Livia said some things tonight that were hurtful to me as a mother. Frankly, I didn’t think I’d hear things like that until she was 14 or so, but perhaps I should have known better considering her strong will. Whenever I’m thrown into a new situation parenting-wise, it always takes me awhile to figure out an appropriate response. Do I discipline for this? If so, how? Do I simply ignore this behavior? Do I give an explanation and a warning this time around? I was actually taken aback by what Liv said and had to stop to consider how very little she understood the implications of her words. (For those of you who are curious, her comments related to adoption.)

After thinking about our little situation that had potential to brew into something very unlovely, I realized, Hey! I’m the parent here! I’m in charge, not this pint-sized punkin. Livia is a child, she doesn’t know what I know and understand what I understand. It’s my job to act like, speak like, and protect her like an adult.

I felt incredibly God-ordained in my role in that moment. Even more than that, I felt like I understood just the smallest bit of what God feels for us, his children. How many times have I turned away from his love? Over and over and over. How many times have I thought, spoken or acted in ways that were dishonoring to him? How often do I say ridiculous things that distort truth? All. the. time. God stands over me, in his infinite wisdom and love, and is as steady as a rock. He doesn’t change like the shifting shadows (James 1:17). He doesn’t treat me in the way I deserve to be treated when I’m foolish and childish, but extends limitless compassion and grace to me (Psalm 103:8-10). His love is steadfast and never ceases (Lamentations 3:22).

As I was considering all this tonight I was reminded about something great and wonderful today, something I almost forgot about. At lunchtime I needed to take Livia to preschool and run a few other errands. But I’ve been feeling super crappy with a bronchial infection and emotionally I wasn’t doing so well. Once we were loaded in the car I started crying in frustration. After a few minutes, Livia began to pray out loud: “Dear God, please take care of Mommy and heal her cold…” I can’t remember the rest of the prayer. I just know I was impressed by her sensitivity and the fact that she knew she could turn to God in spontaneous prayer, that God would take care of these problems.

Thank you, God, for loving us so incredibly—you have given us blessings we do not deserve. Thank you especially for Jesus, who died on the cross so that we, who are so childish and full of selfishness, can spend eternity with you. Help me to be more like you, to love my child the way you love me.

If you’re patient and can wade through the following photos, then you’ll be rewarded with my Aunt Ruthie’s chocolate chip cookie recipe. She recorded it for me on an old grocery list and the title read exactly as it’s listed above. I’ve made the cookies so many times in the last few weeks that I could do without them for some time (and that’s saying something because I love me some cookies).

Prior to becoming a mother I romanticized the notion of cooking with my small child. What I didn’t foresee was the reality of kid fingers double-dipping in the dough, a little mouth eating straight from the mixing bowl when Mommy’s back was turned, and copious amounts of flour dusting the kitchen floor. Note to future mothers: cooking with your child also takes a lot more time than cooking by yourself! However, when Liv and I do cook together, I’m always rewarded by two things. One, the chance for a decent photo opp. And two, the opportunity for me to get better, with clear boundaries and more patience, at instructing and oftentimes disciplining my child. Apparently human beings aren’t born with the knowledge that they should never double dip! Imagine that.

After lots of baking with Liv by my side, I learned that she likes flour. Here’s my little helper with her very own pile:

And here’s my little helper patting it into just the right shape for…

licking off the counter.

Now, doesn’t that look yummy? I mean really, who WOULD’NT want to eat straight flour?

Ah, my goofy girl. And just so you know, I’m sparing you the photos with Liv’s tongue stuck out. She’s into that kind of thing these days, the tongue-sticking out thing. Will that phase be ending anytime soon?

You’ve been patient. So without further ado, I give you my Aunt Ruthie’s cookie recipe.

The Best Chocolate Chip Cookies EVER

Ingredients

• 4 eggs
• 2 C brown sugar
• 2 C white sugar
• 1.5 C Crisco
• 1 t baking soda
• 2 t salt
• 3 t baking powder
• 4 t vanilla
• 4 C flour

Steps

1. Preheat oven to 350.
2. Mix ingredients.
3. Stir in 1 package chocolate chips.

Notes

• For the best chocolate chocolate chips, add one large package of instant chocolate pudding mix.
• This recipe makes a lot of dough! You can roll the extra dough into foil and freeze until you need it.
• One more thing. If you’re using large eggs, add another half cup of flour to the dough.
• Want to know how long to bake the cookies? I had to guess on this one. It’s approximately 10 minutes, mas o menos.
• Aunt Ruthie, I hope you don’t mind me sharing your recipe with the world…

When one leaves a dirty training toilet on one’s back porch, then one should not be surprised when it gets used.

In the broad daylight.

By a particular four year old.

Who then said, “I just teasing, Mom.”

Clearly, someone needs to put that potty away.

The length of our days has increased lately. Somehow the hours between 8am and 8pm have lengthened and by the time we put Livia to bed at night, I feel like I’ve run a few marathons. I’m thinking this strange phenomena has something to do with summer vacation, extended daylight hours, and a four year old who prefers Mommy as her constant playmate. These marathon days have stretched me—sometimes I have stepped up to the challenge (thinking, only 45 minutes until bedtime!) and sometimes I have collapsed under the weight of feeling like a director of activities on a cruise ship. Last Friday was a day of collapse where I woke up feeling overwhelmed before the day even began. I cried on the phone to Renae, then called my favorite pinch hitter, my mom, who came to my rescue. After sleeping three and a half hours and feeling like I had hit rock bottom, life got easier. I needed to step back from the swirling emotions that overwhelmed me to realize that a few changes needed to be made, both with my expectations of myself and of my days with Livia. Superwoman, or even competitive marathon runner, I am not.

I’d like to write a tidy blog post on how I’ve learned to balance my days, how I’ve realized the value of community and of asking for help, how I’ve finally learned that God gives grace when I need it. But I’d be exaggerating a happy ending for the sake of a writing exercise. I still feel a huge need to balance the dishes and the laundry, my child’s academic future and her need for boundaries, my work with Redeemer and my evenings with my husband… In fact, while thinking of all I need to do, I get a tightness in my chest. But somehow rational thoughts must overcome the ever-present to-do list. Life is more than finding a balance. It has less to do with checking items off a list and more to do with glorifying God in each moment. So as I sit and write, ignoring the junk pile to my right that demands organization, I’ll seek to find joy amidst the mess. I’ll try to walk the marathon(s) today and not try to figure out how to make it through tomorrow’s race quite yet.

At the same time, I’ll continue to look forward to preschool this fall, shorter days, and, if God sees fit, a sibling and playmate for Livia.

Seek first his kingdom and his righteousness, and all these things [food, clothing, etc] will be given to you as well. Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:33-34

A mom is a mom is a mom. I’m pooped out tonight and boy do I wish you all could catch my drift based on the first sentence alone. Alas, I’ll forge ahead…

A women is a mother when she has children. Doesn’t matter if those children are biologically hers or adopted. In addition a child is HER child no matter what. It doesn’t matter if this child was adopted at 7 weeks or 7 years or 17 years of age. I find it offensive when journalists write about how Susie Somebody has two daughters and an adopted son. If the fact of adoption must be known, then the sentence begs parallel structure and should point out that the daughters are biological children.

What I’m trying to say is that we should all have a little more compassion, sensitivity and level headedness when it comes to how families are made these days. Just as it’s no longer acceptable to call me “spotted” (seriously, people used to use that term for freckles!), it’s no longer acceptable to make a kid feel different or strange or like an outsider because of his beginnings. Let’s get with the program, people—it’s time for a change.

And for the record, NBC, you still didn’t get it right. Adoptive mothers don’t fit in the same category as loving neighbors. You’ve made an improvement, but you’ve still got a ways to go. Why not salute all mothers without using categories to do so?

I’m preparing to share our story of adoption with a group of women Saturday and the reminiscing has been quite something. It’s given me great joy and respect for Liv’s birth family who keeps in touch with us still. It’s reminded me of God’s amazing and incredible and very detailed grace that provided for us every step of the way during the time leading up to our adoption of Livia. I’ve been encouraged once again by the unending support we found in friends and loved ones, and I’m completely overwhelmed once again by all the nitty-gritty pieces of information that had to fit together to make the adoption happen. I’m full of praise for the God who created my beautiful little girl, and I rejoice that she sleeps peacefully in her yellow bedroom just a few feet from where I type.

As I share our story, I can’t help but look forward and wonder what God is preparing for our future. We would love to have more children. For now, we pray and wait. Just like we prayed and waited four years ago.

The truth about me is that I feel like I deserve a medal for doing many things… mowing the lawn, cleaning Liv’s little potties, making a great dinner. Ridiculous and petty, but there it is. We all do mundane tasks everyday without any kudos and I’m aware of that. Nonetheless, unwinding last night via blogging and chocolate? Good stuff. Thanks to the other parents who commented. I know I’m not alone in the realm of Target Tantrums.

The truth about parenthood is that it’s hard business. Dirty business. Business for tough people who have soft hearts. Soft people with tough hearts just won’t cut it in this line of work. When I reflect on the most gratifying experiences of my life, I find that they all involve hard work. When you roll up your sleeves and pour yourself into a project, you find that much more joy in the results. Perhaps that’s why, every evening after Liv’s asleep, I think of her little round face on her pillow, complete with two fingers in her mouth, and I fall in love with her all over again.

Someone pin a frickin’ medal on me. Seriously. I just stepped out of Super Target with the most ill-behaved three year old in history and I feel like I deserve a reward for surviving the battle without losing my cool.

It was all planned out. A shopping trip with the added enticement of a Shrek popsicle for good behavior. When we walk into the store Liv is in fine spirits. But soon her bad-store-self starts coming out… First she wants to open and close a Rubbermaid organizer with clasps too tight for her hands to control. (Translation: She begins shrieking each time she can’t open or close the lid, thus flustering me as I search for decongestants and cough suppressants in the pharmaceutical section.) So I begin to speed up my shopping; I whip through the condiments aisle for honey, then head for dairy creamer at a clipped pace. Somewhere around the aisles of paper goods, Livia begins to open the honey jar—ack, can you imagine the mess?!—and is sternly warned against peeling off the inner seal. Then starts the back and forth of disobedience regarding the honey. At this point, I’ve successfully found the creamer and am now in a rapid-fire hunt for chocolate, which will be consumed out of necessity one minute after Livia’s bedtime. Now the real fit, complete with loud dramatic shrieks of pain, commences. I couldn’t help but reflect on the ridiculous irony of Liv, stretched out in the grocery cart, complaining that there is TOO MUCH FOOD IN THE CART, I CAN’T GET COMFORTABLE!! If she had maintained one lick of rational thought I might have explained that the cart is for food, not her big-almost-four-year-old body, but alas…

So I’m finally at the checkout lanes, ignoring with all my might the full-on tantrum taking place in my red cart. The folks behind me seem to be gasping in horror at the freak show we’re putting on and I resist the urge to make a wise crack about how this is a good reminder to use birth control only because they look to be beyond birth control years anyhow. My self-awareness escalates and I do actually want to crawl into a hole due to embarrassment, but I’m determined to play it cool and ignore my child’s fit. The young cashier has the audacity to wish me a good day and I escape through the front door to the sound of my daughter sobbing dramatically, “I want to be a GOOD girl!” Truly, she knows what’s coming.

The bomb drops. This time, it’s from my lips.

“No Shrek popsicle for you. And when we get home, you’re going straight to bed.”

Now, about that medal…

I feel like it’s been a crazy-three-year-old kind of week, the kind where I’m ready to collapse into bed shortly after she does. I’ve had a few days where choices varied from “should I rest or bathe?” to “should I go to bible study or clean the house?” The remedies for a tired and cranky mama have certainly perked up the week though. The joys include beautiful warm afternoons where a wee bit of gardening refreshed my soul, coffee and conversation with friends, movies like Dan in Real Life where I don’t have to think too hard but can laugh out loud, and chats about books and life with my husband. Oh, and there’s this:

After rubbing her head fiercely against my stomach, Livia informed me that her friend Halle at school “do dat” and “it cracked. me. up. [followed by great laughter].” I wasn’t aware Liv knew that vernacular, which in turn cracked me up!

It’s quiet time in the Tredway household. Livia’s upstairs taking it easy in her room. Jeremy’s sequestered in his home office, web developing away. And it’s quiet. Way too quiet for this wife and mama. I need to tidy the first floor, make a few soups for dinner, and do the dishes and yet I find myself unmotivated in all this quiet. So I called next door to check on the baby. No answer. I called my mom. But I think her phone is turned off. I even called Sarah in St. Louis. We never catch each other on the phone, so I wasn’t surprised I had to leave a message.

I am placing all blame for my conversational needs squarely under the title of Extroversion. Yes, sometimes it does feel like a curse.

I’m reading a book right now called Raising Your Spirited Child. The subtitle, worth sharing, explains that the book is “a guide for parents whose child is more intense, sensitive, perceptive, persistent and energetic”. It’s great so far (more on it someday when I actually complete the thing) and I want to share a bit with you from the chapter entitled, “Extrovert or Introvert: Finding the Energy to Cope.” Author Mary Sheedy Kurcinka says that extroverts need time with people:

“Extroverts collect their energy on the outside. Not only do they like people, they need them. Allowing extroverts to talk, share their experiences, and air their feelings gives them energy. Extroverts talk their way through movies, television shows, and the newspaper. They like to discuss the action and ideas as they occur, either in person or by telephone” (Harper 1991, p.90).

Though I’m reading this book in order to understand my own spirited child, this chapter has shed light on my personality as well as Jeremy’s. Every time I read something about how introverts work, I’m a bit shocked and then laugh at how accurately it describes my husband. And then, the explanation of extroverts fits me to a “t”. So, read ahead to see if either of the following paragraphs describe you perfectly. Where do you get your energy… from people or from being alone? Final note: there’s no right answer to personality type. We are all simply built in a particular fashion, there’s no right or wrong way about how you prefer to get re-energized.

[Excerpt taken from Raising Your Spirited Child by Mary Sheedy Kurcinka]

If You Are an Extrovert, You Probably:

• want to talk with someone at the end of a busy day.
• have an immediate answer for a question.
• want to invite friends over on a Friday night.
• are comfortable repeating something already said by someone else.
• need and like to hear that others love you and like your work.
• start to invited a few friends for dinner and realize you’ve invited the entire neighborhood.
• find yourself telling your introverted child to get out of her room and call a few friends.
• solve a problem by talking through the solution with someone else.
• feel comfortable initiating a conversation.
• call for the babysitter.
• are comfortable revealing personal things about yourself.
• frequently leave a party chastising yourself for talking too much and not listening.
• enjoy and need to interact with other people and feel exhausted when you have spent too much time alone or only with young children.
• immediately share a new idea or experience with someone and find joy and energy in the telling.

If You Are an Introvert, You Probably:

• sit down with the newspaper or zone out in front of the television after a hard day.
• will do anything, even clean the toilets, if someone else will agree to call the sitter.
• can’t imagine wanting to invite a group over on Friday night.
• find being in a large group for an extended period of time exhausting.
• share personal information only with those who are very close to you. It may not be unusual for a long-term friend to exclaim, “I never knew that about you!”
• think before answering a question, often berating yourself for not sharing an answer you knew.
• frequently have extroverts ask you the same question twice because they interpret your pause to think as ignorance of the question.
• prefer dinner with the family or one special friend, rather than with the whole neighborhood.
• find yourself hiding in the bathroom or back bedroom at large family gatherings.
• solve a problem by thinking it through yourself before ever talking about it with anyone else.
• get tired of telling extroverts what a wonderful job they’re doing and how much you love and appreciate them.