Praying for my boys...day one

Day one: Heart Change
“The good person out of the good treasure of his heart produces good, and the evil person out of his evil treasure produces evil, for out of the abundance of the heart his mouth speaks.” ~Luke 6:45

Today I am praying for my boys to have hearts for God. I will pray for them in the morning as I usually do when I wake up. Only my prayers will be more concentrated towards their hearts being open and remaining open to our Lord instead of my usual.."Please God, help me to yell less and listen more to my sons today." I will pray for them through the day, which I do often with thanksgiving. And pray with them at night, which we do every night. The only thing I do not do with my boys are daily devotionals. I'm wondering if I need to get some of those daily bread books and begin this tradition as well.

The battle for our sons to be Godly men is best fought on our knees, Brooke says, and I think I agree.
We'll see what tomorrow brings!

21 Days of Prayers for Sons

Today I am embarking upon my first round of 21 days of prayers for sons. Brooke McGlothin has written a book that I have not had the chance to read: Warrior Prayers: Praying the Word for Boys in the Areas They Need it Most that takes you as a parent on a journey to praying the Word for our sons. As the mother to all boys, I am intriqued by how this will all go. Some women find it challenging to parent their boys. I, myself, find it a challenge to parent at all. Sometimes I feel this is another way to divide our sons from our daughters instead of just combining them as our "children" and praying for them this way. But I am willing to remain open to see if there truly are issues that only boys deal with. In my heart, I know there are (jock straps, peeing standing up, girls....) but are there REALLY issues that divide our children when it comes to raising them to be godly children and then adults. All I know is that I want what every parent wants for their children. For them to grow healthy, happy, strong, self sufficient, unmarred by my parenting skills, but overwhelmed with the love I have for each of them. So, here I go. Jumping in with both feet as I pray for my boys, for the boys of my wonderful group of Raising All Boys boys, and for my friends dear to my heart who are also in this amazing boat of raising boys in today's world. Each of you are in my thoughts, and your boys are in my prayers. If you have special prayers for your sons, please let me know so I can include them. :)

My Crazy Life

Seriously, I think there is medication out there that people would take if they had to live my life. It's not that I am raising all boys that makes things seem like they are always on edge, I think it's me. I can't stop being type A. Litterally, it's gonna kill me. And not the heart attack type of kill me, but the running naked down the middle of the road, screaming at the top of my lungs while waving my hands like a mad woman type of kill me. Ok, so that will never really happen. Those who know me know that I must at least have pants on to cover my ample hind end, not to mention shoes, because OUCH! who wants to run barefoot down the street. There are glass and rocks there!

I think my craziness comes from raising three children on my own, sleep deprivation from the last child never sleeping through the night, adding a new kitten to my bed in the wee hours, and the after effects of Cullen's birthday party sleep over which ended with me screaming like a banshee..."I have to work in FOUR HOURS..Go. To. Sleep!" I'm sorry to any parents who's children were the victims of my forcefullness but a woman has to do what she has to do when her husband deserts her for the bowels of the hospital to deliver a baby instead of staying home for prearranged family time consisting of six kids in the basement, also sleep deprived. ;)

But I am told by slightly older friends that things get better. Soon, this chaos will slow down, I will have a life of my own (although not the sanity to enjoy it), and be able to speak in sentences that don't consist of: Stop! No! Don't! Wait until your Father gets home! or Lord, Help me through this day for I truly love my children.

I have a running group of friends. We run miles and miles for "fun." We yell for each other, support each other, and laugh together. I wonder how many of them would run naked down the street with me screaming.........any takers???

In the still of the early morning hours, I am able to completely reflect upon the birth of my second son. As I sit quietly, I can conjure up the sounds and feelings of that early morning water breakage, the fear of leaving our home the mother to one child and returning as the mother to two young boys. I can remember the craziness of standing in the elevator with my husband at the hospital, conversing with an old man who got on with us about the beautiful Sunday weather as water leaked out of me and contractions squeezed my body. A child moving softly within my body for the last few precious moments together. I can remember how there was nothing to watch but televangelists on the TV. How Dave and my doctor went to lunch at the local chinese restaurant while I sat alone, contemplating the day as it progressed. I had my yoga instructor come and help me with labor. Her visualizations and soft music lulling my mind into a calm place, even as my body struggled to move my child down the birth canal. Her softly holding my foot as the doctor tried to give me an epidural which would not take. A sweet, smiling doctor who two short weeks later would be dead from lung cancer. Who lingered outside the door as I labored, wishing he could do something for my pain of natural childbirth, but could not. I can remember the tunnel vision feeling of telling the nurses I felt great pressure. How they suddenly became very busy, turning the chest of drawers where I put my clothes into a place where their tools of the trade were placed to help my doctor bring my child into this crazy world. How the camera stuck and my frazzled husband opened the back of the camera and exposed the film of my last days of pregnancy and our oldest son's first blackberry picking with my Mom. There was to be no pictures of this birth. I can remember focusing on Gloria through each contraction, realizing that pushing Cullen out was not the same as pushing out Kadin. I can vividly remember the look of fear on my OB's face as my child crowned. Sternly he made me focus on him telling me he had to get the baby out, now, and I was to listen to him. I can remember the look that passed between him and my husband when Cullen's head came out, but his little body would not. In the confusion of nano-second, I can see in slow motion my husband thrusting his body across my belly, pushing the nurse out of the way, as he and Dr. Thornberry silently communicated. One pushing, one pulling, to release our child into the world. I can remember the unbearable pain passing into euphoria as he was expelled and placed upon my chest only to have the nurse freaking out at his grey color and thrusting oxygen into his face and vigorously rubbing his back as my sweet Cullen stared wide eyed. I can hear my husband telling the nurse to stop, that his body was pink, and he was ok. Only to look down into my child's face and see a new soul. A baby who was smash faced, grey in color, and all my own. The love that comes when you stare into your child's eyes. 15 minutes later I was on the phone with the cord blood place to schedule pick up, the pain of childbirth a short path behind me. Poor Cullen looked like he had been beat up, and I was not any better off. Pushing him so fiercely broke the blood vessels in my eyes and I looked like the victim in a cheap horror show. Painful for all to look at.

As I watch my son sleeping now, nine years later, I am amazed at this child who came so dramatically into the world. My 7lb 3oz baby who litterally got stuck, has not been stuck ever again. A child who gave his older brother the courage to face fears. A little boy who had excema on his face and a ready smile to all he met. A baby who did not toddle, but ran. A child who still bursts forth head first into things in life. A sensitive guy who many people misinterpret. A little boy who is more like me than I sometimes want to acknowledge. I sit here, nine years later, and thank God for the lessons Cullen has taught me. From learning to love another child, to watching brothers grow with one arm slung around the other's shoulders. From early morning feedings where it is just baby and Mommy, to double stroller walks with Daddy. Somewhere along the way he potty trained in one day, learned to read, tie his shoes, and will be entering the 4th grade. His peaceful sleeping face reflects not only the child he was, but the man he will become, with God's grace.

Nine years ago, so much was unknown. And still, today, the future cannot be seen. But I do know I have been blessed beyond measure. By a small, energetic little boy who has captured my heart, filled my life, and given me more than I could ever give him back. Happy Birthday, Cullen McKee! I love you to the moon and back!

Nine Years Ago

Little did I know nine years ago that today would be my last day pregnant with my second son. Little did I know the trauma from his birth would stay by me for years to come. Little did I know how much a second child could weasle his way into my heart and expand it so much, we would want a third. 37 weeks into my second pregnancy, I'm sure this day was much like any other day with a 31 month old toddler on a Saturday. I can picture a tiny baby's nursery, his little bitty clothes, and my anticipation of carrying this child weeks longer than I had my first one. My mother was at our house in Alabama in anticipation of this small one's birth. Nine years is a blink of an eye, yet a lifetime for one small boy. Cullen McKee. The child who blazed into our lives, blue-grey from lack of oxygen. Who took that first gasping breath and never looked back. The child who has never met a stranger, never lacked for anything to say, and never sat still. A child our oldest son needed in the deepest sense of the word. A baby who gave an older brother wings, and his parents new eyes to appreciate the smaller things in life. A little boy who never ceases to make us stop and take note. I can sometimes glimpse the man he will become. On this day, I will cherish the last day of Cullen being 8. For tomorrow, a whole new year begins! We love you, Cullybug!

Awe inspiring

If you have never been involved in a huge run or walk, I encourage you to attend one just to see the masses of people. Unless you are the most hardened of heart, or first in the race, seeing the swell of people running through a narrow corral and heading in a huge circle is inspirational to say the least. There is every age imaginable, every body shape conceived, every stride, every shoe, every garment and gadget known to mankind. The commradery is amazing and will bring a tear to your eye. For one day, for a few hours, all is ok in the world. You are starting out on a journey that leads...well, back to where you started, but still, the journey within can be further than the miles traveled on feet. Many of you know I have struggled with my breathing in the past few years. After seeing a pulmonologist (I think it's asthma, not sure. Just in case, stop running! Who wants to run that far anyway?!), an allergist (you have a vocal cord dysfunction, see a speech therapist), a full pulmonolgist team (we have no idea what is wrong with you), a trainer (I can teach you to run with your vocal cord issues!), and many friends (their support is endless!)I slowly was able to start finding my groove back. After pounding the pavement and the treadmill on my own, I have discovered that I can control my breathing without an inhalor, I can control my vocal cord dysfunction (thank you Marijo!) but I still have some anxiety issues to deal with. Often in not a pretty way, hence running alone. :) Today was my final test. To run a half marathon with my safe person, my husband. To cast demons from my past and move forward. And even though I stopped and walked on occasion, and was worn out by 11 miles, we did it! The swell of people in front of us was amazing, as was the swell behind us. To read shirts about how pain is just an illusion, running for lost loved ones, running to run, people who have done 50 marathons in 50 states, the whole nine yards. It was amazing! With my Sole Sister shirt on, I remembered my new mantra: "I do not run to add days to my life. I run to add life to my days." And so I do. So I do.

A new beginning....

Today as we emptied out a small cabin we have only had for a few years, I am reminded how attached to our real estate we can become. This little cabin on a small lake in Illinois has embedded itself into my heart. A tiny one room shack on brick pillars with weeds growing through the painted blue floor, with it's tiny crooked bathroom, and it's non existent kitchen brings a smile to my face. Oh, the history of one small place! 420 square feet of memories not only for me and my family, but for everyone out at the Whippoorwill Club. Everyone knows who has lived there, who replaced what door, built the deck, added the curtains, upgraded the sink, made the walk, planted the hostas.....and we added our mark onto it's walls as well. In a few short weeks, that history will be a memory of pictures as a new cabin will take it's place. Only the ground will be sacred. I'm a little sad at that. As Dave was moving the fridge through the kitchen door, that used to be the main door because the kitchen area used to be the front porch, long, long ago, the folding door broke off. I cried! He just looked at me. How do you describe the attachment to a small place that held many a sleepless night with five people nestled in one room, practically on top of one another? He asked if we should stop the building of a new place. As tears ran down my face, I looked around. No, it's time to make new memories in a new building. To make our mark on the WWC visible. To have a place where my family can be comfortable. The walls we are in may never hear my family's laughter again, but the night air will. That building may never safely keep the critters out while we sit together, but the land will hold up another place that will. And although that small, wonderful cabin will only live on in our memories and in pictures, they will not be forgotten. Ever.