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What a Pair of Green Boots Taught Me About Love

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My four-year-old son wore the same pair of green frog rain boots every day for over a year. He wore them in the rain, of course, but he also wore them in blizzards and on hot July days. He wore them when he went to school and the grocery store and the swimming pool. He wore them when he played soccer or rode his bike or dressed up as a superhero. He wore them everywhere.

After a while the boots started breaking down. It began with a few cracks and then some rips which created little flaps that fluttered in the air as he ran. Every once in a while I’d come across a new piece that had fallen off—in the house, the car, his bed. I was waiting for the day the boots dismantled mid-stride into a crumbled heap on the ground. Until then, I knew that if I couldn’t find him, I just needed to follow the green rubber trail.

The boots received endless commentary wherever we went. Most people laughed. Some were confused. A few even offered to buy him a new pair. But I explained this was a love affair that no one could ever break up.

He chose those battered boots, over and over again, and over all other shoes. I bought him new flip-flops and new sneakers, but he always chose the boots. Even when they deteriorated to a point that when it actually rained, they remained wet, he still chose the boots. Especially on rainy days. He chose them because although he liked other shoes, he loved the boots.

And by loving those boots, he reminded me about what it really means to love.

To love means to make a choice, the same choice, over and over again. It’s a knowing choice, a thoughtful choice, a deliberate choice.

It may not always be a logical or practical or comfortable choice. In fact, it often isn’t.

But love doesn’t care so much about those details. Love doesn’t bother with logic and practicality and comfort. Love doesn’t worry about disgrace or damage. Love turns a blind eye to other options, including the sparkly new ones. Love hangs on in a breakdown. And in a storm.

When we love, we don’t see the cracks or the rips. Because love clings to the tried and true. And all of those cracks and rips come with the trying. But it is only by trying that we get to the true. And once we get to the true, we keep coming back, to make the same choice one more time, over and over again.

When we love, we have found something that is indispensable…to our hearts, to our lives, to our stories. We have found our true.

There’s a lot to love about a little boy and his green frog rain boots.
There’s a lot to learn about love as well.

KID

Obvious

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Yesterday I played in a golf clinic and I learned a lesson that had absolutely nothing to do with golf.

There were a handful of us practicing chipping shots when a young man, around twenty years old, walked up to our green. He approached one of the ladies in our group and they spoke for a few moments. He turned and walked away and I overheard her say, “See you soon!”

The rest of us continued our practice but she stopped and said, “I have to head out now because I’m going to go play golf with my son. He just told me he wants to play and I have to take any chance I get to spend time with him.” She was sincere and excited.

I stood up and watched her leave and I thought about what she said. I thought about how tenderhearted it was that she dropped everything, left her own plans and her own time, and ran after her son who wanted to spend time with his mom. It was obvious how precious he was to her. And it was the obvious part I loved the most.

I thought about her the rest of the afternoon. I thought about being obvious.

Unlike that mom, I don’t really feel the same need to take any chance I get. My kids are young and underfoot and passionately needy. I get a lot of chances to spend time with them.

I don’t need to run to my kids because, frankly, they are always running to me. It’s a little hard to imagine a time when I’d take any chance I get. It’s a little hard to imagine a time when I’d want to drop everything, including my own plans, and run.

But I know that day will come. I know that’s certain.  I know there will be a time when I am on the other side of this time, a time when I’ll take any opportunity with them because they’ve chosen me over all of the other more interesting and less familiar options they have. There will be a day when I’ll get the chance to take the chance.

But until that time comes, and while I’m still standing on this side of that time, I can remember the obvious part. Until that time comes, I can still do the obvious part. I can do better at the obvious part.

Because those kids are so precious to me, no matter what time it is. I know this to be true. But it should always be obvious.

KID

Hush Little Baby

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I was driving in the car with my kids and, in an effort to stave off some whining, I played a CD of nursery rhymes I found in the glove compartment. I’ve heard these songs a thousand times, most a thousand times too many. But sometimes a peaceful drive home is worth twelve back-to-back renditions of Itsy Bitsy Spider. It’s a close call, but it’s worth it.

When we rounded the corner onto our street the lullaby “Hush Little Baby” started to play. I smiled and sang along with my sons.

Hush, little baby, don’t say a word,
Mama’s gonna buy you a mockingbird
And if that mockingbird won’t sing,
Mama’s gonna buy you a diamond ring
And if that diamond ring turns brass,
Mama’s gonna buy you a looking glass
And if that looking glass gets broke,
Mama’s gonna buy you a billy goat
And if that billy goat won’t pull,
Mama’s gonna buy you a cart and bull
And if that cart and bull turn over,
Mama’s gonna buy you a dog named Rover

And if that dog named Rover won’t bark,
Mama’s gonna buy you a horse and cart
And if that horse and cart fall down,
You’ll still be the sweetest little baby in town.

I love this song. Whenever I hear it, I feel a surge of nostalgia. It reminds me of my babies when they were babies, when everything was brand new and scary and really hard and miraculous.

This song was my middle of the night anthem. It was my go-to. These lyrics were the only ones I could ever think to sing in those weary, ready-to-drop moments.

I remember trying to lull my boys to sleep while I paced in circles around our living room. I remember sitting and cradling them in our big blue rocker. I remember the swaddle blankets. I remember warming bottles in the dark kitchen. I remember the whimpers and the whines and the tiny yawns. I remember staring out at the nighttime street filled with sleeping houses. I remember all the phases of the moon. I remember the ticks of the clock. I remember thinking I was the only person in the entire world who was awake at that time.

But I also remember big blue eyes staring up at me. I remember that new baby smell and the feel of my boys’ cheeks against my chest. I remember the softness of their hair. I remember their little kicks. I remember the way their entire hands would curl around and grip my little finger. I remember how their bodies could fit in the crook of my arm. I remember the peace and the stillness and the quiet. I remember falling in love again and again.

Hearing this song now, years later, takes me back to those nights. It reminds me of drowsiness and exhaustion and desperation. But it also reminds me of tenderness and compassion and awe in those moments within the heavy moments.

I still can feel the fatigue in my bones. But I also still can feel the softness in my heart. I can feel the weariness, but also the wonder. I can feel the exasperation, but also the patience.

All of those feelings, all of those feelings, are equally important. They all matter. Of course, I never want to forget the tender moments. But I also don’t want to forget the not-so-tender moments. Because they are all part of our story. The good, the bad, and the magical.

I still have those moments today. Things have moved forward and changed and my kids have grown, but I still have those moments. I still find frustration. I still feel fatigue and desperation. I still throw my hands in the air. I still bury my head in my lap. I still wish I could close my eyes and go to sleep. The bottles and swaddle blankets and midnight pacing circles may be gone, but they’ve been replaced with new struggles. And the feelings are still the same.

But, thankfully, I still find the awe. I still feel compassion and unconditional love. There are heart bursts. There are twinklings of tenderness. There are moments of sweet affection. The baby smells and tiny yawns and little finger grips may be gone, but they’ve been replaced with new joys. And the feelings are still the same.

Even now, there are Hush Little Baby moments. Because it’s still brand new and scary and really hard and miraculous. Every single day.

KID

Happier Birthday

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Delicious birthday cupcake on wooden table

Last week we celebrated our twins’ third birthdays. It was a wonderful day filled with laughter, celebration, and sugar. They probably won’t remember the day, but I will.

I’ll remember they played with friends, they ate donuts and ice cream, and they cried happy, exhausted tears. We hugged and we sang and we spent the day reminding them of how very much they are loved.

On that day, shortly after I put them down for their naps, I received a knock at my door and a bouquet of flowers.

The flowers were a thank you, from my mother-in-law, and the card read: Thanks for being the best mom to Cooper and Crosby.

I was so touched by this kind and thoughtful gesture and this acknowledgement that this day was also a day for me.

It was, after all, another year.

It was another year of growth. It was another year of successes and failures and trying my best. It was another year of firsts and lasts.

It was another year. It was a gift.

They made it. I made it. We all made it.

The year’s days weren’t always graceful. There were stumbles and screw-ups. There were times when I wasn’t the greatest version of myself and there are a few days I wish I could take back for a re-do.

But there were also some Best. Days. Ever. There were baby steps and there were big steps. There were “I have to write this down” moments. We traveled and adventured. We had bellyaching laughter. We surprised ourselves. We had a whole lot of joy.

So on this day, this day that I thought had nothing to do with me, I celebrated alongside my boys. And I gave thanks for the gentle reminder that behind every child’s birthday cake stands a hardworking, hand-holding mom who deserves to share a little in the happy and a lot in the love.

KID

A Little Spark of Good Character

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A couple of years ago, I read the biography of Tim Tebow, an NFL football player, former college star, and celebrity well known for his public displays of faith. Tebow’s book resonated with me, but for reasons that have nothing to do with football or even Tebow himself.

What impressed me were Tebow’s parents and how they tried to teach their sons selflessness, kindness, and humility.

One example of how they accomplished this is that they gave their sons a dollar for every time they heard another person complement their good characters.

I love this idea. And I love to see sparks of good character in kids.

Thankfully, I’ve been blessed with a lot of great precedent.

I know several young girls who grew their hair long enough (sometimes for months and even years) just so they could cut it all off and donate it to Locks of Love, a non-profit organization that provides hairpieces to financially disadvantaged children suffering from medical hair loss.

I know a young boy who helped and encouraged a very nervous six-year-old in his first ever swim relay.

My friend’s ten-year-old son discovered The Golden Egg at this year’s Easter Egg Hunt and won a gift basket full of toys, games, and candy. Immediately after being presented with it, he began to hand out items to all of the kids standing around him.

I know an eight-year-old girl who once stood up for another kid at school when everyone else was making fun of his clothes.

I know some young boys who go out of their ways to be kind to my toddlers. They take a genuine interest in whatever it is they are doing at the moment. It impresses them that someone notices them. It impresses me more.

I know several young kids who volunteer at soup kitchens and homeless shelters.

I know a young girl who held a bake sale to raise money for an animal rescue organization.

I know a nine-year-old boy who decided to donate all of his birthday gifts to Children’s Hospital.

I know kids who place flags on gravestones on Memorial Day.

Just this past weekend, a friend’s young daughter carried fruit snacks in her pocket all morning, hoping she would see my kids. A few hours later, this young girl’s older brother stopped a basketball game just to run over and invite my son to play on his team.

Every year our family forms a team at a race to support ovarian cancer research and awareness. And every year, many young kids join us to walk or run this race in honor of my mom and other survivors. It’s not just our friends that show up, their kids do too.

I knew a fifth grader who went out of his way to make my kindergartner feel important this year at school, and in doing so made him feel a little less scared.

It is by good fortune and good friendship that I know these and so many other examples of kids showing good character.

The best part is these great kids are doing these great things without prompt, without instruction, and without recognition. They are acting out of the goodness in their hearts and with the kindness, selflessness, and humility that has been passed down to them by their great parents.

This is the stuff we need to celebrate. This is the stuff that matters. This is the stuff that should make us the most proud.

Yes, we need to strive for and hone good character in our own kids. We need to emphasize it, teach the big lessons, and demonstrate by example.

But–and this is the nugget–we also need to rally around other kids too, and in the parents who have planted those important seeds.

We spend enough time in the humdrum—talking about logistics and behavior and uncertainties. We spend enough time excusing and apologizing and trying to explain.  We spend enough time thinking about progress and accomplishment and comparison.

We don’t spend enough time thinking or talking about good character. And we should.

Not only because it’s a great thing to see, but also because it pushes this world in the right direction. And these little sparks are the kind of moments that assure a doubting parent that his or her best is well beyond good enough.

My six-year-old son is on a swim team. He practices early every morning and works really hard. It’s exciting to see him succeed and improve his times.

At last week’s swim meet, after one of his races, we stood at the end of the pool, bent over at him in the water shouting our attaboys. But he didn’t even acknowledge us. Instead, he immediately climbed out of the pool and sought out his friend who swam the same race. He went right up to him and said quietly, “Good job.”

It was quiet enough that no one really heard it. In fact, I’m not even sure his friend heard it. But those two words rang loud and clear to me.

In that moment, I forgot all about his swimming performance. I forgot whether it was first place or last place and whether his time was faster or slower than last week’s time.

Because in that moment, I saw a little humility and a little kindness. I saw him act on his own and from his heart. In that moment, I saw a little spark of good character.

And that little spark is priceless to me.

KID

Mom Knows Best

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I have known my children every little minute of their little lives. I understand their chemistries and their hearts. I know their nooks and crannies. I know their moods, their joys, and the precise locations of all of their freckles.

I know my kids. I know what my kids need. I’m Mom. And Mom knows best.

Except, of course, when she doesn’t.

Take one of those “fill in the blank” parenting problems-the overwhelming, exasperating kind of problem. The kind of problem with a variety of possible “solutions” from experts and friends. The kind of problem that comes with a lot of opinions.

I know that problem. And I know how it feels when I can’t fill in the blank. I know furrowed brows, tears, and a lot of guilt. I know times when I put my head in my hands and say I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know what to do. I. Don’t. Know. What. To. Do.

Sometimes Mom knows best. But sometimes Mom doesn’t have a clue.

There’s an expectation for parents to get it right all of the time because there’s an assumption that we have this special kind of knowledge.

Not only do we know our kids, but we are the grown-ups. We have decades of life experience on our sides. We have an understanding of the end game. We have learned from our own mistakes.

We are the Yodas to these young Jedis. Great knowledge we have.

But the truth is, we don’t.

Despite my decades of real-life years, my parenting years are pretty limited. I’ve only been a mom as long as my kid has been a kid.

There is still a lot to learn and a lot of ways in which to grow. Not just for my kids, but for me too. There are a lot of I don’t knows still to say and a lot of bad choices still to make. Not just for my kids, but for me too.

Kids grow up. But along the way, so do parents. And no one gets through it without a few scraped knees.

Moms may know best most of the time, but certainly not all of the time. We try and we try and we try. We pour and we pour and we pour into these kids.

Sometimes we hit it out of the park. Sometimes we swing and miss.

But we have this beautiful gift called unconditional love.

It’s a love with room for screw-ups, second chances, and forgiveness. It’s a love of duration without expectation. And it’s a love that knows we can’t possibly know best all of the time.

It’s also a two-way street.

No matter how often our kids get it wrong, we love them no matter what.

No matter how often we get it wrong, our kids love us no matter what.

In the end, that’s all that really counts. And that’s a better kind of best to know.

KID

Six Lessons in Six Years

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Birthday Cake - Six

There’s a big #6 birthday at our house tomorrow.

In recognition of the past six years and the six stripes we’ve both earned, I offer these six things I know to be positively, unequivocally, and lovingly true.

#1. Within all of the days and weeks of pure, unadulterated exasperation, there are itsy bitsy moments of pure, unadulterated joy. Those moments are the money shots, the memory makers, and the bridges that carry us over the mud.

#2. We pour and pour and pour and pour into our kids with no immediate reward. Our return on investment comes when they turn and pour into the world. We just need to trust them, trust ourselves, and trust the process.

#3. Building little people requires more patience than exists in this world. That is a fact. We need to give ourselves some grace.

#4. Our kids are these gorgeous mash-ups of their parents and their own unique chemistries. Sometimes the little (and big) things they do that drive us crazy are direct reflections of ourselves. We need to give them some grace.

#5. There is a Mama Bear inside of me. She’s fierce and she’s loyal and she’s protective. How very lucky I am to have something to love and cherish so much it can make me growl.

#6. Sometimes the very best (and often only) thing you can ever do is laugh. We all have enough in our lives that isn’t laughable. When you can, and sometimes when you least feel like it, you must.

Happy #6, #1. I love you.

KID