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How Boy Crazy Are You?

How Boy Crazy Are You?

How boy crazy are you? (Or that daughter of yours?) You might be surprised. Maria wrote, “I never thought I was the boy crazy type, but when I honestly answered the boy crazy quiz, I realized I crush on guys a lot. This quiz was a good reality check.”

Take the “How Boy Crazy Are You Quiz” to find out how you or that girl in your life rates. Simply answer “yes” or “no” to these thirteen questions. More

Why I Chose to Have Babies, Against My Feelings

Why I Chose to Have Babies, Against My Feelings

I’ve never shared this publicly, but . . . I’ve never been one to “ooh” and “aah” over babies. As a twelve-year-old eager to start earning money, I chose to detassle corn and work on a turkey farm (think hard, dirty, physical labor) rather than babysit. When I did babysit as a favor for my neighbors in my late twenties, I put the baby’s diaper on backwards. And while I longed for marriage for years, I never once dreamed of becoming a mom. First female president of the U.S., sure; mom, no. More

Who’s the Adult Here? (Anticipate Your Baby’s Next Move, Mom)

Who’s the Adult Here? (Anticipate Your Baby’s Next Move, Mom)

I intercepted my baby, Iren, as he crawled, mach speed, for the dog’s food and water. We were dog-sitting for my in-laws, and Iren was once again displaying his magnetic attraction to dog food.

Another Mess to Clean Up?!

Lifting both bowls from the floor to the table, I confidently walked into the bathroom. What harm could he do now if I took my eyes off him for a few seconds?

But when I walked out a few seconds later, there he was in a puddle of water, soaking wet. The dog’s food was strewn all over.

Anticipate Your Baby’s Next Move

I should’ve anticipated my baby’s next move. I’d seen Iren tug at our tablecloth the day before. Right then I should have folded up the tablecloth and tucked it neatly back into the buffet. But stupidity won out over common sense, and I left it. After all, the table looked prettier with a tablecloth . . .

As I stripped Iren of his wet clothes, mopped up the water with a bath towel, and refilled the dog’s food and water bowls, I was tempted to get frustrated, angry, and stressed over the extra work Iren had caused me. But a moment of clarity struck just then.

Who’s the adult here? Who has a higher IQ?

Own it, Paula. You don’t have a right to be frustrated or angry. You’re the adult here.

Who’s the Adult Here?

I know we moms can think that being frazzled and stressed out just comes with the territory. But does it really have to?

Rather than stewing in anger over extra messes, let’s work smarter, not necessarily harder. If our children can reach something, and we leave it within reach, then it’s fair game.

Anticipate your baby’s next move, mom. Prepare for it. And put away that tablecloth! I’m pretty sure your husband and kids will be grateful you chose a stress-free heart over a beautiful table.

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Tiny, Bald, and Toothless Forever, Please

Tiny, Bald, and Toothless Forever, Please

My dear friend Martha became Mrs. McCallops earlier this month. I choked up as her husband, Chris, began to dance the mother-son dance at the reception. As he drew his mother near and whispered in her ear, I squeezed Iren just a little bit closer.

“That will be Iren before we know it,” I told Trevor.

“No, I want him to be tiny, bald, and toothless forever!” he replied.

But we both know that can’t be. Iren’s not tiny (still 99th percentile for length!). He’s sprouted feathery light hair all over his head, and his two top teeth have made their appearance. More than that, he’s constantly on the move. Our baby has bid us goodbye; we are already seeing all boy.

Born to Leave

Much as we might be tempted to squeeze him just a bit tighter sometimes, we know he’s not ours to keep. He was made by and for God, and our goal is to raise an independent man who will leave home one day. Our greatest desire for him is that he will both know and make God known wherever he goes.

And so I’m preparing for our mother-son dance already, should he marry one day. Iren has been to at least two weddings since he was born, and both times I’ve brought him out to the dance floor to sway and then “get jiggy with it.”

He was born to leave, and I will do my best to release him well.

I love you, my son. And because I do, I hold you with open hands. Someday we may dance our own mother-son dance, and then I will give you to another woman. Should you not marry, I will share you with the world.

Because you never ultimately belonged to me. You belong to God. Go and make Him known.

(Thanks to www.HHawkinsPhotography.com for the excellent photo!)

If you enjoyed this post, you might like to check out Back to Blogging Post-Baby