pressure to provide. Who go without so her kids can have. Maybe your husband is a teacher or is in law enforcement like mine. Maybe you are a single mom who’s worked hard alone. Maybe your spouse is sick and cannot work. Or maybe there was a major job loss or financial hit. Whatever the case is, your household survives on your income.

You’ve heard the, “if you trust in God, He’ll provide a way to be a stay-at-home mom.” 9 years in, I’m still here waiting. And maybe you’re waiting too. Or maybe you love your outside job and have no plans to stop.

To my fellow have-to-work moms. To the ones that would love to stay home but can’t budget that one in. Or the ones that would still choose to work, even if finances were different. To the ones that just want the option. To the ones that say, “my husband works hard so I can too”.

To the ones that have missed school parties, Easter egg hunts, or bedtimes. To the ones explaining to their kids that mommy has to work. To the ones that are there when they can and still takes care of her family’s needs.

To the have-to-work moms, want-to-work moms, and stay-at-home moms.

You’re doing a beautiful job. You are refining under pressure. You are loving your kids. You are upholding promises. You are what your children need.

Don’t forget to take time for yourself. Don’t forget to love yourself. Don’t forget to forgive yourself. Don’t forget to find someone to talk to. Don’t forget to pray about it. It’s a lot of pressure that you shouldn’t muster it alone.

God will provide for you. He’ll provide you the grace to get through, the forgiveness when you mess up, the comfort when you’re hurting, the companionship when you feel alone, and the strength when you need it. He is faithful to help you do what you have to do, because He’s the want-to kind of Father.

When You Call On Your Brother

October 13, 2019

If you ever met my brother and I, you may think we are complete opposites. His favorite 90s music is alternative rock. Mine is 90s R&B. He’s black and white. I’m 1 million shades of gray with a ton in between. He’s more structured, and I’m more fluid with lots of “it depends”. He studied engineering, and I studied psychology. He understands numbers, and I understand people. He’s skilled at fixing and building things. I’m skilled at communication and words. I assess people, and he assesses houses. He voted for Trump, and I’m accused by him of voting for Hillary, no matter how many times I explain I did NOT (even though I didn’t vote for Trump). Yep, that sums it up.

And this goes way back. You can ask our mom. I can remember having very different interests as kids: I would spend hours listening to music and indulging in artsy stuff, and he would spend hours doing whatever nerdy numbers things he was doing. We had an elementary teacher once make the mistake of assuming we were just alike. It didn’t take her long to figure out that I’m not my brother. Even to this day, we have very different interests. I don’t think my brother gets what I do (even though science does, in fact, back it), and this may be the only blog post of mine he’ll ever read (if he even reads this). And I’m grateful there are people that are into that kind of a thing he’s into, because that kind of thing is dull and boring (even though it’s necessary).

Do you have a sibling? Maybe he or she is just like you. Or maybe just the opposite. Maybe you’re twins, or maybe you seem like you were raised in different homes or in alternate universes. Whatever the case, it doesn’t matter how similar you are. If you vote the same way. Or view life with the same lens. It matters how they respond when you call. Do they listen? Do they show up? Do they encourage or pray? Do they calm your anxious head?

My brother was the only one in my family I could practice learning how to drive with without losing my nerve. So, it makes sense I would call on my brother when I needed an ally the most. The time I had someone bothering me at school and needed a big brother to step in. That’s all it took. The time I was 800 miles away from home at college and hurting from a bad break up. It was very late. The time I was trying to get to know the cute guy at church, and he called him to come over. The rest is history. The time the cute boy and I were buying our first house, and we needed input. And the times we needed help doing a home project, because I married someone too much like myself.

When you call on your brother. If you have a sibling you can call on, be grateful. Some have losses and some have less than healthy. If you’re blessed like I am, you’ll have someone that’s there. If you’re lucky, you’ll have someone that shows up. And if he calls, you’re there too. Because it doesn’t matter if you fully agree or don’t agree at all, it just matters that you answer each other’s calls.

Daddy and The Carousel

September 13, 2019

“Oh, my gosh. She is so cute and so tiny. How old is she?” Our youngest daughter has always attracted a lot of attention because of her size. I’m tiny, and my husband isn’t tall. So, it makes sense we have 3 petite kids. But our youngest is the tiniest. No, really, super tiny. She’s on her own growth curve, and her percentage size is always an estimate: <3%. She was small in the womb with no medical reason. She was small at a full term birth: 5 lbs 6oz. And she’s small now as she turns 3: growing into 2T clothing. She does all the things other kids her age do and with a confident spirit. She does not seem phased by her size. She reminds you she is not a baby. She is sweet, darling, and tiny but is a force to be reckoned with. Being small has given her the extra boost to be assertive. And she’s in good company.

It was summer and fair time. Our family looks forward to our fair every year. We get there early to avoid the entrance fee, bring a ton of water, eat lots of fair food, get the ride wrist bands, and stay until the sunset. That’s how you do the fair. This year, our girls hit some milestones. Our older one could ride some of the bigger rides. Our middle one could ride more rides without an adult but with her big sis instead. And our little one was finally just big enough to ride more rides than the carousel and the big slide with her dad. Yep, she had to grow into the baby rides.

I took the two bigger kids to a kid coaster, and my husband took our littlest one to the carousel. I peered over to their direction to see if I can spot them. Did she choose a black horse, maybe a white one, inside or outside. That’s when I spotted them sitting on the carousel sleigh bench.

Afterward, I asked what happened, and my husband explained that our littlest one was too scared to be on a horse, despite her previous excited pleas to ride the carousel and despite her dad securely holding her. She had been on carousels before and was great. But this time, she became afraid and didn’t remember how big her daddy was. There’s no way in the world my husband would ever let her fall. He would risk breaking something before that would even happen.

Her dad has always rocked her, held her, comforted her. He held her as a newborn in the hospital and held her in her other hospital stay. He’s playfully thrown her up into the air, as daddies do, catching her with her grin and giggle. He’s danced with her, pushed her on swings, helped her on tricycles, held her hand navigating big playgrounds, and caught her at the end of slides. He’s even held her on the big fair slides. And those are fast! But this moment, it seemed, she was looking at how small she was, how big the carousel was, and not at how big her daddy was.

How you ever forgotten how big your Heavenly Father is? I know I have. He’s walked with you and held you through hardship before. He’s made things change in your favor before, maybe even done a miracle. Suddenly, you are looking at how big your problem is and forget about God’s strength, sovereignty, and love for you. Will God keep me safe? Is He really there? What if I lose this job? What if I lose my spouse or my kids? What if I lose everything? Our worries can haunt and plague us. In our hardship or our sorrows, we can easily lose sight of the One that holds us close and dear. The One that calms the storm, sometimes on the outside and sometimes just on the inside. We forget how big our Daddy is. It takes actively seeking Him to remember all who He is when the storm comes. When life’s carousel of ups and downs takes us for a ride.

Some time later, I took the big girls again to another big kid ride. And my husband took our littlest one back to the carousel. This time, when I looked over, I saw her happily on her horse of choice. No tears. Just a happy cheesy grin with her daddy. Her eyes were off of how small she was and off of the fearful what-ifs but were now on her strong daddy: the one holding her securely through the ups and downs.

The Day My Husband Became A Superhero

June 15, 2019

Artwork by MDCN

My husband is a superhero. Yep, you heard me right. My husband recently became a police officer. It’s been a dream of his since he was little. To protect and serve. “Why do you want to be a police officer”, he was often asked. “I want to help people”. Simple as that. He began applying fresh out of college. His passion for law enforcement never died despite some early disappointing misses. Throughout the years, he never shook this nagging feeling. Have you ever had dream unrealized? A desire you can’t shake? An unanswered prayer? An unanswered question? “Why didn’t that work out for me?” 

Until one day, with his birthday deadline approaching, he asked me, “Do you mind if I give it another shot?” And without hesitation, I replied, “Go for it.” And that was it. Something transformed in him. Something was reignited. This unrealized dream was now turning into a plan. An achievable goal. And it had to work. He was the old guy. This was it for him. All the late nights at the gym. The meal planning. The practicing interviewing. The praying. Becoming a police officer is not something anyone just stumbles into or tries out. It is an intentional lifelong service. A sacrifice. You are never really off the clock. Some sit on hiring lists for years. And some never make it. It has to be in your soul, and you have to blood, sweat, and tears it. God created the vision, and my husband ran hard with it. Many ask, “Why on Earth would you want to be a police officer this day in age where people don’t value, don’t respect, nor do they trust authority?” His answer has remained the same: to help people.

I was the first person he called when he got the news. I shared the news with our kids. “Daddy did it!”, our middle one had shouted. I had the honor of holding our Bible while he swore his oath and the honor of struggling to pin on his badge (it’s way more difficult than you think). The privilege watching him graduate from the Academy with a broken ankle and all! Still, so handsome in his uniform. The pride. The honor. The courage. The call.

But what if this was just a job? Just a title. What if his uniform was just work attire? What if his squad car was just another vehicle? What if 51 was just a number? What if his badge was just a fancy piece of metal? Because what if the badge doesn’t make the man, but what if the man actually makes the badge. A symbol is just a picture without the character to carry it.

What if the day he became a superhero wasn’t just when he took the oath or when he graduated but were also all the times before? The times he’s made his parents proud. Superhero. The times he’s helped people move, and he doesn’t even own a truck. Superhero. The moments he realized his new baby was a girl and the first time he held each of his girls in his arms. The late nights changing diapers and rocking sleepy babies to sleep. Superhero. The times he’s taught his girls to ride bikes and play ball. Superhero. The birthdays he went all out for and games and events he never missed. Superhero. All the times he lights up a room and makes that whole room cry from laughter. Superhero. The times he’s walked neighborhood dogs home, held doors for people , and returned other people’s grocery carts. Superhero. The time he pursued to take the oath when others turned the other way. The time he broke his ankle and returned the next day to finish what he started. Superhero. All the times he’s been the listening ear for family and friends. The times that he’s honored his wedding vows. The times he has cheered me on too. The times he’s followed God and brought his family to church when it’s easier to stay home. Superhero. There will be more to come. More times where he’s the first one on the scene. The one called on people’s worst days. The one having hard conversations. The one providing aid and direction.

I can’t tell you what day he actually became a superhero. I don’t think you can really pinpoint it. It’s more of a gradual transformation. A daily way of being. I just know he already was one when I met him. And now he has the badge.

Circles And Corners

March 10, 2019

“I don’t understand it. I reach out and call, and they don’t call back unless they need something. I tell them things in private, and they openly criticize me and talk about me. I am happy for them, and they don’t even seem to notice my accomplishments. It’s like I’m invisible.” Maybe this sounds familiar. Maybe this FEELS familiar. Sometimes, those you assume should and would be there are far from supportive. They are not just on a different page but are on a completely different book series, in a different genre, by a different author. They are in the same room, but are light years away.

It’s wonderful to have a circle. Family, friends, and acquaintances that are near and dear. Those you see often and can easily reach. Ones that are connected to you in multiple ways and those you see on holidays. We are meant to have relationships. We are meant to connect. We are meant to have a familiar circle. But not everyone in our circle is supportive, get us, or are even our people. They may even share your DNA or same last name. There’s always one (at least!). Sometimes, they ignore us. Sometimes, they don’t even like us. Sometimes, they are just plain toxic.

Don’t find people that are just in your circle. Find those that are in your corner.

Find the people that will cheer your wins with enthusiasm and encourage you with hope in your losses. Those that will say “I can see you doing that” when you share a new bucket list goal. Those that will help you pick yourself up when you fall. Those that look for ways to include you. Those that will pamper you with care when you’re all beat up. Those that will just sit with you in silence when there are no words. Those that will tell you the hard truths when you would rather they say what you want to hear instead. The ones that will tell you you’re wrong and the reasons they’re concerned (and you actually listen). But having people in your corner means you are in their corner too. You don’t just take but you give. Because when they win, you win too. And they know when you win, they’re gonna win too.

Your corner can be made of family. The ones closest to you. It can be made of friends. Sometimes, it’s the ones you talk to every so often but pick back up where you left off like time was put on pause. And sometimes it’s only for a season. Sometimes, it’s a lot of people. Sometimes, it’s just a few. Sometimes, it’s just your dog and Jesus. Sometimes, it’s just you and Jesus. And, sometimes, we’re left asking, “Jesus, you still there?”

Whoever it is that is in your corner, appreciate them and be grateful for them. Listen to your corner, feel their support, and take heed. And be grateful for, encourage, and listen to yourself especially when you’re the only one. You’re in it to win it. You’ve got your eye on the prize. And be grateful you’re still in the corner because that means you haven’t given up. Instead, you’re still fighting the good fight.

It’s Not All Roses

February 14, 2019

“Eww. What’s that smell?”, my kids said in dismay. “I think it’s the flowers,” I said a little confused by my conclusion. “Yuck those flowers smell bad!” The girls were right. I had woken up that morning wondering if the dog or the toddler had peed somewhere. Multiple times. Until, I realized the smell was coming from the beautiful bouquet of flowers that my husband bought for our daughters and me for Valentine’s Day. I’m not complaining here. My husband is very sweet with his surprises for us. And the flowers were a beautiful and nice life filled touch to our lengthy, polar vortexy winter. Seriously, how long is this winter? I was puzzled how a gorgeous bouquet could smell so terrible! It wasn’t the elegant roses. Those smelled amazing. Was it the tiny carnations, or the baby’s breath, or something sprayed on the stems? I couldn’t figure it out. All I knew was that this beautiful display wasn’t all roses.

When I was young and single, I had this naive fantasy of what marriage should be: an expensive house, frequent dates and luxurious vacations, getting along always, staying young and fit, cuddling in our sleep all night. And not many things going wrong because, after all, I’m a great planner, I’m a good person, and I love Jesus. What could possibly go wrong?

There it was our wedding day. I had spent months of planning and imagining. No, more like obsessing. Yet, many, many things went wrong. No, really. Things outside of our control. I didn’t plan this! But some things were too perfect to be planned. How my husband had forgotten his written vows at home and had to recite them from memory and how he made everyone laugh. That’s right, folks, my husband made everyone laugh during the ceremony. Perfect. And how we happened to write the exact same opening line. It’s so cheesy that Hallmark can’t even make that up! How my cake design looked even more amazing than I imagined. How my all rose floral arrangements, from the wedding on a budget aisle at Hobby Lobby, looked stunning. They looked like a million bucks! A special moment I had with my mom. Can’t plan that! But at the end of the whirlwind head spinning day, where I didn’t even get a piece of my own cake, we were husband and wife. Which means everything. Our wedding day was a lesson for us that it’s not all roses.

But there’s some roses. And those are beautiful, because marriage IS beautiful. Love is beautiful. Life is beautiful. Like the first home you have, the first pregnancy test you take, and the first positive test you get. The first time you hold your first baby. (Cue the crying. I have myself crying over here). The first steps, first words, first days of school. The big dreams you both accomplish while cheering each other on. The couples friends you get. The dates you get without the kids and the comfort you have knowing your partner has your back and gets you and your mess.

But there’s also the times you don’t want to plan. The things that smell bad in life. The doctor’s visit that you receive bad news, the terrible piece of mail that comes in, the struggles you go through and the struggles your kids go through, a big fight. A rough patch. A financial loss. Loss of loved ones. It’s not all roses.

Love is learning to grow up together and grow closer together with the roses and the not roses. Love is a mixed bouquet. But a lovely bouquet. One that you can still find joy in and experience. Embrace it and enjoy it while life lasts. Because it doesn’t last all that long as we are merely a vapor. Take all of it in. Because it truly is beautiful. The roses and even the not so roses.

A Baby And Her Bottle

July 5, 2018

“If she won’t take the medicine with a syringe, try putting it in the bottle. Some babies will chug it, because they’re hungry”, the kind lady at the hospital told us prior to discharge. She went over all the instructions on how to care for our baby who was now officially being treated for cluster seizures. our sweet girl had been through enough. We were ready to go home.

In the next couple of days, we found giving our baby medication 2 times a day was very challenging. She would block the medicine with her tongue and would cry. If she could just understand this is for her good, I thought. Out of desperation, we followed the recommendation and placed the medicine in the bottle. She didn’t go for it. Then, we tried mixing it with milk. Then, more milk. Then, chocolate milk. Nothing. We ended up having to still give her the medication via syringe, but now we had a new problem: she would no longer take a bottle. She no longer trusted her bottle and was too smart to be fooled. This was a big problem for a 9 month old that was so petite that she wasn’t even on the growth chart. And a problem for a baby whose mom had to work part time.

Everything was fine when I was home. But feeding her when I was at work became like trying to solve the Rubik’s Cube in the dark. She was taking the saying “breast is best” a bit too far. We consulted her doctors, who reassured us to not panic and that she’ll eat if she’s hungry. We tried everything they suggested and even ideas of our own: different family members feeding her, tried both formula and breast milk, bought new expensive bottles with the large nipples, tried various sippy cups that looked nothing like bottles. I even tried doing the switcheroo. You know, where you, in the middle of nursing, try to have baby unlatch and then latch to the bottle. Nope. She would push the bottle away in her sleep and continue nursing.

Then, I thought of a great idea. I will slowly expose her to bottle feeding until she’s no longer turned off from the bottle. If it works for phobias, systematic desensitization has to work with a baby terrified of drinking from her bottle. I got this! I gave her the bottle nipples without the bottle attached to play with. Overtime, success. Then, gave her the nipple with the ring attached. After a while, success. Then, attached it to an empty bottle. Success. “Look, she’s happy with her bottle”, patting myself on the back. I’m one bad mama. As soon as a little milk went in it, she would push it away and not go near it. Attempt after attempt. She would not go for it. Systematic desensitization fail. She would not forget her betrayal.

In the meantime, I was driving home on breaks just to nurse her and was spreading out my work schedule even more throughout the week. Talk about anxiety knowing your baby is probably hungry but only wants you. And you’re not home. We introduced more baby cereal and baby food, which wasn’t her favorite, but she was willing to eat some from a spoon. Other than that, she would wait until she heard my voice when I got home. Right when she would sense my presence came the hysterics. Talk about working mom guilt! “If I could only stay home!”, I cried.

Out of desperation, my husband thought of his great idea. It was no therapy technique I’ve ever studied and definitely not in any text book I’ve ever read. He took his T-shirt and cut a hole big enough for the nipple of her bottle to go through. “Hey, if it works for Mom, it’s got to work for Dad”, he thought. He got the milk ready, placed the bottle in his t-shirt, brought baby up to his chest, and she started to happily drink her milk. Success. He was on his way to being hailed Dad Of The Year. The Superest Superdad There Ever Was. That was until the bottle suddenly slipped through the hole and freaked our baby girl out, causing her to be even more disgusted by her bottle. At least, he gave it a shot.

This story would have ended nicely if Superdad swept in and saved the day. But sometimes in the world of parenting, we try everything, and things don’t quite resolve so easily. We aren’t handed a book with all the answers, but we end up writing the book and write a different one for each child. Sometimes, we just have to hang in there, creatively use our resources, and be patient. And just hope and pray. We cannot demand that our children just get with the program, because sometimes they don’t understand the program. Instead of expecting our children to rise up to our level of understanding, we have to kindly reach down to their level and lovingly see life from their point of view. She eventually warmed back up to the bottle and took every feeding while I was gone. I took away from that experience some priceless lessons I’ll never forget: never ever mess with a baby’s bottle, and I’m a much better parent than I think I am.