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tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-29488214581622673962016-07-17T08:43:27.751-04:00Danielle's Brain BitsMy thoughts on Family, Faith, Food, Fun, and various other topics.Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-19717179483105768542016-07-01T15:13:00.002-04:002016-07-05T12:07:08.651-04:00Book Review: "Unashamed" by Heather Davis NelsonHave you ever felt shame?

Do you know the difference between "shame" and "guilt"?

Is shame holding you back from finding happiness in your life, confidence in who you are, and the freedom to take risks and enjoy moments that happen daily?

If you answered "Yes", "No", and "Yes" to these questions, then the book Unashamed by Heather Davis Nelson may be one that you should consider getting your hands on. Taking a Christ-centered approach to battling the shame we all feel, Nelson draws from her own personal experience and time as a counselor to present to her readers a new perspective on the various types of shame we all carry. It is a book that could be a useful tool in today's society; we are constantly being criticized by others on social media, in grocery stores, at local pools and beaches - anywhere we can think of - on any number of topics from our body appearance to our parenting skills to how we should manage our marriage.

Shame is real, y'all.

Once I got past the first couple of chapters, I decided to hand-pick chapters that best fit the types of shame that I tend to struggle with. A big one for me right now is body shame - a shame that is largely self-imposed. After deciding to make healthier diet and exercise choices prior to having kids, I had lost 80 pounds and was feeling the best physically I had ever felt in my life. Then I had 2 kids and had a net gain back of about 40-45 pounds of weight and felt physically exhausted. I didn't bother dieting because I was breastfeeding... and then when I stopped I noticed my clothes didn't fit as well as they had when I was.

Then I stood on the scale. And I became disgusted, appalled - ashamed of myself.

How could I have made such poor choices - probable overeating, definitive lack of exercise - and let myself slide backward and lose what I had worked so hard to achieve?

How many of you out there reading this right now have felt something similar?

I love Nelson's working definition of shame that she reminds you of throughout the book: "It's the feeling of 'not good enough' according to our own standard or our perception of someone else's standard for us. It's what keeps us from being honest about our struggles, sins, and less-than-perfect moments. Fear of shame drives us to perfectionism in all areas of our lives, so that there would be no imperfection for others to notice and judge." What a powerful definition to remind us that shame is largely self-imposed, that it is something that we can choose to release and let go of and allow ourselves to grow.

I cannot tell you how unsexy, how unattractive I have felt and wondered what my husband must think of me. My husband who the other day after I commented I would wait and buy a swimsuit next summer when I looked better looked at me with a genuinely sad face and said "Honey... I think you're pretty NOW...". It is not my husband or my friends or other people who make me feel shamed... it's me. I own that. Nelson addresses this in her body shame chapter with words that truly spoke to me: "They cannot fully heal body shame because it is not primarily a cultural problem or a self-image issue, but a heart condition for which we need massive inner transformation."

As a Christ-follower, what I also appreciated about Nelson's book is that she continually points us back to Jesus. Jesus, she reminds us, wants us to cloth ourselves in Him - that He clothed Himself in our shame so that we no longer have to wear it. Whether that shame for you is your body image, or your parenting skills, or in your social circles, or in your marriage - Jesus has taken that shame from us so that we no longer have to carry it. In her chapter on "Shame-Free Parenting", she reminds us that "God the Father poured out all our shame on Jesus, who did not deserve it. All of our own shame... was borne by Jesus at the cross - in order that we could walk free of shame's insidious hold on our lives...".

If you, like me, are a Christ-follower carrying some sort of shame that's holding you back from becoming your true self then consider reading this book. The only word of caution that I would offer is that unlike the familiar, pastoral, almost energetic tones of a Max Lucado or Mark Batterson book - Nelson's tone is very much that of a Christian counselor. She is encouraging, she is calming, and she is even a bit inspiring - but she is at her heart a counselor who is looking to have her reader transform through his/her issues into their best potential self.

So - what do you think? Want to read this book?

Turns out I'm also giving away a copy!!!

There are a two ways you can win:

Comment below with either how shame affects you, how you've overcome shame in the past, or a verse that helps you to remember your identity in Christ.

Share this post and comment below that you did.

Every comment gets an entry! If you don't want to enter the contest OR just want to check out the book before you do, check it out by clicking here to read more about Unashamed.

Contest closed on July 3rd and our winner is Jamie! Thanks to everyone who read this post - click on the above link to get your own copy of Unashamed!

Thanks to the fine folks at FlyBy Promotions for providing the prize to the winners!

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"Disclosure (in accordance with the FTC's 16 CFR, Part 255: "Guides Concerning the Use of Endorsements and Testimonials in Advertising"): Many thanks to Propeller Consulting, LLC for providing this prize for the giveaway. Choice of winners and opinions are 100% my own and NOT influenced by monetary compensation. I did receive a sample of the product in exchange for this review and post. Only one entrant per <wbr></wbr>mailing address, per giveaway. If you have won a prize from our sponsor Propeller / FlyBy Promotions in the last 30 days, you are not eligible to win. Or if you have won the same prize on another blog, you are not eligible to win it again. Winner is subject to eligibility verification."Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-53434933837599581962016-06-28T09:00:00.004-04:002016-06-28T09:00:41.332-04:00Ricky Gervais, Bullying, and Why It MattersA week or two ago, Ricky Gervais appeared on "The Tonight Show with Jimmy Fallon" and during his appearance complained about a recent experience he had on a first class flight. Once settled in his seat, the flight attendant advised him that while he would be getting his complimentary champagne - they would not be handing out the complimentary nuts because someone on the plane had a severe nut allergy. As the story went on, I chuckled a bit at the jokes because quite frankly if I can't see the humor in life then I might as well just give up.

But then... then the jokes took a bit of a dark turn, and not just because I'm the parent of a child with food allergies. Towards the end of the clip, he talks about how before he flies he will take a shower and then "rub himself in nuts" so that when the passenger says "oooooh I'm dying", no one will know it's him.

This is the joke that made me cringe. The rest of it, if I'm honest, didn't really bother me because I get it from the other side of things and yes - I even laughed a little (especially at the following "really special service" joke). We live in a world where gluten-free diets have become trendy and where people are faking - yes FAKING - food allergies in restaurants just so that they don't have to have the food on their plates. Only about 4% of the adult population and 8% of children live with medically diagnosed food allergies, yet I read somewhere that something like 30-40% either "believe" they have them with no clinical diagnosis.

So I get it. And so I get the humor in Gervais' basic line of humor in this instance because even I as a food allergy parent think that the trendiness of gluten-free and saying you have an allergy is out of control. People who are just following a trend are giving those whose throats close up or break out head-to-toe in hives or start uncontrollably vomiting a terribly bad rap.

But that one joke - the joke about rubbing nuts all over himself before getting on the plane - that one bothered me. And the reason why had nothing to do with food allergies.

I'm a parent. I have kids. I was a kid once. That wasn't a nut joke to me. That was a bullying joke.

Let's say that it was indeed a nut-bullying joke - which I guess it specifically was - but let's start there. When I was at the FARE conference in May, a statistic I heard that I will never get out of my head is that one-third of kids who have food allergies REPORT being bullied for it in school.

That's just those who report it.

Let's go bigger than that. According to DoSomething.org, 17% of students report being bullied 2-3 times per month or more. 3.2 million students report being bullied each year.

Again - that's just those who report it.

Someone who ACTUALLY has a life-threatening food allergy didn't choose to not eat whatever thing or things make their body revolt against them when they ingest it. No one with a real food allergy is intentionally trying to inconvenience the people they come in contact with - they just don't want to land in an ambulance or oh, I don't know - die.

But kids - all people really - can be mean.

I had a girl in the 6th grade who wanted to start a fight with me (it got escalated to the assistant principal) because I bought my earrings at the flea market - seconds after complimenting me on how cute she thought they were. In the 7th grade I got sprayed with Raid because my last name sounded vaguely like "Cockroach".

Think of the innumerate reasons that the "mean kids" come up with to pick on others. They don't wear the trendiest clothes or they might speak differently or they smell strange or they eat different food. They have glasses, they walk funny, they struggle athletically, their skin is a different color, they "like" people of the same sex, they wear two different socks, their parents live in a trailer, they have a lot of pimples... the list can go on and on and on. I could sit here for hours and still not complete a list of the reasons people tear each other down.

We all have our platforms from which we can speak out against injustices in society. I'm a parent, I'm a blog writer, I volunteer in our Sunday School. I can teach my kids to love and care and be empathetic towards others and find the best in them to build them up rather than tear them down. I can write here about injustices in the world and ask those few who read this to act in love and not be mean-spirited. I can teach those little preschoolers in our Sunday School about the love of God and how we are called to act as Jesus does.

Celebrities, however, have a more far-reaching platform than I do. Than the majority of us do, really. And when they talk, when they act - people listen. When Ricky Gervais makes a joke about rubbing himself in nuts, it makes a whole group of people who are frustrated with the inconveniences those with food allergies impose on others cheer up and say "YEAH!". What's to say a kid doesn't watch that, think it's funny, then go to school rubbed in peanut butter and sit next to the kid with a peanut allergy?

The good news is that there are a LOT of celebrities out there who are actively speaking out against bullying. Demi Lovato and Ellen Degeneres are probably two of the more well-know anti-bullying activists, but there are many more including our current President.

When we see someone - either a celebrity or someone in our peer group or our workplace or our schools or anywhere - who bullies another person, who picks on them for their differences... we need to speak up. We need to be proactive and show that there is more love in the world than there is hate. It is so much easier to see the negative than it is the positive - but if we can get more and more people to be a light in the world... then maybe the bullies won't get the spotlight anymore.

We have it hard enough in this world without looking for reasons to make others feel smaller, We will and can do better when we lift each other up - no matter what our differences are.

So, Ricky Gervais... well... I went ahead and left a note on his Facebook page (and got several likes/loves - no "angry" or "wow" or "sad" faces, which was encouraging). I was one of many parents and people with food allergies who spoke out against his comments. Anyone who follows his twitter feed knows that he responded to this feedback as one would think he would ("I make jokes about the Holocaust, cancer, and AIDS. Someone just told me not to make jokes about food allergies" or something to that effect. "Warning: This joke may contain nuts" and several jokes about how no one should make jokes anymore because everyone takes things too personally).

I didn't care. I'm not going to change Ricky Gervais and I don't want to. But if just one person was touched by hearing that one-third of kids with food allergies are bullied and tried to learn more about it - that's great. If a parent watched that clip with their teenage kid and it started a conversation about bullying and how we should help each other and not harm each other - awesome.

Use your platform to spread love. We all have one. What's yours?Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-29038091548465193522016-05-22T15:41:00.000-04:002016-05-22T15:41:01.840-04:00Food Allergies - The BasicsFor those of you just joining us, last week I discussed with you how I attended the Food Allergy Research & Education (FARE) National Food Allergy Conference in Orlando, how I had a great experience, and how excited I am to share with you some of what I learned about what's going on in the world of food allergy research, education, advocacy, and living. As you know by now, our little guy (now 4 years old) has peanut and treenut allergies and it has changed our perspective on a lot of things in a lot of ways. We've had to learn a lot over the last 2.5 years since he was diagnosed, but one of the biggest things we've had to learn is something fairly basic:

What exactly IS a food allergy?

We all are familiar with allergies caused by pollen, dust mites, and animal dander since they affect so many people in the general populous - but not everyone is totally familiar with what food allergies really are. What makes them different than your everyday allergy sufferer? Since we have both of those in our house (yay!) - there are two things that I think stand out to me in terms of differences that I've observed:

1. Generally speaking, everyday seasonal/environmental allergies have a very, very low likelihood of killing the person who lives with them. You don't generally hear about people who allergies to maple pollen carrying around epipens. (Now - sometimes seasonal allergies go hand-in-hand with asthma, which does have a record of hospitalizations and deaths each year - so that should not be taken lightly either.)

2. Taking an antihistamine (i.e. Benedryl or Zyrtec) wonA co't help an anaphylactic reaction (and taking them daily won't protect you from a reaction either). The only thing that will surely avoid a reaction is avoiding the allergen itself.

So again - what IS a food allergy?

Rather than trying to summarize and explain - take the 2.5 minutes of your life and watch this short video from the National Institute of Allergy & Infectious Diseases (NIAID). It explains what happens in your body when you have a food allergy.

Back? Got it? OK, great.

So for those that skipped the video - when your body thinks that a common food (such as eggs, milk, peanuts, treenuts, soy, fish, shellfish, or wheat... or maybe even sesame) is an enemy, it sends out Immunoglobin E (or IgE) to attack it. When it does that, your body has attacks it and you have an allergic reaction. In some cases, this reaction can become anaphylactic and if not treated in a timely and effective manner - fatal.

Anaphylaxis (n): Exaggerated allergic reaction to a foreign protein resulting from previous exposure to it (from dictionary.com)

Here are a couple of graphics that I find really useful when it comes to determining what symptoms to look for as well as when to determine whether or not to use an epinephrine autoinjector.

This graphic explains what symptoms to look for when you're trying to determine if a reaction is anaphylactic -
Remember to "Think FAST"!

This is so important to have in the back of your mind when assessing a reaction.
When in doubt, our default is to inject and call 911 - at least you've done ALL you can.

So you're out with your friends and their son has an allergy to say... peanuts. She leaves to go to the bathroom and asks you to keep an eye on her son - reminding you where the epinephrine autoinjector (the EpiPen or EpiPen junior are the most commonly used autoinjectors) is located. While she's gone - maybe the bathroom is far away or she's changing another child or there's a line or something, but she seems to be gone a while - her son somehow manages to ingest peanut products. Maybe he snuck a bite of a friend's sandwich or whatever - it doesn't matter. He's started to vomit profusely and looks so pale that he almost looks blue. Not wanting to take a chance, you go in her bag where she keeps his autoinjector... now what do you do?

Besides knowing the symptoms to look for, the next best thing you can do as a part of "the village" is to know how to use an autoinjector - preferably the one that your friend carries, especially if you're with them often. For the purposes of this post, I'm going to give you a graphic and a simple explanation of how to use the EpiPen/EpiPen Junior.

So - here's what to do:

1. Remove the EpiPen from it's case and grip it in your fist - DO NOT put your thumb or fingers over either end. The last thing you want to do is accidentally stab yourself.

2. Remove the blue locking cap from the top end - "blue to the sky".

3. HOLD DOWN THE PATIENT if they are a child (they will likely fight you) and stab AND HOLD that thing as hard as you can into the meatiest part of their thigh MAKING SURE TO AVOID RECOILING THE PEN. Recoiling it will just make medicine fly everywhere not not actually administer it to the patient. COUNT TO TEN SLOWLY and remove the pen.
4. Massage the spot where you've injected the pen, lay down the patient, and elevate their legs. If they are vomiting or their tongue is swollen - lay them on their side.

5. IMMEDIATELY after doing this call 911 (preferably from a landline, but know where you are if you're calling from a cell) and tell them you have a person who is having an anaphylactic reaction and need an ambulance immediately with epinephrine stocked as well as someone who knows how to administer it. This may sound like something they SHOULD know how to do - and many do - but always say it just incase.

6. NOW contact the parents. Always administer medical care and get medical attention first in the case of a suspected anaphylactic reaction - every second counts.

I think that the biggest things that I want anyone reading this to know about living with food allergies are:

1. Food allergies are a medical diagnosis and not a lifestyle choice. 25% of people believe they have food allergies, but only 3-4% actually have a medical diagnosis. That might seem crazy, but it gives an impression that this might be a lifestyle choice. It is not - and even some of that other 21-22% probably have some sort of an allergy that's never been diagnosed. Don't take it lightly.

2. People with food allergies are not suffering. My son is far from suffering - he eats things normal kids eat, he's going to play soccer in the fall, he jumps around playgrounds and climbs like a monkey. He is normal in every other sense... ok, he's short... but other than that he's normal in every other sense. He's NOT suffering. He just can't eat peanut butter and most treenuts. Meh.

3. I don't want you to change your life for my kid. I just want you to be aware and I want you and his friends to help protect him. I know that not all parents or people with food allergies agree with this - but the reality is that when my kid is in college, his roommate might keep a jar of peanut butter in the room or he might date a girl at some point who loves nuts. I want him to know how to handle and navigate the real world.

So there you have it - the basics of food allergies. Have any questions? Leave a comment, drop a line, or check out the massive amounts of resources on the FARE website.
Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-44913397226579055062016-05-17T14:46:00.003-04:002016-05-17T14:46:55.559-04:00Food Allergies, Our Village, and Why It's ImportantLast weekend I attended the FARE (Food Allergy Research & Education) National Food Allergy Conference. As I sat in the conference room for one of the sessions typing away notes, I heard and saw a statistic on the screen that shocked me in my seat.

25% of anaphylactic allergic reactions in schools occur in people - both students and staff - who have never had a history or presented symptoms of a food allergy prior to the reaction.

25% - that's a quarter of all in-school anaphylactic reactions. I thought of a couple of friends I have that developed dairy and kiwi allergies in adulthood - in their mid/late 30's. I could picture in my mind a child playing in the playground, taking a bite of peanut butter or a handful of nuts that had never given them an issue before - and suddenly not being able to breath or vomiting nonstop and being so confused about what was happening to them.

Another statistic that they showed that to me is incredibly startling - "since we were kids", the instance of food allergies has grown by 300%. THREE. HUNDRED. PERCENT. And it's still rising.

Food allergies are becoming more and more prevalent in our society, that people have a lot of misinformation about, that is often misunderstood, and that can literally hit anyone at any time. 15 million Americans live with food allergies - and I say "live" and not "suffer" because anyone I know with a food allergy, including my own son, is FAR from suffering - and of those about 6 million (or 2 in every classroom, on average) are children.

Of those 6 million children with food allergies, about 1/3 have reported being bullied specifically because of their food allergy - and those are only the kids that report it.

One-third of kids with them have been bullied because of their food allergy... and yet 25% of anaphylactic in-school reactions are people who have never before had a food allergy or exhibited symptoms.

That is incredibly unsettling to me.

The theories as to what cause food allergies and what has caused the recent spike in occurrences are numerous and there is no cure or consistently effective long-term treatment (outside of allergen avoidance). But - there are a couple of things that we do know about them:

Food allergies are a very real medical issue - not a lifestyle choice. No one in their right mind would choose to live with a potentially fatal food allergy. We, in fact, actively prayed that God NOT give Will food allergies.

In many instances, ingestion of an allergen can cause an anaphylactic reaction which - if not immediately recognized and treated with epinephrine and emergency medical care - can be fatal.

One thing that I've learned since we got Will's diagnosis back in 2013 is that there is a LOT that people don't know or don't realize - but the vast majority of people are willing to listen, hear your story, and hear how they can help make things easier. Most people are willing to accommodate - especially once they understand that food allergies can be life-threatening. I've had moms of Will's friends text me labels of food from grocery stores and I've had people ask me questions and make sure that things were clear before putting them out for the general populous so that Will didn't feel left out. I've had one of my son's friends look at me like I was crazy for checking a label to make sure something was safe for him to eat because his mom had already checked the label - "We looked! It's safe for Will! My mom checked!" - because he wants his pal to be safe too.

By and large, people are willing to learn and understand.

Over the next couple of weeks, I'm going to be sharing with you some of the highlights of what I learned about at the FARE Food Allergy Conference - research, tips, what food allergies are, how you can help in an emergency, and more. My hope is that this information will reach many people who will find it useful, enlightening, and maybe even hopeful. Because believe it or not - there is hope, and there is DEFINITELY a lot that is good for those who are living with food allergies.

If you have any questions at any point please leave a comment or reach out to me directly if you have my contact information. Parents of those living with food allergies and those who are living with food allergies want to help people to understand and to educate and to spread the information - I am one of those parents.

As I share information over the next 2-3 weeks, please share the posts on social media, email, print them out and hand them to someone who may find the information useful or helpful. My hope is that I can use the platforms I have to educate and inform people about food allergies and help all those in the many "villages" of the world have the knowledge they need to be able to serve those in their lives who go through the day-to-day with food allergies.

In the meantime, here are a few links that might help to provide you with some useful information:

Our Food Allergy Story

FARE's Homepage

My Allergy Kingdom - Joint venture between Disney & Mylan

Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-64534305165034675662016-05-14T16:52:00.004-04:002016-05-14T16:52:43.374-04:00Gotta Get Away?
I'm currently at 34,000 feet somewhere over the East Coast on my way to Orlando for the FARE Food Allergy Conference. It's my first trip since we had the kids and I feel like it lends some credibility to the title that Steve put on the business cards he made me – "Professional Mom". <o:p></o:p>

This is a trip that I've been looking forward to for two months since I booked it. I did the math – we could afford it – and the timing was perfect – during Steve's break from his graduate school classes. From the moment I clicked the button on the airfare, paid the registration fee, and booked the hotel room I've known it was the right thing to do. The sessions look like they have huge potential to be helpful, there's going to be opportunity to network with other parents of kids with allergies, and with Will going into public school next year for preschool this seemed like the perfect time for me to attend. <o:p></o:p>

But let's be honest. I'm a stay-at-home mom of a 4-year-old and a 2-year-old. My husband is a full-time employee and basically a full-time student. We've got a busy schedule and a busy life and we do our best to balance all of it, but it's chaos. It's loving, beautiful chaos – but it's still chaos.<o:p></o:p>

I've mostly been looking forward to a weekend of solitude. <o:p></o:p>

Sure, there will be lots of other people there – it's a conference. There's even a teen track and some people bring their families with them, so it's not like I'll be escaping children. But when someone utters the words "Mom, I need a boogie wipe," those words will NOT be directed at me. I will not need to change a single diaper or remind someone to point their penis down while they're peeing (my 4-year-old, not my husband). I won't need to decide between the endless cycle of laundry or the pile of dirty dishes or the giant smiles asking me for a story. <o:p></o:p>

When I have told other moms about this conference - this two-and-a-half day stretch of flying solo - there have been looks of wonder that appear on their faces. Gasps of awe and eyes wide with wonder at the very idea of getting away without their children have been witnessed. Jokes of playing hooky on the sessions and bringing a stack of books poolside have been cracked. Dreams and hopes that maybe one day they too can get away for an entire weekend have been born. <o:p></o:p>

I picture myself standing on the steps of a local indoor playground giving my own "I Have a Dream" speech to a crowd of mothers of all kinds – free-range moms, attachment parenting moms, stay-at-home-moms, working moms, breastfeeding and bottle feeding moms. Moms of singles, moms of multiples, moms of sets of multiples, moms with super-involved spouses and moms with spouses who take a more hands-off approach and single moms who do it all themselves. Moms from all walks of life and manner of parenting who dream of flying high above the clouds sipping on Dr. Pepper and munching on Cheese-Nips without a child bucking a much-needed nap because they ARE FLYING ON AN AIRPLANE MOMMY AND OH MY GOODNESS THAT IS THE WING AND CLOUDS AND HELLO PERSON SITTING OVER THERE!!! LET ME WAVE TO YOU THREE ROWS BACK WHILE I STEP ON DADDY'S HEAD AND PUNCH MOMMY IN THE FACE!!!<o:p></o:p>

Anyways.<o:p></o:p>

I've been looking forward to the solitude. <o:p></o:p>

Then today happened. <o:p></o:p>

Yeah... learning... yeah... that's what I'm doing...

I had somehow managed to find a non-stop flight to the conference that didn't take off until mid-afternoon, which meant that I could still get the kids to their preschool co-op and Steve could get a much-needed morning off. We went about the morning as we normally would, hopped in the car a few minutes early and headed home so that I could scarf down a sunbutter and jelly sandwich before heading to the airport. <o:p></o:p>

As I sat there with my hands on the steering wheel, listening to the Billy Ray Cyrus version of "Real Gone" from the "Cars" movie, and driving along the same road we drive on every Friday… I got this knot in my chest. This longing, this feeling that someone was missing. I looked in the rearview mirror and saw my kids. I saw Will's goofy smile grinning at me in the mirror and I saw Evie fighting sleep and looking out the window because she knew that lunch and a nap were on the horizon. <o:p></o:p>

I missed my kids and I hadn't even left yet. <o:p></o:p>

Curse that heckler in the back for holding up a poster of my kids running through bubbles in the middle of my speech. <o:p></o:p>

Look – my kids are a pain just like everyone else's. My daughter can throw a mean temper tantrum and my son has discovered that occasionally being a punk is an option. The life of a parent is exhausting, it's draining, it's non-stop. Whether we work in an office full-time or stay-at-home full time: you're ALWAYS a parent first. When the alarm sounds, all things drop and you go to the child. I can't tell you the number of times that Steve has left work to help me with the kids at the doctor's office (and once so that *I* could go find out if I needed stitches because I cut myself cooking dinner). You're ALWAYS on, you're ALWAYS hyper-aware – you're ALWAYS tired. And so the prospect of getting away from that for a full 24-hours – or more – is QUITE attractive. Because rest.<o:p></o:p>

Then you think of the hugs you won't get at random moments, the laughter you won't hear as they run through the kitchen pretending to be race cars, the smiles you won't see, the tears you won't taste as they lay on your face crying over who-knows-what, and the after-nap sweaty-head you won't smell as they snuggle trying to fully wake up. And your heart aches. <o:p></o:p>

Because while getting away is so important and sometimes necessary, those aren't the things that make what being a parent is all about. It's those runny-nosed, silly-smiled, wide-eyed, curious, wondrous, cuddly, ridiculous tiny humans whose lives you've been entrusted with. That's what parenting is all about. <o:p></o:p>

So while I fully plan on enjoying every moment of this conference and full weekend of grown-up time, I'm going to make sure I can see those goofballs on FaceTime every chance I get. Without them, I wouldn't be on this plane right now heading to a conference to better my skills as a mom of a kid with food allergies. Sunday night I'll get home, peek in at those sweet sleeping faces, readjust their blankets and favorite animals, and gently kiss their foreheads. <o:p></o:p>

Then Monday morning when the peace ends and the chaos starts again to the battle cry of "MOMMY, I NEED A BOOGIE WIPE!" – I'll be there with my Puffs Plus Lotion weaponry in hand, ready to jump right back in again. <o:p></o:p>

Because that's the kind of soldier God created me to be in the first place.<o:p></o:p>
Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-53846860669123565322016-05-09T14:14:00.001-04:002016-05-09T14:36:39.143-04:00(Un)realistic Expectations
I remember my first mother's day 4 years ago. Will was only a week old and was such a snuggly little baby. He rarely fussed and was content just to be held. Steve was a nervous first time dad and I was still recovering from my c-section - only had been home for a couple of days - so he was all about making sure I was comfortable and borderline waiting on me hand and foot. I'm fairly certain someone brought us a meal that day.

It was blissful. It was wonderful. It was right out of a Hallmark commercial. Smiles, cooing baby, bliss.

My second I don't really recall, which makes me think it was similar to most other Sundays. But my third... oh good grief my third...

The kiddos - taken May 2014, right around Mother's Day

It was my first Mothers' Day with 2 kids. Steve had asked a couple of weeks in advance what I wanted to do and I replied that I wanted to get some Top Donut - donuts and iced coffee - and take a walk by the river. I was a month off of my c-section with Evie and I wanted to move around and enjoy the outside. I didn't want to cook, I didn't want to stress - Evie had been born in the midst of a housefull of sickness and I was glad to be out of that hump.

Well... as luck would have it, Evie was entering her 6-week growth spurt, eating like crazy and as a spitty baby does - was spitting up like crazy too. We were just figuring out that Will has seasonal allergies - his Zyrtec hadn't kicked in enough to protect him, he was prone to throw up with too much post-nasal drip, and so was sneezing and vomiting everywhere. Steve was just coming off of a pretty bad cold and while he was also anxious to be outside - he was cranky from being sick for a week.

But I had my expectations of a wonderful family walk with iced coffee and donuts and a breakfast picnic on Mothers' Day. I had set this beautiful picture in my head and was determined to follow through with it. We would do it. It would be amazing. We would overcome risks and have a beautiful morning together.

The actual picture? It was... less than beautiful.

I will never forget that at the end of that day I was sitting there almost in tears. I was covered in puke and snot and poop and didn't want to think about what I wanted for dinner. Steve and I were both frustrated with how the day was turning out, concerned about a relapse into post-partum depression like I had experienced with Will, and we were disappointed with the day overall.

All I wanted was Mothers' Day to be over. I declared it a sham, a falsehood, a day like any other day - only possibly more stressful because of unrealistic expectations that I (and the rest of the world) had constructed at the outset.

Have any of you ever had this experience of unrealistic expectations that get completely shattered? I feel like these expectations that we construct for ourselves (whether it's Mothers' Day or something else) have huge potential to add to our emotional clutter and baggage - especially during busy times of year like the spring with banquets and graduations and events and parties. They can add additional work we can't handle in our lives, they can give us a false picture of reality, and they can make us feel that if things don't go as planned they are an utter failure and the pressure of that need for success adds unnecessary stress.

Life has been crazy in our home over the last several months, and so I didn't set up expectations this year. The only thing I really wanted were donuts for breakfast, to not have to worry about dinner or subsequent clean-up, and to get 30-60 minutes to myself (if at all possible) in a Starbucks with a book and a cup of coffee. Not only did I get all of those things (even if dinner was out at a restaurant with 2 overtired toddlers - one with minimal nap, the other on the back end of a chest cold - and my in-laws), but I even got to spend 30 minutes talking to my own mother while folding 3 loads of laundry (less to start off the week with!) and space to myself to work on a crochet project until Steve came up to bed at 10.

Was it a perfect day? No. But I didn't set up any expectations. I had desires, but didn't make them needs.

So when our good friends texted me last night and said "D, how was your Mothers' Day?" - my answer was "Well... no one vomited on me. So it was pretty good."

God has given me these gifts of motherhood and marriage - and that means the good and the bad, through sickness and health, beautiful and ugly, laughter and tantrums. Motherhood is a mess and fatherhood is a mess and the jobs are nonstop, constantly demanding, and the kids don't stop being kids for a day just because of what the calendar has decided the day will be. As such - celebrating motherhood and fatherhood is inevitably going to be messy too. To expect anything different from that is just setting ourselves up for disappointment - instead, we should expect the normal chaos, the normal skinned knees, the normal sniffles, and maybe even a quarrel or two. After all, those are the things that we're celebrating anyways.

No one vomited on me. That's a successful day of motherhood in my book.

Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-11144841993204455542016-04-24T09:45:00.000-04:002016-04-24T09:45:51.137-04:00In Which I Piss Off Some of the Feminists Who Follow Me... When I was in college, I worked with the orientation program for new students. There was this video that we showed the kids from a guy named Mike Green (aka "Greeny") about making responsible choices - specifically about alcohol and parties, but the wisdom could be applied to many of the situations that we are presented with in college life. What stood out to me was a line that he repeated throughout the video:

"Be your brother's keeper, be your sister's keeper."

In college, and really in the whole world, we are a part of a larger community. We need to watch out for each other and make sure we are taking care of each other in as many aspects of life that we can.

So now we cross into the territory where I get absolutely infuriated when I see memes or posts or whatever posted on social media that basically say that we women should be able to dress as provocatively as we want. That when a young lady goes to school dressed in clothes that are too revealing that it is detracting from her education to send her home or send her to the office for a change of clothes that are less revealing. That our first amendment rights of expression are being violated because men can't just control themselves and not rape us. Or some other variation on this general idea that we should be able to wear whatever we want, whenever we want and everyone else in the world - namely men - should just kind of deal with that.

Before I get into this - let me be abundantly clear about a couple of things:

1. I do feel that no matter what a woman decides to wear be it a full-on burqa or a g-string bikini - no one has a right to violate her body, or cat call, or otherwise treat that woman in any way disrespectfully. Rape is despicable in all instances - no means no, and wearing an outfit (or not wearing an outfit) is not an open invitation for anyone to force themselves upon another person.

...ok really that's it. Rape is horrible and I don't think that dressing provocatively is an open invitation to be raped. There is never an excuse to that deeply abuse a fellow human being. Ever. For any reason. At all.

I just want to make sure that's clear before I begin my rant.

And friends, I AM going to rant. Buckle up.

I can remember as a teenager wanting to dress in a certain way because I wanted my boyfriend to be attracted to me. I didn't understand what all that entailed, but I knew that I had a certain amount of appeal to him and I wanted to... exploit it may not be the right word, but I'll use it for now.

There were a handful of times that I would leave for school in the morning and be turned right around back to my room. But... My mom had a fingertip-and-bra rule: If she could see my bra, a shirt needed to be layered underneath or the one I had on changed altogether and if the skirt/shorts I was wearing did not extend past the tip of my middle fingertip when my hands were at my sides then I had to change that too.

Why?

Because having your boobs hanging out isn't exactly appropriate for school, nor is having your behind hanging out when you bend over for your pen. Also because my mom cared/cares very much about me and didn't want me sending out an unintentional message. She explained this to me, and I understood. I didn't go off on a free-speech rant, and she let me choose what the substitute or replacement was - but those were the boundaries. Because she cared. And wanted to protect me. And I understood her boundaries existed because she loves me.

At no point did I think that she might be violating my first amendment rights or insinuating that I was a slut. She was just being her daughter's keeper and watching my back.

Let me extend this a bit further. Dress codes exist in high schools, I think, for a number of reasons. The BIGGEST one that I can think of is that when students get into the real world they are expected to dress in a certain professional manner. They cannot wear "F**K YOU" t-shirts or "GARAGE BAND WORLD TOUR 2013" t-shirts to work, nor can they wear jeans ripped to shreds, or have their underpants hanging out, or wear incredibly provocative clothing. If the purpose of school is to prepare you for the real world - then that should include clothing. A lot of jobs that these kids are going to work force you to wear a uniform, or adhere to a certain dress code or an expectation of a certain level of business attire exists in the culture. The odds of a student landing a job where excessive amounts of cleavage OR the donning of a "F**K YOU" hat are acceptable are pretty darned slim. As such - dress codes prepare students for the real world where real rules apply for real reasons.

The memes that are out there defending the rights of women to dress provocatively miss this point. Instead they say it's distracting from a girl's education or violating her first amendment rights. Well... to me this smacks of "Yes, but just because you CAN run into a crowded movie theater and shout 'FIRE' doesn't mean you SHOULD". Is it responsible to dress in a way that sends a message you're not looking to send, potentially putting ourselves and our fellow human beings - in this case, likely men - at a risk of being in a situation where intentions are misconstrued and a relationship or a person's emotional well-being can be destroyed?

But Danielle - you're bordering on "slut shaming"! But Danielle - it's not our responsibility to make sure that other people behave appropriately!

Is that really true though?

Let's go with the commonly accepted notion that men are more visually stimulated sexually than women. Whether this is truly engrained in them biologically or created from a society where physical appearance is elevated above internal beauty does not matter, studies have supported this in one capacity or another and so we'll start from here. If that is indeed the case, then if Suzy Student walks into class one day wearing loose-fitting jeans, a standard t-shirt, and a pair of Converse - would you not say that it is less likely that Peter Pupil notices Suzy than if she were to walk in wearing a low-cut midriff shirt with a mini-skirt and a pair of boots that carry the nickname "f**k-me boots"?

Now, if Peter is a stand-up human being (which most men are believe it or not) even if he IS distracted by Suzy it won't affect his studies and he can go on with his day. Suzy feels empowered or beautiful or whatever with what she's wearing and no harm is done.

But Danielle - what if Suzy really DOES want people to look at her physical beauty?!?! What ever happened to "if you've got it, flaunt it"? WHY ARE YOU STOMPING ON HER RIGHT OF FREEDOM OF EXPRESSION????

Welll... because. The reality is that no matter what her intentions, Suzy is going to turn heads with the latter outfit. She's probably going to get attention both positive AND negative from both boys AND girls at the school. It's possible that while walking around with her backpack on that her skirt creeps up the back of her bag and her behind will be flashing everyone. It's possible that some of her male friends will notice that her low-cut shirt creates the perfect "basketball hoop" for potato chips during lunch (both of those things happened to me).

It's possible she'll get cat-called. It's possible she'll be sexually assaulted or sexually harassed or raped.

Dress codes exist to teach kids that there are boundaries for what is acceptable to wear in the real world. A lot of this is professional - but a lot of it is personal. And in this instance, the school is protecting not just Peter from "being distracted" - it's protecting Suzy too.

Because Suzy doesn't understand as a teenager whose brain is not fully developed yet that she is indeed taking a risk by dressing that way - and the school needs to be its sister's keeper in this instance.

I stopped choosing revealing clothes after a time. Sure, I got tired of having Fritos chucked at my chest, but mostly I realized that I wasn't doing myself any favors. I watched as girls who dressed certain ways were thought to have certain behaviors and I didn't want to send a message to anyone that I was someone I wasn't. I began to dress more to represent who I actually was and not who the pages of Seventeen stated I could be.

I have a daughter now - and so a lot of this really hits home and is part of what infuriates me about these memes and posts. I know - some of you are reading this thinking "Well what do you want to teach her? That she needs to dress in a certain way so that men don't go fawning all over her?"

Good question. What do I want to teach her? Three things:

My daughter. She's awesome.

1. How you dress should be an expression of who you ACTUALLY are - not what whatever the magazine or social media of the time when she's in high school says she should be or look like. The people who will love her the most in her life and cherish her for who she is are the ones who will find her attractive in sneakers, a sweater, and khakis. Right now her preferred outfits are dress-like shirts, leggings or jeans, and a pair of sneakers because she loves to run. She's active. She needs to dress to express who she actually is - not what she thinks will appeal her to someone.

2. I'll finally close on my Greeny point that I've skirted on several times. For better or worse, our male counterparts are sexually visually stimulated. I want my daughter to understand how the male mind works and how she can be her brothers' keeper. How she can help men out there to see women as more than just sexual objects and see each one of us for our true depth of beauty. I want her to help the men in her life to disspell this reputation they've gotten as pigs who "only want one thing". I want her to blow up social media with how strong and awesome people are. We're not going to destroy rape culture by elevating the rights of women to dress however they want - we're going to destroy it by empowering real men to speak up and make it harder and more uncomfortable to sexually harass women. I want her to be a part of that.

3. We're a Christian home, and we believe in God and we believe in Jesus. In Stasi Eldridge's book "Captivating", she spends page after page after page describing how we are so beautiful just as we are created by God. Each one of us is unique and beautiful and amazing regardless of how we look or dress. God has designed each of us and Jeremiah 29:11 tells us that God has great plans for us of hope and a future and not of disaster. Psalm 139:13 describes how we were beautifully knit together in our mothers' wombs. We have lost our ability to place our intrinsic value in how God sees us - and I hope and I pray and I desire for her to base her worth in that.

In a world where we scream for equality and for the rights of the individual, we have lost the need for true community and we have forgotten how to be our brothers' keeper and our sisters' keeper. We will not beat rape culture or rape mindset by downplaying our very real role as women. Feminism might seem to some to be about our rights to do whatever we want and not be abused by men - but really it's about being strong, being independent-minded, and being able to be counter-culture and changing the culture. It's about rising above societal norms and not perpetuating the same ones and just changing the soundtrack of reasons.

So, social media - enough with the pseudo-feminist memes about free speech and distractions from education. Enough with the "You Go Girl!" rants and double-standards when we then post pictures of ourselves and expect men not to virtually cat-call us when we do. Enough slut-shaming and enough of not loving ourselves and respecting ourselves and others.

Let's ACTUALLY empower our daughters, our cousins, our BFFs, our sisters to actually do something about it on a personal level. Let's become activists.

Let's DO something.
Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-23673620072424368162016-04-13T14:06:00.000-04:002016-04-13T14:06:05.516-04:00Too Much?
When I was a kid, I used to love building towers out of crayons. I would build a foundation and then assemble as many crayons as I could in a sort of log-cabin-esque structure in an upward fashion. They were cool, I practiced my fine motor and balancing skills, and it entertained my siblings.

If you've ever built one of these structures then you know that they aren't the most stable in the world. They are fun to build, pretty to look at, but eventually the shaky foundation gives out. If the foundation doesn't roll away then one of the crayons from the upper levels scooches out of place. When either of these things happen - everything comes tumbling down.

Another illustration.

Think, if you will, of a beautiful piece of China and a bountiful Thanksgiving buffet. As you go through the buffet everything looks so delicious that you just have to try it. You take so much onto your plate that you're cramming it onto the edges and the roll has to go on top of the stuffing... wait... no... then you can't pour gravy over the top. So the roll goes to the side of the plate, half off the edge. Now the beautiful China is completely covered - you may have well just used a paper plate. You have overwhelmed your plate with food... and likely, if you clean it off, are left with a stomach ache.

These two illustrations, I think, are a good summation of what happens when we take too much on our plates. When we add too many things onto the structure of our lives.

We become overwhelmed with all the things in the balance and our sanity comes tumbling down. We get so full that we end up emotionally or spiritually sick and unable to move.

When we talk about the clutter in our lives and we talk about how it's so much more than stuff - it is so true. It's amazing how the emotional and spiritual clutter that we often stack onto ourselves can cause instability in so many areas.

The reasons we have for not offloading the items on our plate are many. "But they're counting on me", "If I don't do it, no one else will", "No, it needs to be done this way and only I know how to do it". These reasons are incredibly selfish and prideful sounding, aren't they? Are we really that important to the fabric of society that the walls will crumble if we cease to exist from an area of it?

When we made the decision that I would come home from work to take care of the kids full-time, I felt so many of these things about my job. Because of the way I "ended" my time in the office (my blood pressure had become unstable in the last weeks of pregnancy and I was forced to work from home with several rest-breaks throughout the course of the day), I was unable to tie loose ends, finish projects I was working on, and had several files of backlogged to-do items that I had guilt were incompleted. I had to make a choice to add on to the adjusting of being a stay-at-home-mom to attempt to clean everything up or I had to let it go and trust that those who would come after me would do the best job they knew how for the customer and the company.

Guess what? The work got absorbed, the customers were taken care of, and no one complained to me it wasn't perfect before I left. I've maintained the relationships with some of the people I worked with and no harm was done by letting it go. This applies to so many areas of our lives. Yes, we are called to serve, to love one another, and to make sure we take care of each other - I am not arguing that. Are there things that maybe only we know how to do - sure there are, but shouldn't we train someone else to do those things? Will the gears of society stop turning and the Earth stop rotating on its axis when we leave this life and meet Jesus in Heaven?

The things that we've taken on our hearts, our schedules, our to-do lists? If we let go of the unnecessary ones or the ones we need to release to pay more attention to the things God has called us to RIGHT NOW - someone else will pick them up. If they're not necessary, then it won't matter anyways. If we let go of the wrong things and need to readjust - God will make that obvious to you.

Evaluate your plates and decide if you've got too much on them. Throw away the roll and skip the... no, don't skip the gravy - but maybe don't take so much stuffing. Don't build your crayon towers or houses of cards too high. Use steady hands to build your structures and make sure you leave ample room for dessert. You can't do that with shoddy materials or too much of the dinner buffet taking up space in your stomach.

It's OK to let it go.
Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-16746840922320100912016-03-14T14:56:00.000-04:002016-03-14T14:56:19.756-04:00Out of Order

Forty-five.

Forty-five is the number of minutes that my just-about 2-year-old daughter spent in a full-blown screaming temper tantrum this morning.

Her mood began to turn when she was attempting to get herself dressed, couldn't get her head through the hole of her shirt, asked for help - and then completely freaked out when I attempted to provide the help that she had just requested.

It continued to go downhill when she grabbed my leg while I was trying to make the breakfast she had just said she wanted to eat and asked her to let go so that I could go to the fridge to get the container of milk that she had just asked for a cup of.

The final straw that set her from whining and complaining to a total meltdown happened when she asked me for more cereal and I told her that no, she had to eat her eggs (that I gave her the ketchup she asked for to dip them in) and banana (that I cut up the way that she prefers to eat it) before I gave her more cereal.

The shift from total meltdown to total NUCLEAR meltdown happened when she decided that she would only eat the eggs and banana with the blue fork her brother prefers instead of the green fork that she typically requests (and did this morning) - and her brother did not want to switch forks with her.

It was at this point that Mommy withdrew (mentally, I was still in the kitchen) and stopped paying attention to the tantrum-throwing toddler safely buckled into her high chair beside her. Her poor brother was trying to ask me something and I couldn't hear a word he was saying due to the loud volume of crying/shrieking occurring on my left-hand side and the fact that his mouth was jammed full of banana. I'm presuming he asked me if he could get down, because when I said I couldn't hear him rather than repeating himself he just looked at his hands for mess, wiped his face on his arm, and hopped down to go play.

At minute 30, this same brother hid in the hall closet because he'd had just enough of the temper tantrum. I so wanted to hide in there with him, but this was not in the cards.

I'm proud to say that I only shouted her name once on this particular morning to attempt to get her to stop and for the remainder of the time was able to either ignore her completely or speak with her/discipline her calmly.

"When little people have big emotions, it's our job to share our calm, not join their chaos." These words are attributed to L.R. Knost, who is a best-selling parenting & children's author that I had never heard of until I saw this quote. I don't care what else she writes - I barely remember to carve out time to read the books I'm already in the middle of - these words are so important. I recently had read another list of parenting tips that reminded the reader to not yell back when your child is in a tantrum because it just adds fuel to the fire. Chaos begets more chaos; think of a tornado as it grows and the bigger radius of destruction that is left in its path the bigger that it gets.

The real question then is this: If I am surrounded by chaos - where in the world do I find calm? When I have one child flailing about screaming so loudly I'm praying that no one calls the Department of Children and Families and the other one so frustrated that the tact of hiding in a closet is chosen - where is the calm? Where is the calm when all I want to do is shut down and display an "Out of Order" sign hanging from the tip of my nose?

A year or so ago I sat in my moms' group listening to the wisdom of Martha Fletcher. Martha is the mother of 6 children, has incredible faith in Jesus, and is such a perfect example of God's grace in imperfect parenting. I adore listening to her speak - hearing her words imparted on our group is such a wonderful blessing. She was speaking on this particular day about being just completely worn out and gave us some stories of times that she was worn out and had lost it and felt like she had nothing left when her children were small. Where, she said, can we find resources left when we feel like we have reached the absolute bottom of our reserves?

The page from my notebook where I wrote down this awesome wisdom. Never forget it.

Jesus, she said, has an endless supply of resources to share with us. He WANTS to share them with us. He WANTS to support us in our quest to raise up these tiny emotional humans into capable, somewhat adjusted grown-ups.

And can I just tell you - in my experience, this is SO true. I feel that left to my own limited resources, I would never be able to parent my children. Left to my own wit and wisdom, I would not be able to steer them on the path towards God's plan for their lives.

I have three bits of scripture that I draw on to help me keep the calm in the chaos that can sometimes come into our home:

1. "For I know the plans I have for you," declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future. Then you will call on me and come and pray to me, and I will listen to you." (Jeremiah 29:11-12) Parents - God has a plan for your children, and God has a plan for you as well. Part of God's plan for me is to follow His lead in raising Godly children who can harness the ways in which He has wired them to be able to focus on and follow His plan for them. In the example of my 45-minute tantrum-throwing daughter - God has wired her with a strong will, clear preferences, confidence, independence, and many other traits that are so common in those we look to make our leaders. The same goes for my empathetic, reserved, caring, but somehow as equally strong-willed son. We are each wired and gifted according to the plans that God has for our lives - if we focus on Him, if we communicate with him, and if we harness those gifts in the ways that He has intended them then we are able to do great things. By reminding myself constantly that God has a plan for her and her personality, I am able to focus on parenting her in the way that she needs.

2. "As a mother comforts her child, so I will comfort you..." (Isaiah 66:13a) In the moments of chaos where I know I need to be the calm, in those times that the tornado of emotion is swirling around in our home, in the times that I need to be the shelter from the storm that I feel I'm actually a part of - I lean on this knowledge. When I am comforting my children and taking them in my arms, sometimes I close my eyes and feel God beside me placing His arm around my shoulder. When I am standing firm in disciplining my children and they are standing firm in their own will against me because they want to grow on their own terms, sometimes I stand a little straighter and feel God nearby reassuring me that I'm right in following His instructions in parenting. In the times that I need to feel that I (and my husband) are not alone in this parenting journey - this bit of scripture is all that I need to know that if I am raising my child according to God's plan that He is with me.

3. "He tends to His flock like a shepherd: He gathers His lambs in His arms and carries them close to His heart; He gently leads those who have young." (Isaiah 40:11) My son is big on being picked up and held close. He is a gentle soul and is an incredibly loving child; one of the best ways he understands love from another person at this point in his life is when they are willing to pick him up and hold him close to their heart. We went to Florida in December and it absolutely made his life when at the Garden Grill one morning for breakfast - Mickey Mouse got down on his knee and picked him up. There was one night that he asked if God could pick him up. This verse - this is the verse I can point him to when he is old enough to understand scripture and fully understand God to say yes, a thousand times yes - God picks you up. God loves to pick us up and He loves to hold us close to His heart. As a parent, God is picking me up every day - some days several times a day. It is so reassuring to know that if I need to I can close my eyes, take a deep breath, and feel God's loving presence.

Forty. Five. Minutes.

That forty-five minutes is so short and so insignificant in the grand scheme of things. The choices that I make as far as how I handle myself and whether or not I follow God's lead in those forty-five minutes are not insignificant.

I looked into my daughter's eyes and saw... myself. I saw a little girl who wants the world HER way and wants to do it ALL herself. Then I saw God's work in wiring her and felt the Holy Spirit remind my heart of His will for us. I felt Him beside me as I knelt down to my daughter's level in her "calm space chair" and reassured her that she was loved but that this behavior would not get her what she desired. I felt Him press on my heart and wrap His love around me as I turned my back to my children for a minute to compose myself.

When the tantrum passed and hugs were exchanged and a compromise on food was reached (Cream of Wheat with whole milk) and everyone recentered we went on to have a fairly decent morning. I don't kid myself into thinking that we will never see another temper tantrum again or that I won't want to join my son in hiding in the closet when it happens - but when it does, I have God's promises to rely on. I won't always be perfect in seeking His will and I won't always remember to let Him lead me every step of the way. I am human and I am imperfect.

And so are my kids. His grace is for them as much as it is for me - and it's up to me to make sure I show them that.

In the meantime - I'll save my "Out of Order" sign for another time... when I'm sick... and Dad's home as back-up.Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-84051470535514304762016-02-02T15:11:00.000-05:002016-02-02T15:21:51.452-05:00Top 5: "They Didn't Tell Me That..." About ParentingI've been a parent now for 3 years, 8 months, and 28 days (thanks to the duration calculator I found for letting me know exactly how long it's been - helpful tool). It's been a countless number of ups, several downs, and an infinite amount of teachable moments. I have been stretched, I have celebrated, I have grown, I have felt small. I have never felt more awake and alive and I have never felt more tired.

It all depends on the day, maybe even the moment.

Over the last 3 years, 8 months, and 28 days I've read a number of blog posts, articles, books, and social media snippets about parenting. Silly memes about toddlerhood, heartfelt posts of mushy moments, snarky recounts of grocery store tantrums, comments filled with opinions and advice, technically and medically written articles about the pros and cons on everything you can think of. Between all of the things - you would think that the average plugged-in mom who reads and tries to do research and stay on top of things would have found out all of the things and have covered all of the "they didn't tell me THAT about parenting" that's out there.

Little life-changers. Cute, ain't they?

But no. No no no. There were other things. And these things that no one warned me about are so minute and silly that maybe you think they're not worth me sharing.

Oh, my friend, but if they happen to you - you'll thank me. Or maybe you're reading this in solidarity saying "OH HECK YES" with every word. Maybe you have your own little things that you've never seen show up in a blog post or journal article that you wish someone had told you. Whatever.

Maybe this is just a means for me to vent and you've heard all of these and this post is boring to you. My apologies. My blog, my monkey. Or something.

So what didn't anyone warn me about...?

Parenting: It's a messy job... and... well... we do it.

Dry Hands: When I was working full-time, I was filling my water bottle 3-4 times a day (at least) and was applying hand lotion every time I got back from washing my hands in the bathroom. My hands were so soft - I would get compliments at the end of the winter when I would get manicures at how soft my hands were considering how dry people's hands get during that time of year. Enter motherhood. I'm now changing diapers (and using their accompanying wipes), cleaning messes, and forgetting my gloves when I leave the house. I am lucky if I remember to apply lotion in the morning and at night as part of my routines. Water... well... I have a bottle, and I struggle to make sure that I fill it 2-3 times in a much, much longer day. My hands - as a result - have been cracking due to dryness for the first time in as long as I can remember. It's frustrating and I work to remember to hydrate myself and my skin - but I constantly fail. And I start over again.

My Clothes Became Frumpy: I stand in front of my closet these days and realize that my wardrobe has changed drastically. Where it used to consist primarily of clothes that I wore to look presentable and at least semi-professional, it's now full of clothes that I don't care if they get covered in snot/paint/food/whatever in the course of the day. I was going out for drinks & apps with Steve the other night and pulled 4 shirts out of the closet before I found one that wasn't covered in grease stains (presumably from turning away from cooking to break-up a toy quarrel or from greasy covered hands diving in for a hug). When did it happen that I couldn't even find a presentable outfit to go out on a simple date and feel like - to quote Michelle Pfieffer in "One Fine Day" - "a woman and less like a dead mommy"? But there it is.

If you haven't seen the movie - after this mishap, she wears a dinosaur t-shirt.
Because that's what Moms carry around for spare clothing. Seriously.

You Need To Remember That You CAN Be Sexy: Now here is something that is never ever talked about out loud. I've read what seems like a million blog posts or snarky comments about women who just don't want to even think about sex at the end of the day because they're sooooo tiiiirrrred and just don't feel like they even want to THINK about sex when their husband gives them "that look". Um... hello? Am I the ONLY mommy out there that wants to remember how the children got there in the first place? And how much FUN it was? Man, my husband WANTS me and I WANT him and... and... I just do. not. feel. sexy. It's not that I don't want to have sex - I just feel like that "dead mommy" I was just talking about and how in the world could he want someone that's tired and has dry cracked hands and looks so danged frumpy. Pick up, Buttercup... do something about it. Kids are in bed? Turn on the sexpot, Sweet Cheeks. Look at him and see the hotness that he is - no, forget that, you already know that. Look in the mirror - even when you're a dead mommy - and see the hotness that HE sees. Even if it's just a fast-action go before you crash - we can't lose that part of ourselves. And we should freaking talk about it more. Out loud. Seriously.

Good-looking AND an awesome dad? Seriously. This guy deserves me to sex it up once in a while.

Time With Girlfriends Isn't Always Quality: I had this picture when I came home from working that all my friends who were also at home full-time and I would get together and our kids would play and we'd be able to catch up and talk and sip coffee. Oh no. Such is not the case. We spend time discussing our kids, chasing our kids, gulping coffee, and lamenting that we should attempt to get together with our husbands (or without) and withOUT the children. Playdates do NOT allow for quality grown-up time. Neither do trips to the mall playground, the park, an ice cream stand, a museum... whatever it is, they're just not times for quality adult time. I know what my girlfriends with kids look like and those without are very patient and gracious with me as I send emails/texts and we have the occasional phone call.

(I bet now is when you're like - oh, Top 5... here comes the sappy "But I Love My Kids" bullet point. Well, you're totally wrong. You already know I love my kids, let's be real. We all love our kids and we all can't believe how fast they grow and we all wish we could hold on to time and blah blah blah. That's not what this post is about. Moving on.)

You Suddenly Hate Yourself as a Child: I was the only one (that I can remember) my mom never looked at me and said that she wished I had a child that was "just like me". In fact, she's occasionally called me "the easy one" - but somehow, I feel like that couldn't be the case. Because I threw massive temper tantrums as a kid. And as a tween/teen I bottled everything up and withdrew until I just completely exploded. My daughter is an incredibly dynamic, intelligent, well-spoken, hilarious 21-month-old who inherited my temper tantrums. How... was... I... not... raised... by... gypsies??? This morning she held a football in her hand while wearing a Tom Brady jersey. Her brother put on a football helmet and said "Throw me the football, you're Tom Brady and I'm Edelman!". She proceeded to have a full-scale meltdown because she wanted to be Tom Brady. What.... the...???? What... I... Mom: I know you read every one of my posts. You've said a number of times that this is just like how I was as a kid. I'm sorry. I am publicly apologizing. No one person has wanted to make me inhale a bag of chocolate chips while hiding in a dark closet like my daughter does when she has a "meltdown morning".

Temper tantrums don't happen while they're sleeping. Just as a heads up.

Look - I love my job. I looked at my husband when we got married and told him that my dream job would be to have two wonderful children and to be a stay-at-home mom. This is seriously the best gig ever and my kids have helped me to grow and expand and get closer to God and learn more about myself than probably any other people have in my entire life. But it ain't glamorous, and it ain't clean, and it ain't June Cleaver.

(Here's your mushy closer... are you ready?)

But for all the cracked fingertips and snot-stained t-shirts and temper tantrums in the world... I wouldn't ever trade it. There's not a moment that I don't look around at the beautiful mess that our life is and thank God for it.Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-55386351445839760792015-11-19T15:16:00.000-05:002015-11-19T15:16:19.789-05:00Car Repairs and FaminesWe wandered around the dealership killing time for the fourth time in a month. An oil change and standard inspection had revealed that my 2007 Honda CR-V needed several other maintenance updates and a recall fix done and this was to be my final visit in getting those things completed. I looked forward to being done with this run of car upkeep because as much as I love my children - I do not enjoy the time we spend together in car service waiting rooms.

I pulled into the service bay that morning and was thankful for this last visit as I pulled my children out of the vehicle.

I should have known better.

Within moments of me checking in the car, the service representative was back at my side in the waiting area informing me that my car was leaking a bluish fluid. She didn't think it was coolant, was hopeful that maybe it was washer fluid and not a critical issue.

"Please, please let it be washer fluid," I thought to myself as I took a deep breath and felt the tension building through my shoulders, arms, and eyebrows. I felt the tears creeping in and pushed them back, holding out hope that it wouldn't be a big deal.

Image credit www.brokenvehicles.com

About a half-hour later, the service representative found me chasing the kids down a ramp with a paper in her hand. The tone in her voice as she said my name and the look on her face put a pit right in the bottom of my stomach and my heart fell through it to the floor.

"I can't let you take the car," she said. "It's leaking a lot of coolant." She showed me the paper, I read the description and saw another almost $300 worth of repairs needed to my car.

As I waited for my husband to arrive (he's awesome when I'm overwhelmed, plus his car had carseats and the offered rental didn't) my anxiety built. It wasn't just these repairs on my car that were weighing on me; it was the $500 we'd already spent on this vehicle in the last month in maintenance. It was the $1500 we'd just dumped into Steve's car for maintenance along with another $300 on its way here in the form of a bumper cover he'll replace himself. It was the upcoming $1000-1500 after-insurance expenses we're expecting to pay for me to get a root canal next week and a follow-up crown later in the year.

For those keeping a running tally - that's $2600 (roughly) in car repair and $1000-1500 in dental work for a grand total of $3600-4100 in unexpected financial expenses.

It was what those expenses could possibly translate to that was really killing me. It was the faces of our kids getting excited about our Disney trip in just 3 short weeks. It was wondering if we'd have to cancel character meals, cut back on planned souvenirs, or forego a day at one of the parks. It was thinking of how to break that news to them if they did. It was the holidays coming up and the few gifts we still hadn't bought. It was the hope we've had of planning a vacation for our 10th anniversary in 2017 (paying for it in 2016)... and now wondering if we'd be paying for newer cars instead.

A long, long time ago a Pharaoh had two disturbing dreams that woke him from his sleep. A young man named Joseph told Pharaoh that a time of prosperity was coming, followed immediately by a time of famine. Joseph advised Pharaoh that he should take a portion of the crops during the time of prosperity, store them away and guard them. "That way there," Joseph said, "there will be enough to eat when the seven years of famine come to the land of Egypt. Otherwise this famine will destroy the land." (Genesis 41:17-36)

Save during the prosperous times so that when the famines happen - you are prepared and will not be destroyed.

By nature, I am not a saver. I'm just not. I've often joked that if I were left in charge of our finances that I would put us into bankruptcy. I have gotten better over the years - but that is because my husband has been blessed with the ability to innately understand finances, to save, and is fantastic at budgeting and explaining concepts. Every year he has coached me through what to do, what we need to do, and I have watched in wonder as he stewards the resources that God has provided for us. With Steve's leadership, we have saved for rainy days/retirement/kids' college while still following opportunities for generosity, enjoying times with family at Disney or other family entertainment spots, supporting our church, and maintaining a reasonable lifestyle in our home.

So there I sat in the dealership service waiting area with an anxious lump in my throat, waiting for my husband to come back out from the repair bays with news of the car and the final cost. My kids were flopped in chairs on either side of me, wanting to get out and be anywhere else doing anything else. When Steve came out from the back and gave me a thumbs-up, it was more than the $120-ish dollars he'd managed to negotiate off of the price of the repair that gave me relief.

In that moment, with that thumbs up, I felt a pressing on my heart to remember Joseph. Remember his warning to Pharaoh to save during the times of prosperity. Trust that your husband is following God's lead in your finances, and follow his lead. He will guide you, just as Joseph guided Pharaoh. This is your time of famine and it's going to be OK. Trust God, trust your husband. I heard Steve's words that he's said so many times to me - "This is why I do what I do" - and knew I needed to trust in these things.

When Steve met the kids and I in the waiting area to update me, I fell into his arms and cried (for about 5 seconds, ain't nobody got time for more than that). I thanked him, I apologized (knowing the current situations aren't my fault), and I silently thanked God for His provision. His financial provision, the provision of His wisdom, and the provision of His trust in us to be good stewards of His resources.

Guys... I'm not writing this to be like "See! We have plenty in our storehouses! We're all good for the famine!" That's not my intent at all.

Sometimes the stories in the Bible can seem so remote, so far away, so intangible. The concepts might make sense, but in modern-day Western culture we don't have storehouses of grain in our times of prosperity. Times of prosperity look completely different - they are times of normalcy, times when things aren't so bumpy. In those times of prosperity, we might forget to save up or we might decide to take on debt because we can "afford" the payments (which... that's a post for another day - remember, "The rich rule over the poor, and the borrower is slave to the lender" [Proverbs 22:7]). We might go out to extravagant dinners or take vacations when bank accounts get larger and forget that someday famine may appear or storms may wipe us out. We put our guards down... but we can't. Ever.

How are your storehouses? Are you prepared if a famine comes?

If your hot water heater breaks - can you afford it?

If your insurance doesn't cover an entire emergency procedure - how far back will you be set?

If your car gets totaled and you're in a position where you need one - can you replace it without going into debt?

Joseph's warning to Pharaoh is real, it's here, it's constant. If we did not prepare ourselves for this famine, this could have been an incredible disaster.

Will we have to sacrifice to replenish what we've lost? Absolutely. Will it be difficult if we have to pass on things so that we can be secure in an emergency again? Sure it will.

But if we want to be good stewards of the resources God has given us - then we need to follow His lead, His wisdom, and prepare our storehouses.

My prayer is that others can start today in doing the same thing. Follow Joseph's warning and let God lead you in your preparations for any upcoming famines.

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Looking for a good place to get financial advice and learn about budgeting, investing, saving, or paying off your debts? Check our Dave Ramsey's Financial Peace University. Many churches offer classes on a regular basis - so find one near you!

Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-30619671679612306742015-10-28T15:38:00.000-04:002015-10-28T20:55:05.742-04:00Top Five Parenting Fails in Kids' Books*

I have always been a bookworm. I have several family members that like to talk about how young I learned how to read, and my mom loves to tell the story about needing to hide the TV Guide because I was starting to figure out when "specials" were going to be on. As I grew this never changed; in Middle School I was a consistent member of the 20-Plus Book Club (kids who read 20 or more books outside of their assigned reading in the course of a year got special recognition). I carried that love into high school and college as well, places where reading outside of my assignments became a means of stress relief or conversation with others. Since then, reading has been a means for me to escape reality, grow myself personally, continue learning, or read along with friends or family.

The point is - my whole life I have loved to read, so when we found out that we were having children I got incredibly excited to stock our shelves with my childhood favorites and became giddy when I realized I would be discovering all sorts of new books. Both of my kids love sitting on our laps or beside us and getting stories read to them; on an average day - including bedtime - our kids hear at least 5-7 stories read to them. Reading is huge in our home, which is exactly what I had hoped for.

What I wasn't expecting was the perspective I have on these books now that I'm a parent to cloud a bit of the story. Sometimes I have this nagging running commentary in my head and need to bite my tongue because my 3-year-old and 18-month-old haven't really honed their adult wit yet - so it would be completely wasted on them.

Instead... I have decided to share it here. Aren't you lucky?

So in no particular order... and, uh, if you haven't read these books - I'm totally spoiling them. You've been warned.

1. Are You My Mother? Here we have the classic tale of the baby bird who goes off on a search for his mother. In his travels he meets a chicken, a kitten, a dog, a cow, an old car, a plane, a boat, and finally a "SNORT" (excavator). Why, oh why, was this newborn bird left alone in an exposed nest before he was ready to go out on his own? Well, because Mom was completely unprepared for his arrival. Seconds before the baby bird is about to be born, Mom realizes she ain't got no stinkin' entrees!!! Maybe it's just me - but whether you breast or bottle feed, home birth or hospital birth - YOU HAVE THE FOOD READY MAN! It's not like it's a surprise that there's going to be a baby there eating food soon. You have the time to get it ready. So, Mama Bird, maybe next time you're expecting a baby - wrap that egg in some leaves to keep it warm and get your worms ready. Then you're not leaving a newborn in a nest by itself going off wandering looking for you before he's ready to fly. What if that dog was hungry, huh? I'm just saying.

2. We're Going on a Bear Hunt! This entire book is a parenting fail - an example on what not to do on a family outing. Yes, let's bring our children out on a BEAR HUNT as a fun family activity. Anyways... they head out on this questionable expedition and waddle through some swishy grass (yay fun - ticks!), then mud (which, I mean, who didn't love walking through mud as a kid, fine). After the mud is when the parenting gets a bit sticky. Mom and Dad don't have any towels, parkas, boots, or first aid kids and bring their kids through a deep, cold river, then dark woods where they proceed to stumble and trip, then a snowstorm. A SNOW STORM. A BABY AND TWO KIDS WITH NO PARKAS AND NO BOOTS AND NO HATS IN A SNOWSTORM. This after they had already gotten wet from mud and river trudging... bring on the hypothermia, folks. Way to be! Then, when the kids are presumably wet, tired, cold and miserable - they tiptoe into a cave to find themselves face to face with a large, scary bear. This of course means that the parents now have to drag the wet, tired, cold miserable children back through all of the things that made them wet, tired, cold and miserable in the first place back to their house - WHERE THEY LEAVE OPEN THE FRONT DOOR before going back to shut it and hide from the bear in Mom & Dad's bed. The amount of parenting fails that happen in this book are mind-boggling... maybe that's why kids love it so much?

3. Guess How Much I Love You This was on my list, but when a fellow mom gave it a vote on my Facebook blog page I knew I wasn't going crazy. Here this poor little rabbit is just trying to tell his Dad how much he loves him in as big of terms as he knows how. He jumps as high as he can, he reaches as high as he can, he stretches as far as he can, and he imagines as far a distance as he can to express his love. And it's sweet, it's incredibly sweet. Why, oh why, oh why does Big Nutbrown Hare have one-up his kid at every turn? He shows off his biggerness but stretching, jumping, and reaching higher than this poor little bunny can - when really he can just be like "Oh, Little Nutbrown Hare - that is SO SWEET and SO BIG how much you love me!! THANK YOU!!!". The end is what kills me though... Little Nutbrown Hare is all like "Oh, well I love you to the moon!" and then goes to sleep. And even in that moment of sweetness with his little adorable little bunny asleep on his lap, Big Nutbrown Hare can't savor the sweetness. He still has to get in the last word... "I love you to the moon... and back." Maybe you're thinking I should lighten up, it's just a sweet expression of how a parent loves a child. No. You stop that. Show your kid you love them by letting them love you, Big Nutbrown Hare. Let the kid think he's so big. They like that.

4. "It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown!" This one sneaks the bad parenting in on you... there's an assumption that the trick-or-treating is supervised (lots of parents stand on the sidewalk while their kids go to the door) and that the party at Violet's has parents hanging out in the corners. But then there's Linus and Sally alone in a pumpkin patch in the dark with scary dogs (OK... just Snoopy) on the loose. Ok, ok... maybe there's a parent off to the side keeping an eye on things and letting Linus have his imaginative moments hoping for a Great Pumpkin to appear in this the most sincere of pumpkin patches. Fine. But then Lucy has an alarm set for 4:00 AM to go and fetch Linus out of the patch, where he has been laying all night long wrapped in nothing but a worn-out security blanket and a pair of shorts. ON HALLOWEEN NIGHT. Why was this not stopped at 9:00 PM? Why was this child allowed to sleep out in a pumpkin patch in 40-degree weather? WHERE WERE THE PARENTS I ASK YOU?? WHERE???

5. "When a Dragon Moves In" This is a newer story about a little boy who builds a sand castle during his beach vacation and a dragon moves in. The dragon, it becomes obvious, is an imagined dragon who is both awesome and mischief causing - protecting the little boy from beach bullies, sticking his fingers in the brownies, spraying sand all over his older sister. After the latter happens, the parents put an end to the "dragon business", the boy destroys the castle, and builds another one the next day. So... why did the parents fail? They brought their kid to the beach, let him play in the sand, and disciplined him when he taunted his sister. Seems fine to me! But... what I didn't mention is that all along the way the parents do nothing to encourage this kid's imagining of a dragon. I mean... a DRAGON!! DUDE!! It's a DRAGON! They don't play along AT ALL! They correct his dragon's roar to tell him it's the roar of the ocean, they disregard his insistence that a seagull's feather actually belongs to a dragon, and do nothing to encourage his creativity. Isn't that part of our JOB as parents? I can't tell you how many times I've been "scared" of a dinosaur stalking me in my kitchen while I cook, have pet a series of "tiny horsies", and made sure that my kids have gotten their various other imaginary pets returned to them that have been placed in my hands. Get out of yourself guys and just play along for heaven's sake! Let the kid dream (without spraying sand on his sister, of course)!

Look, don't get me wrong - there's a suspension of disbelief that I generally allow when I read stories to my kids. I don't ruin their experience by poo-pooing on the parents and I certainly get excited at the parts that I think they'd find exciting. I let myself drift back to the times of a small child sitting in my room or on my mom's lap or my grandmother's kitchen table with books and remember what that was like - and I try to provide that to my kids.

But... someday... when they're old enough... I'll let them have a laugh at the parenting faux-pas in their favorites too.

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*These are only books that I've read. I'm sure that there are others out there - and I would LOVE to hear them so leave a comment!Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-36401688368208620452015-10-12T21:58:00.001-04:002015-10-12T21:58:16.999-04:00The Reality of Being an Allergy Parent

A little over two years ago, Will had a bite of peanut butter toast that would change our parenting with him for what likely will be the rest of his life. In that moment, we became the parents of a food allergy kid and the most common and comforting of foods would become the most dangerous.

You don't know what you don't know. And you don't know what everyone else doesn't know until you suddenly become in the know. And it's amazing how that perspective of knowledge versus lack of knowledge and lack of understanding changes you into someone you never thought you would be.

This fall has brought Will into the world of what I will call the official preschooler. He's in a one-day-per-week cooperative preschool, he goes to a playgroup once a week while I go to my moms' group, and he has speech therapy twice a week where he interacts with other kids as well. He's getting invitations to birthday parties for friends, we go to parks and playdates, we go out to dinner and lunch and he has opinions and wants and desires and an imagination that he can clearly express.

His bright blue eyes and his wide, gapped-tooth grin and giggle melt my heart and his small, giant hugs could comfort the largest beast. The deep expression on his face when he takes his quiet time, snuggling his Monkey close to his face is just so peaceful I could watch him sit like that for hours.

I understand I'm biased... but my son really is an amazing kid.

As his parents, we live in a scary reality where a simple peanut butter and jelly sandwich at a playdate or dripped maple walnut ice cream on a park bench can put our son's life at risk. We've been told to continue to give him the one nut that's been safe, and every time he coughs after he's had some I worry his body is rejecting that too. When we're out, everything gets wiped down at a table before we eat just incase someone came before us that had something with an allergen or brought their own food that may contaminate our son's meal.

You don't know what you don't know until you have to know. And then...you wish you didn't have to know.

I turned around 20 minutes into an hour-and-a-half trip to turn around and retrieve a forgotten Epi-pen. I've had to stop a little girl waving a peanut butter sandwich around a train at an amusement park from sitting near our family - to the exasperated reaction from her grandmother and an annoyed but sort of understanding reaction from her mom. I've had to ask another mom not to put her breakfast that included huge, exposed walnuts down in front of him. I've had to research and explain label reading to the other moms in our preschool cooperative. I've spent a good chunk of time texting with another mom to make sure that the birthday party he'll be attending at their house will be safe (and screened the pizza place they'll be ordering from too). I've had to ask a friend to double check the ingredients to the stuffing she'd be serving at her house for dinner when we came just to make sure it wasn't cross-contaminated with anything that might pose a danger. I debated whether or not to leave a change of clothes in the basement to change into after going out to dinner with friends just incase we got suspect nuts on our clothing during the meal.

And that... that's just in the last week.

And our little guy *only* has two allergies. There are people who have far more that have far more dietary concerns and social situations to watch out for. There are kids whose parents MUST carry around a "safe snack" back to birthday parties and outings to amusement parks because their allergies are so extensive that bringing their own foods are the only way they can guarantee their child's safety. We have friends whose son has milk allergies so severe that he's "allergic to the whole cow" - he cannot have beef either - among other food allergies both with him and other family members as well. Another friend has a daughter whose food allergies made her so food averse as a baby that it has taken years for them to get her to try new foods because she trusts none of them.

There's a reality that you have to live in as an allergy parent that is hard for those who don't live it themselves to really grasp. I say this as a person who attempted to empathize and understand what it was like to live with allergy concerns for years... you just don't know what you don't know until you have to know.

You don't know that exposure to an allergen can cause an immediate extreme reaction that Benedryl won't help.

You don't know an immediate extreme reaction needs an Epi-pen hit within seconds.

You don't know that a hit with an Epi-pen requires that 911 be called immediately and that a trip to the hospital in an ambulance is a requirement.

You don't know that even after an Epi-pen hit, an ambulance ride, and treatment in emergency/acute care that your child could still have what's called a biphasic reaction later on... when you least expect it... including in their sleep. You don't know that this reaction could cause the cycle to start all over again.

Until you live with the reality of a potentially anaphylactic reaction causing food allergy, you may intellectually understand the ramifications of exposure to an allergen... but you don't really feel what those ramifications can mean.

If I tell you that my son could die with exposure to peanuts or certain treenuts... I'm not exaggerating.

Yes, I have his Epi-pen. Yes, we know how to use it and we have a crash plan in the event of exposure. And yes - I am fully aware of how annoying I sound when I start asking questions about ingredients in what you're eating or how psychotic I seem when I dive at your kid when they come at mine with a peanut butter chocolate chip granola bar.

I didn't know what I didn't know until I wondered if I was going to be seconds away from an anaphylactic reaction in a house with no Epi-pen, no Benedryl, and no idea how to help my 17-month-old son make his eyes stop watering or the hives go away. I didn't know what I didn't know until I sat in an allergist's office and watched the bumps of a skin-prick test rise up on my baby's back.

I had a new perspective on what hope is when I sat on the phone with the same allergist and went over the results of my son's blood test last spring and asked for translations of the numbers he was reading off to me... and was told that his numbers were "low enough" to indicate that he will very likely be eligible for an in-office food challenge in a few years if they stay this low.

To think that there's a chance that what most of the world considers normal could kill my son... and that maybe, just maybe the world could be normal for him someday too. Hope.

When Will was 9 months old, he had a severe case of croup. It was bad enough that while on the phone at midnight with our pediatrician to find out what to do, she heard his barking cough and told us we shouldn't bring him to the ER ourselves - we needed an ambulance to help us to keep the carseat propped up safely to keep his airways open.

Sitting in the back of the ambulance with my baby boy, watching the headlights of my husband's car behind us, staring at the face of this helpless, sad little one clinging to his taggie blanket with his giant blue eyes... it was the hardest experience I've ever had as a parent so far.

I never want to sit in the back of an ambulance worrying about my child's breathing again.

And now he has gotten to the age that we have to train him how to protect himself too. We have to remind him every time we go anywhere that he can't share snacks with other kids and that he can only have things that safe people tell him that he can eat. He has basic knowledge of how to work an Epi-pen and has helped me show people how to use it.

It is our job to help him understand the seriousness of his allergies.We had to tell our 3-and-a-half-year-old that peanuts and treenuts could make him sick. Really really sick. So sick that he would go to the hospital in an ambulance and he could possibly die. It is a hard thing to try to explain to a toddler on the verge of kidhood, but it's one of the most important things that we need to have him understand.

That's the reality of being an allergy parent.

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For more information on food allerges and how you can be a support to those in your life that have them, please check out FARE's website.

Also, this Halloween consider taking part in the Teal Pumpkin Project and help make the night fun for everyone.Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-77886968930363115782015-09-28T15:51:00.000-04:002015-09-28T15:59:47.984-04:00R-E-S-P-E-C-T!

I'm fairly certain that we've all lost count of the amount of times in our upbringing that we heard our parents demand or request or advise us to respect them. Or our elders. Or our neighbors. Or our peers. It becomes clear to us early on that respect is an integral part of our relationships with others, but navigating what that looks like is a much more complex thing than one might think.

Interestingly enough - parenting is also a much more complex thing than one might think.

I can't remember whether I heard it at my moms' group or if I read it in a book or a blog or - more than likely - all of the above, but I once heard and have kept with me that if you want your children to respect you or to learn how to respect others, that you first need to respect them.

The first time that I heard this - and I have heard it several times - it was the cliche lightbulb moment. Respect your kids and they will learn respect. Why? Because kids learn by example; they watch us, they watch how we interact with our spouses and other adults and they model what we do.

For example, there was one day that I was just crying. I don't remember why - the stress of the day had probably gotten to me and I just needed that physical stress release so I fell to the floor crying. My son - who I come to his and his sister's side when they cry - came running in from another room and just hugged me and told me that it would be OK. He did this until I stopped crying - and his sister, two years his junior, followed suit by touching my forehead with hers and say "Otay Mommy! Otay Mommy!". Now those who know my son will comment on his naturally-inclined empathy, but it is up to us as his parents to teach him how to take that God-given-gift and channel it into a way that shows people he cares. When my kids cry, we are there and so he knows that when people that he loves cry - he can be there for them.

And so - if we first respect our children, they will in turn learn how to respect others very likely starting first with their parents. \

But what in the world does it look like to respect a tiny person?

Dictionary.com has many definitions for the word respect, but in this instance I think that the one that is applicable is "to show regard or consideration for" and to complete that thought we add "our children.

"To show regard or consideration for our children" - this is what it means to respect our kids. The way that we do this is to first remember that our children are not just these little mini-me-clones walking around: they are indeed uniquely designed people with their own thoughts, their own feelings, their own ideas, their own personalities, and their own needs and desires. Who are our kids? What kinds of things make them tick? How do they react?

So what do we do?

To teach our kids respect, we need to show regard for their feelings when they're having those "terrible, horrible, no good, very bad" days and when they're having their "bright, bright, bright sunshiney" days. Then they will learn to regard the feelings of other people too.

To teach our kids respect, we need to take their opinions or interests into consideration when we're planning our days and weeks or signing them up for activities or even something so simple as picking out their clothes. Then they will learn to take the opinions of others into consideration too.

To teach our kids respect, we need to let them take ownership of their bodies and let them know it's OK to not hug someone or high five someone if they don't want to. It's OK to ask someone safe to hold your hand or rub your back and it's OK to tell people who might want to do those things that you don't want them to do that. Then they will learn to protect their bodies and let or help other people protect theirs too.

To teach our kids respect, we need to listen to them actively. Pay attention to the words they're saying, make sure that you understand and ask for clarification when needed, and don't insert ourselves. Give advice when appropriate and just be a sound board when needed. Then they will learn to be a good listener and be able to be a good friend to others too.

There are so many things that we do every day that are opportunities to respect our kids and in turn teach them to respect others.

So what does this look like practically?

My kids could not be any more different from each other; we often joke that when blessing us with children, God had a checklist and whatever Will didn't get He gave to Evie when she was conceived. My son is our little pensive introvert and my daughter (when she's not completely mimicking her brother) is an extrovert on the rise. When we made the decision this year to enroll our son in a 1-day-per-week preschool environment to ease him into the next couple of years of preschool and kindergarten, we knew that it had potential to be a difficult transition for him. He thrives in one-on-one or two-on-one situations and the more and more people that get added to that equation, the harder time he has.

This last week was his second week in the class, and you could see that he was continuing to see how he fit into the social structure of a classroom. He sat through the opening song and story, but observed during the dancing. He participated in craft time and played during playtime. He seemed to be doing OK... and then snack time came. And the teacher had brought string cheese.

Apparently - and unbeknownst to me - Will does. Not. Like. String cheese.

Meltdown.

Fifteen minutes later, we moved past the string cheese incident (yes, I realize that is also a band) and were back to attempting to participate in the class. I watched as Will stayed with smaller groups or played by himself, and appreciated how his teacher checked in with him but also recognized that he needed some space. Preschool wrapped up, we packed our little sunflower crafts in the car (the teacher invites Evie to participate where she might be interested), and went to a nearby park to enjoy the sandwiches and apples I had packed for lunch. We sat down, I opened their lunch containers, and let them settle down in our grassy spot however they were comfortable eating their lunch.

Evie sat close to me, ate her lunch, then bounced up and down on my lap, ran in circles, rolled in the grass, laughed, talked... it was clear that the morning at preschool had energized her and she was glad I had brought her someplace that gave her an immediate outlet for that.

Will took his lunch, said "Thank you, Mommy", and quietly moved about a foot away from where he started and turned his back to me and his sister. He watched as cars and trucks and buses drove by and he gazed at the nearby group of teenagers playing soccer. He would occasionally ask a question or make a verbal observation, but by and large he just sat there quietly while he ate his lunch.

I sat back and thought about that morning and pondered the differences between my two kids as my daughter ran at me and tackled me as best as her little 17-month-old body could. I watched as my son's eyes followed a soccer ball fly through the air and land at the feet of a long-haired girl who kicked it to the next person.

I resisted the urge to pick my son up in my arms and cradle him and talk him through his morning. I held back the words that wanted to ask him if he was okay.

Will needed his space to recuperate from the activities of the day so far. He needed to just have a quiet time to recenter and sitting there watching cars and soccer balls and dump trucks and school buses and his energetic sister occasionally running in front of him as she circled us was exactly what he wanted in that moment.

And I respected that. Just as I know sometimes I need space and as I've given his dad the same space dozens of times over the years. I respected that need for space, I let him have it.

By the time we left, he was ready to explore a nearby monument and run around again with his sister. He even asked me to climb up and play with them. There were even smiles... and boy, the smiles and laughs of my kiddos fill my heart with joy.

How do we respect our kids?

By treating them the same way that we would want to be treated. Lead by example in performing the Golden Rule.

Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-7974885332144469562015-09-09T15:29:00.002-04:002015-09-09T15:29:58.063-04:00Leave My Dreams, It's Not Your Heart

"Why are you here? Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I just want to make things better between us. Can't we be friends..."

He leaned in closer to my face and I could feel every hair on my body stand on end with fear. The last thing I wanted in that moment was for him to kiss me. Why can't he ever just disappear forever? Why does he keep coming back? I took several steps backwards and could feel my stomach wretch with anxiety...

"Please..."

"I am married. Why can't you understand that? Just leave me alone. Please!!!"

"I just..."

I reached out and shoved him away, feeling the anger and fear and anxiety dripping along with the tears that ran down my face.

"We can be friends... it's OK..."

He walked closer to me again... Why won't he get the danged picture??? "JUST GO AWAY AND LEAVE ME AL..."

My eyes jerked themselves open as I heard a sweet voice say "Hi, Mommy!" through an inserted pacifier. I was back in my bedroom, my bubbly daughter awake next to me. I looked at the clock - 6:18 AM. Steve must have already gone to... wait. Steve wasn't there, he was away at his annual conference.

Me and my mini-me, having some morning snuggles...

The dream. That's why. I rubbed my eyes and breathed slowly to reset my quickly beating heart, snuggling my giggling daughter and remembering all that God has surrounded me with. I reminded myself with each inhale that it was just a dream and with each exhale that it wasn't real. The recurring dream that I have each time that Steve is away on business - the one where my ex-boyfriend from 20 years ago shows up and tries to be a part of my life again. Sometimes he's trying to woo me, sometimes he's trying to just be friend, but always the sentiment is the same.

That he loved me. Never meant to hurt me. That he wants to reconcile. That he wants that part of my heart back. That I was his only love.

In every dream he is the 19-year-old that cheated on me not once, but twice. In every dream he is every bit the sweet-talker that my 14-year-old self couldn't resist and that my 17-year-old self took back and that my 19-year-old self believed his words that he would leave his then wife for me.

In every dream I want nothing more than for him to disappear. In every dream I want to know where my Steve is, because he is never there in these dreams but always missing. In every dream I can feel walls closing in around us, in every dream I am desperately fighting to get back to my present-day reality and begging through tears for my past to go as far away as possible.

After every dream I wake up uneasy. I wake up questioning things I never should be questioning. I wake up with faster heartbeats and quicker breaths, wanting to run back to where I wake up. The place that God has surrounded me with love and reassurance and His grace.

But I can rarely shake that feeling. That feeling that no one can be trusted. It takes days, sometimes weeks. Always Steve is reassuring, because he knows that this part of me causes deep insecurities and he wants me to be whole, to let this part of me die, to be released from it.

Last year after having this dream, I woke up and turned on Steve's iPad to watch some Netflix and try to get back to sleep. It was only 10:00 PM where Steve was, and iMessage sent across a text from a colleague that they should meet up for fries.

The bells went off. Who meets for fries at 10:00 PM? What the heck?

I called Steve and through tears told him about my dream, that I saw the text, and I just needed to hear his voice and know we were OK. Know that my fears were unfounded. Because God has blessed me with a husband who is willing to understand this part of me and help me through it - he stayed on the phone with me until I calmed down.

Then - and those who know my husband's love of condiments will understand this - he went and met some colleagues for fries with blueberry ketchup. Because that's what a condiment lover does when he and his colleagues don't want to get drunk at the after party during a conference.

My awesome, caring husband at his annual nerd conference.

So I lay there with my daughter listening to the hum of the fan and her adorable sweet voice through her pacifier and reminded myself that my husband is faithful. That he promised he would always be faithful from the first time I confessed this part of my soul to him and he has never done anything to demonstrate anything other than fulfilling this promise.

I said a prayer, asking God to help release me from these dreams. To help me finally remove 20 years of scarring and tell that 16-year-old in a heap on the floor of her kitchen, holding a phone in her hand and pouring tears out that it all turns out okay - better than okay, actually.

God, I begged, please... please... please kill this.

A couple of hours later I pulled out my phone and opened my devotional app while the kids finished up their breakfast on the porch. The topic of the day? "The Enemy's Tactic Against You." As I read through the devotional that focused on Genesis 3:1: "Now the serpent was more crafty than any of the wild animals the LORD God had made. He said to the woman, 'Did God really say, 'You must not eat from any tree in the garden''?"

I read on and could feel my pulse quickening as the images from the previous night's dream flittered across my memory. I devoured every word of the devotional, and inhaled through my teeth as I read these: "He uses four words: 'Did God really say...?' Maybe you haven't had the enemy slither up next to you in the form of a serpent and speak these words out loud. But I bet he's whispered them into your ear. After all, the enemy's greatest desire is to separate you from God."

I looked out across my yard to the breeze flitting through the trees and up at the outline of morning moon my son was excitedly pointing out. I could feel God's sentiment on my heart: "Danielle... I delivered you through that old life and gave you this life, these kids, your husband. The enemy has taken over this part of your heart - take it back. Do not listen to the whisper of the enemy anymore."

I closed my eyes... "In the name of Jesus... give me my danged heart back. In the name of Jesus, that belongs to my husband, that belongs to my family, that belongs to me, and most importantly that belongs to God. Give it back."

I opened my eyes and my daughter said "Pee-it-boo!" through her wide mouthed grin, and my son laughed.

I felt... relieved. I felt... at home again. I felt... empowered. I felt... full.

That morning when my husband had his video chat good morning with us, it was like fresh air filled my lungs. When he returned home that Friday, it was the first time I didn't feel relieved that he was home but rather felt fully and richly blessed that he had the opportunity to take advantage of this part of his career. I didn't feel on edge and looking for reasons to suspect, and instead have felt nothing but love and happiness and grace and the fullness of God's blessing on my marriage.

Watching for Daddy's car to come up the hill when he got home from the trip.

A few days after Steve got home, this was the key verse in my morning devotional: "Submit yourselves, then, to God. Resist the Devil, and he will flee from you." (James 4:7)

For at least the time being - and for the first time in a very long time - I have felt the Enemy release his grip from the part of my heart that was still crying on the kitchen floor of my parents' house hoping her sobs wouldn't wake up her sisters. I have been able to breathe easier for the first time in almost 20 years, having resisted the Devil and watching him flee.

"Therefore, put on the full armor of God, so that when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand." (Ephesians 6:13)

There will come a time when the Enemy will come back, when he will try to take that part of my heart back again, when he will push down that insecure teenager to the floor and laugh as her tears flow. When he will remind her that she's not good enough for a guy to stick around, and that will always be the case.

It will be when that time comes that it will be up to me to put on the armor that God has given to me. It will be up to me to call to Him, to reach up in prayer and use the power that I have been given in the name of Jesus to resist those whispers.

Because the self-destruction of doing anything else just isn't worth it when compared to the beauty that lies in the life that God has gifted to me.

Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-58155836805933626642015-09-02T14:37:00.002-04:002015-09-02T14:37:42.231-04:00The Evolution of Summer

Sometimes time just gets away from you.

That's what happened to me in the month of August.

There were visits to parks, the lake, the local farm, family visits, and lots of playtime outside. Lots and lots and lots of playtime outside.

Then one day last week I looked up and realized that the month of August had slipped through our fingers. This reality occurred to me when I was outside playing with my kids one evening and the sun that just a few short weeks ago that had been still high above the houses was slipping behind the treeline as the night drew near. A cooler breeze took over the warmth of day, and my 3-year-old made the observation that it was getting dark outside.

I watched that evening as the kids dug in the dirt in our yard and thought back to my summers as a kid. Summers outside making "forts" between the few trees in our backyard and neighborhood kickball leagues and going to the town lake or riding bikes down hills after a rainstorm hoping for a puddle. Summers with family vacations to the beach and summers with evening board games on the porch with neighborhood friends. Sprinklers and friends' pools and lightning bugs. Sliding down too-hot slides or sitting on swings whose black color had absorbed the heat from the sun.

Then I became a teenager and summer became a time to work extra hours to gain some extra pocket money. To go to the beach with friends at night and lay on the beach listening to the waves. To get out of work and not have to go right not to finish homework, but instead get an iced coffee and stay outside at a park or at a friend's house or drive around with the windows down singing at the top of our lungs until it was time to be home for curfew. Sleepovers and camping and card games. Drum corps practices and band camp in the hot summer sun, drinking loads of water and lathering on more sunscreen than I knew existed (yet still getting a killer tan).

Of course there were always constants. The smell of a light summer rain on the pavement. The feel of the fan in the humid summer nights as I lay there sleeping between sheets with no blankets. Memories of my Mom's perfectly medium steaks and corn and potatoes on the grill, the juicy burgers that dripped when you bit into them, the feel of BBQ sauce on my fingers from the BBQ chicken legs. Reading book after book in front of a fan or in the shade of a tree because we didn't have air conditioning. Iced tea, lemonade, ice cream trucks, ice cream stands.

Summer always seemed like this magical time of year where there was nothing to be had but enjoyment. Even if you had to work - either babysitting or a part-time job - it felt like responsibility could take a backseat to a 2-month long sabbath.

Then I grew up and summertime changed.

Summertime became a big tease. Working full-time with a limited amount of vacation days doesn't allow for an extended hiatus. 30-minute lunch breaks became my taste of the beauty of summer - 50 yards away from the smoking hut in an industrial park. Drives with the windows down to the beach blaring music turned to drives on back roads home from a 9-hour work day blaring music, the smell of salty air replaced with the smell of exhaust from the car in front of you. There was still the feeling of freedom from the indoors, but instead of the carefree feeling that came along with not having anywhere to be there was always the tugging feeling that something else just had to be done.

Summertime changed for me for a while once adulthood set in. But then... then we had the kids.

So there I sat at the bottom of our front walkway steps, watching as my two little toddlers dug around in the dirt in search for worms, ants, beetles, or any other bug that might crawl up from the filth. I watched as they picked up shovelfuls of the earth, filled miniature dump trucks and moved them to "the dumping place" to empty them out and then start the cycle again. I smiled as my 16-month-old daughter stood up and decided it was time to stamp on the ants, walking normally with her right foot as she lifted her left foot up a-la John Cleese in Monty Python's "Ministry of Silly Walks" skit and stomping it back down. I heard my son declare it was time to play soccer, toss down his shovel and run in the direction of the box of balls to get his soccer ball.

In those moments after realizing that August had slipped through the same cracks that allowed the sunlight to slip through the trees during that evening's slow sunset, I also realized that summer had managed to become magical again.

In preparing to write this post, I asked a handful of moms whose kids have grown what they cherished about their summers with their kids. The common thread was the allowance for memories to be made once the weather warmed, and school was out for the summer. The moms that answered recounted trips to farms, trips to the beach, seemingly aimless drives to a surprise destination, the sounds of carefree and happy children and their friends coming to and from. The relaxing of schedules made way for families to be able to do more, be more, play more, and enjoy more. Wading pools and homemade popsicles and old movies and day camps or VBS and many, many more nostalgic moments that moms have with their kids.

My mom was one of those who responded, and her favorite memory was when we would stay at the beach for a week each summer. We would pack up blankets, lunches, sand toys and head down to the sand, finding the perfect spot. Once the blankets were spread, we would endeavor to build what usually became a rather large sand castle, usually with a rather large "moat" in the middle. I remember we would try to dig a trench to the ocean so that when the tide came in the moat would fill. Then the next day, we'd do the same thing all over again with different sandwiches in the cooler at lunchtime.

So I watched my kids this summer. I watched them play in the dirt and run through bubbles and recoil at sprinklers and splash in a pool and throw rocks in the town lake while wading ankle deep in the water. I watched them kick soccer balls and let sand run through their fingers and slide down slides. I watched them lick ice cream off of their spoons and gnaw on corn cobs and watermelon rinds. I watched them find the joy of the burst of taste that a fresh blueberry allows when it has come straight from the bush. I watched them get inches away from a dragonfly perched atop a branch of a rosebush. I watched as they felt the joy of grass between their toes and flowers picked between their fingers. I watched as they changed from being afraid of thunderstorms to being in awe of them as we explained thunder, lightning, and observed the pouring rain. I watched them dip their fingers in puddles and reach out from the safety of the porch to get their fingers wet.

I watched them play. I watched them run. I watched them wonder.

I watched as through them my summers became magical again.

Maybe... maybe through them, they've become even more magical.

Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-51215766053768954632015-08-03T15:11:00.001-04:002015-08-03T15:11:44.689-04:00The Question

The questions are endless with a 3-year-old.

"Why did those people hit our mailbox? Can we say sorry to them? Did they hit their own mailbox?"

"Where does God have His penis?"

"Why does my boo-boo go away?"

"Why do we poop?"

"Do you have a 'calm space', Mommy?"

"When we go to Florida, will Mary Poppins play 'guys' with me?"

I try to come up with simple answers, ones that make sense and are accurate but also that my little 3-year-old inquisitor will understand.

My favorite question (that he asks that has also become the greatest challenge to give a simple answer to) is this short, beautiful, wonderful question:

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

My answer to this has varied every time because there are so many answers to this question. The question that my affectionate, cuddly, sweet little boy wants an answer to because he loves to be picked up and snuggled.

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

Oh Sweet Boy...

God always picks you up.

Today when you were on the porch and that little ant you've been desperately trying to pick up for the last week finally crawled up your arm and even got the gumption to work its way up to your face, tickling you and making you squirm - God was picking you up. He was showing you that He's present in all of His creatures.

When we were on the porch watching the storm the other day and the wind blew down the hill, picking up the rain and spraying us in the face - God was picking you up. He knew exactly what would make you laugh with glee in the midst of a torrential thunderstorm.

The times that you flop down on the driveway and look up to the sky, looking at the blue and the clouds and you take a deep breath - God is picking you up. He is warming you with the sun and embracing you with the breeze, filling you with good feelings as you sigh and declare that it's "a nice day".

If you have a bad dream in the middle of the night and you don't wake up all the way to come into Mommy and Daddy's room - God picks you up. We ask Him every night to protect us from bad dreams and help us to rest easily, and He does.

When you are sad and crying and life is crazy and Mommy can't physically get to you and your crying sister and your dinner that's cooking on the stove all at the same time and I bounce between all of the things so everyone gets some part of attention - God picks you up. He tells you where your Monkey is and helps you find a place to snuggle with him while He holds you. In fact, I'm pretty sure that if you look at your Monkey long enough, you'll see God's loving face in that embroidered smile.

There are so many ways that God picks you up, sweet child.

God has asked Mommy and Daddy to be your parents. He has filled us with love for both you and your sister. When God brought us together and created you, He opened a door in our hearts to be a direct line of communication from Him to You. When we need Him to help us help you - He is there. Every time you are sad, mad, lonely, or just need to know that you are loved your heart draws you to Mommy or Daddy and you ask us, "Can you please pick me up?"

You ask us with your big blue eyes, and your soft quiet voice, and your little hand reaching up to us (usually your other hand has Monkey in it).

Please know that every time Mommy or Daddy picks you up and squeezes you tightly that God is behind us squeezing tightly too. When we pick you up, God is right there with us picking you up too.

"Can God pick me up, Mommy?"

I kiss his forehead, say a silent prayer that someday he will understand what I mean by all of the things that I want to say and tell him and instead answer him as simply as I can.

"Sweetie, close your eyes and take a deep breath. Then look at me - Buddy, God ALWAYS picks you up. Every time you ask. I love you sooooo much, and God loves you more than that. God ALWAYS picks you up."
Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-43635665849317563132015-07-23T15:29:00.000-04:002015-07-23T15:32:13.483-04:00DIY Epi-Pen Case

Credit for photo of my son Will - RLPhoto (Rachael Lescarbeau)

Ah, the Epi-pen. That little dual-tube of security and terror that folks with anaphlactic allergies (and their parents) carry around with them; an insurance policy in the event of an exposure to a sneaky allergen, ready to protect at the moment of accidental ingestion and subsequent life-harming reactions.

The Epi-Pen: the Athanas Family security blanket for the last 2 years. It has given us a bit of reassurance at restaurants, on trips, and even just on day trips or cookouts with friends.

And for the last 2 years I have been on the hunt for the "perfect" carry bag. Something that would allow me to have his vital information, basic - but clear and important - symptoms to look for, and clear instructions for how to use the injector in the event of an emergency. Something that wouldn't be just an Epi-Pen at the bottom of a bag with all the regular pens alongside... somewhere... I think?... a printed and folded allergy plan.

Something simple. Something that a childcare worker or Sunday school teacher can just grab, have instructions, have the Epi, and be able to react fast.

I couldn't find one that I liked. I certainly couldn't find one that wouldn't have cost me more money than I thought something like that should cost. And I can't sew. Actually, let me rephrase that: I don't like sewing by hand - I'm not very good at it - and I have no idea how to use a sewing machine. So sewing an epi-bag was out... which meant that I have not had a carry case that I liked.

Until today.

Did you know that it's "Back to School" time? Oh, Target shoppers... guess what?

They have a plastic pencil case right now for a mere $0.69 that fits an Epi-Pen per.fect.ly.

Like a glove.

I spent some time in MS Publisher creating basic instructions and included a 4-step graphic on how to inject the epinephrine in the event of an emergency (I got that off the internet someplace).

I spent a little more time creating a front cover that included a picture of Will, his allergens, and who to call after calling 911.

I cut out both and attached them with packing tape (though "contact paper" would be just as good I would imagine).

I made one for my bag and one for my husband's bag (we keep one in each) to give us a consolidated, grab-and-go tool. It's simple, it took very little time, and you don't need to be crafty to get it done. I feel so much better that this is a shape that can easily be felt in any bag and that his allergy plan/information is right there and visible.

Especially since I am giving you the .pdf file to fill in with your own (or your child's) information.

There.

Now you too can have an insanely inexpensive, easily found and simple Epi-Pen case.

May it never come in handy.

Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-52313205263074602302015-07-08T15:03:00.000-04:002015-07-08T15:03:07.519-04:00The Wednesday, The Mom Guilt, The Husband, and God

We call the day my daughter was born "The Thursday".

Every so often, I think about the day that will always be stamped in my heart as "The Wednesday". That is the last day that I had with just Will and I before I was blessed with his baby sister.

It was a gorgeous April day, the kind of day that I wasn't wearing any jacket at all and I was comfortable just throwing a little vest on Will to go outside and play. I wasn't feeling too terrible even though I was a week or so away from my scheduled c-section date to welcome Evie into the world. I felt puffy, large, and pregnant - but I still felt fairly mobile.

We went outside that afternoon after his nap and took advantage of the gorgeous weather. Winters in New England are always hard, so when those first few 50-60 degree days start to appear you learn to take advantage of them. Will had asked me in his cute little almost-two-year-old way to go outside when he woke up from his nap that afternoon, so we did.

He climbed on rocks in our garden. He wandered around the driveway and drove his little truck. We walked together up and down the sidewalk as he looked at ants and picked up sticks and examined the grass. We enjoyed the weather, we enjoyed each other.

Will's last day flying solo with Mommy - April 2014.

Then I went to bed. I got up. We did our hectic day. We had Evie by dinner.

The arrival of Evie grew our family in size, in heart, and exploded our capacity for love even further. She's sweet, she's energetic, she's bold, she's hilarious. I don't think that Steve, Will, or I can imagine her NOT being a part of our lives. She's seriously an amazing kid.

Sometimes Steve and I will split duty with the kids, either because he's got a day off from work or he's home for the weekend. Usually either he will sit with both of the kids while I do errands without needing to juggle extra people or we will split the kids up and take them for some one-on-one time with Mommy or Daddy. For their own reasons, both of these arrangements are wonderful and I've come to appreciate them. We have found that the significance of these times is not lost on any one of us, and we love when we all come back together.

I've never really thought twice about our little upgrade from 3 to 4. Having Evie and Will together all day was just a life change that I accepted and welcomed with open arms. I had never pined for the days of only one child, maybe because I grew up in a family with 4 (sometimes 5) children and never thought about the bond my parents had with each of us individually. I never asked my mom about her feelings as we continued to expand, just knew that she loved each one of us together and separately.

Me and the kiddos - May 2015

Last week, Steve got Friday off to "observe" the Fourth of July holiday. We decided to do our split-duty and I took Will to his speech therapy appointment. We chatted on the car ride up, he excitedly gave me the tour of the therapy center's new digs after the session, then he took my hand as we walked up the sidewalk back to my car to leave. He had his little hand in mine as we paused to check for moving cars in the parking lot before proceeding. Our shadows extended in front of us, and as I looked down at them I caught my breath.

I suddenly longed for that last day before Evie was born. Those days when it was just Will and I and there wasn't as much chaos and I could just watch in wonder as he discovered the world. The days when I could just snuggle with him without worrying about his sister trying to shove him off my lap for her turn or he could pick out a book without anyone quibbling about whose book was going to be read first. My heart had a brief moment of ache and want for those days of only having one child.

Then the dreaded Mom Guilt came over me like a tsunami crashing on the shore.

Image via SeizingHopeDotCom

Later as I was emptying the dishwasher, Steve could tell something was bothering me. So I confessed my horridness as a parent to him, defending myself that I don't want to NOT have Evie, I just miss those days of just Will. That I love Evie with all of my Evie love, but sometimes I just wish I could cuddle Will without them pummeling each other and whining about Mommy's lap.

I cried. I told him I felt horrible, and guilty, because Evie is amazing and I felt like I was betraying the love I have for her in a way.

Steve just laughed at me.

Not in that way, guys.

He gently took the dishes from my hand as he laughed and told me to stop feeling guilty. "Dee, just stop it. Seriously. You should not feel guilty right now."

He took me by the shoulders and just spoke the words that I needed to hear, that he needed me to hear, that God needed me to hear.

I don't remember the exact words, but the sentiment was this: I love Evie. I love Will. I love them with all of the heart that God gave me for each of them. God loves us individually and wants a relationship with each of us individually. And just as He loves us and wants a relationship with us individually, so has he designed parenting for us to love our children and have relationships with them individually.

As his words sunk into my heart, Steve continued to encourage me. "Honey, it is totally normal and OK for you to want to spend time with JUST WILL, and it's OK for you to want to spend time with JUST EVIE, and it's OK for me to want the same things. In fact, we probably should do a better job at making sure we spend time with JUST WILL and JUST EVIE individually."

We have an awesome family, and we need to work on our bonds together and apart. We need to love each other as a whole and as our parts.

Image credit to RLPhoto

I have often said that God created us in His image, and the closest thing that we will ever experience to what it's like to be Him as Our Father is to be a parent. To know what it's like to be willing to do anything for your children, to long for them to have the best, to want to protect them yet know that you have to let the go and let them grow. To be willing to lay your life on the line for them.

To want a relationship with them as individuals. To want them to look at you and say "I Love You" and mean it from their hearts, not because they feel an obligation to say so.

What my husband did as he spoke to me that day is remind me of this; he reminded me of this dynamic we have as parents to want to love and encourage and be with our kids individually. In The 5 Love Languages of Children, the authors write "If you have several children, you need to look for times when you can be alone with each one... The key to quality time is found in its values and priorities you as parents determine to cherish and implement in your home."

I should not feel guilty - that was the reminder my husband continued to give me for the remainder of the day. I love my children. I want my children to love God and have a relationship with Him.

They matter to me individually. The best way for me to know how to serve them and raise them and know what is best is to spend time with them one-on-one as well as together. The best way to know how they need me to love them is to spend time with them one-on-one as well as together.

I no longer feel guilty on this one.

I'll save my Mommy Guilt for the next time I lose my patience and temper.Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-29924878606247906662015-07-02T15:34:00.001-04:002015-07-02T15:34:20.720-04:00Potty Training By the Seat of My Pants

I gave up on the concept of letting books dictate my parenting style right around the time that Steve read something in a book that told him our kid should be stacking blocks at 9 months old.
OK... now if you're an experienced parent you're probably laughing. If you're a new parent you might be worrying, wondering what I'm going to say next about it. If you're not a parent who knows what you're thinking... so I'll just continue.

I'll wait for the experience parents to finish laughing and telling stories about what things parenting books told them that were ridiculous too before I continue. Are you good now? Okay. I'll go on.

That night I took the book from him, closed it, and told him he was done because NONE of Will's 9-month-old playmates were stacking blocks. And in all honesty I haven't opened up a parenting technique book since despite recommendations on books about sleep methods and separation issues and whatever. I am currently about two chapters into "The Five Love Languages for Children" and have really only read books about how to make sure you don't go off the rails as a parent. I read devotionals and books about how to understand my kids and relate to them, but I don't generally speaking read specific parenting books that include milestones to look for.

Actual screenshot from today of my "Goodreads" app.
I won't tell you how long it took me to get to 17% read.
The other book you can't see from the screenshot? Schindler's List.
I won't tell you how long it took me to get to 50%, or how long it's been collecting dust.

I don't have room in my life for that kind of stress. I just don't.

As such, when I decided that it was time to begin potty training Will - I didn't even ask for recommendations. I just decided it was time. I brought Will to pick out underwear. I bought a small potty. I bought a seat insert for the big potty.

No books, no searching for advice. Just some anecdotal information from other moms who talked about it and a general knowledge of my kid and how he operates.

We are four-and-a-half days into the experience, and so far it's been... interesting. I've mentioned before that I think that moms sharing their experiences can be wonderfully beneficial, so I figured I'd share a few of the things that I've learned and experienced with you.

1. Poop is scary. Over the winter, Will had a "naked phase" during which time I moved the potty into the kitchen. He peed on the floor but pooped in the potty during these 4 hours, so I assumed (foolishly) that pooping would be the easier thing for him to experience. This is not the case. The moment he started to make that scrunched up face indicating that a load was about to be dropped out of his behind, I picked him up and brought him into the potty. Crying, wailing, and near-tooth-gnashing ensued. "NO I DON'T WANNA POOP ON THE POTTY!!!" echoed off the walls and probably was heard by my neighbors. Ten minutes later he pooped. I did the whole positive encouragement thing and reassured him that it was great. I've been bringing him with me in when I poop so he can see that it's really not a big deal - everyone poops. You know... maybe I should just get him that book, come to think of it...

Anyways, he's genuinely scared of pooping in the potty. We've gotta work on that. I refuse to rub his back and hold his hand in his college dorm bathroom.

Available for purchase on Amazon!

2. Bribery... I mean... rewards... are awesome. Is it really bribery if I give him chocolate chips after he uses the potty? I read or heard somewhere on some website or blog or something that you shouldn't reward kids for things that they should just do as part of life. Among these things are putting their clothes in the laundry, making their beds, helping with the dishes, and using the bathroom. I don't know about that. It seems to work when you reinforce the behavior and then phase it out as time goes on once it's just rote behavior. There's something to be said for conditioning practices, and for crying out loud it makes me feel like I'm putting that BA in Psychology to good use. I don't have my son throwing a temper tantrum when he doesn't get his single chocolate chip for peeing right before bedtime, and he's certainly not getting one for peeing in the bathroom at Target. But so far it seems to be working and helping him to pay more attention to what his body is doing so he can make it to the bathroom. This is enough for me to continue to feed my kid a chocolate chip when he pees and 2 if he poops. No accidents all day? Kid, you're getting a mini-Hershey's.

One for one and two for two - get it? I'm so clever...

3. Fun for the whole family! Our almost 15-month old daughter has been getting in on the fun. Every time Will needs to use the potty, she's running in right behind us. If he's on the big potty, she'll plop on the small one and start tearing off tiny pieces of toilet paper to drop between her legs into the pot. I've been told that the second child will often want to train early because the first one is using the toilet, so I have (for the most part) been allowing her to follow us in there. What I have noticed is that she can be distracting for Will sometimes, so I have to meter it and sometimes she doesn't get to come in (see number one above about number twos). This, of course, lends to a meltdown because the potty is just so darned exciting! Either way, she's getting involved in the process and has gotten a few new words out of it (bathroom - bah-ruhm, chocolate - chot-tit, and hands - han). And let's not forget the high-fives from everyone when Will is successful in the bathroom-going endeavors. Most necessary.

4. Kids say (and do) the darndest things. Today while I was waiting the requisite 3 minutes (arbitrary amount of time I wait for Will to try and pee), I noticed that Will was flexing his pelvic muscles to make his little tiny penis bounce. This... this didn't start at home. This started in the bathroom at Target. So I asked him, "Will, whatcha doing?" to which he said "Making my penis bounce."

Of course.

This bouncing led to him giving himself a tiny person erection (which he didn't question). I drew no attention to any of what he was doing other than asking and let it go. When he was done with his 3 minutes (he didn't go, presumably because he was doing the aforementioned) we pulled his pants back on, washed his hands, and went on our way.

The next time he saw his penis, the tiny person erection had of course passed. This led to him screaming from our bathroom "OH NO!! Mommy! My penis fell down!!!"

It's times like these that I am sad that we can't laugh at more things as parents so as to not discourage our children or make them think they are strange. I assured him he was completely fine. He felt better. And then we went into the "poop is scary" phase (see number one about number twos above... again).

Note: I share this story with you because kids are ridiculous, and if no one warns you then your kid will do something like this and it will freak you out. No one warned me about certain things... so... you're welcome for this story.

Because these two are ridiculous... never a dull moment.

5. They WILL figure it out. Today after breakfast, I was cleaning up the kitchen when I noticed Will standing perfectly still pinching at the crotch of his pants with a strange look on his face. "Will," I said, "I think you need to pee, Buddy." He scrunched his face up all concerned and said "Yeah I do", so we rushed to the bathroom and missed an accident by the narrowest of margins. After he was done and his hands were washed, I explained to him that if he felt that again where he thought he had to pinch himself that he should let me know. "Will, make sure you say 'Mommy! I need to go to the bathroom right away!' and we'll get you there super duper fast... OK?" Sure enough, within minutes of being home from the store he got a concerned look on his face again and said "Mommy INeedToGoPeeRightAwaaaaaaay!!!". We jumped up, ran to the bathroom, and missed an accident by an even narrower of margins than the narrowest. I've been watching as he's been paying more and more attention, and it's been pretty cool to see him discover what his body does and how to handle it.

The war zone. I even got a stool to reach the sink.

So I didn't read a book on this and I'm totally flying by the seat of my pants to teach my kid how to use the potty, but it seems to be working out OK. It might take me longer than a day or a weekend or a night or even a week like some books will say - and some people have used those methods with great success - but I'm all right with that. To quote so many parents that I've talked to about it - very few children go to kindergarten without being relatively potty trained.

And also to quote so many parents I've talked to and a mantra we tend to stand by: You have to do what works best for you and your family. Take all the advice, cull it and tailor it for your needs, make your own story.

That's what works best for us.

That and chocolate chips.

Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-16717094489585204552015-06-26T08:58:00.000-04:002015-06-26T09:06:09.234-04:00Top Five Hated Food Messes

I'm pretty sure that if someone were to say the word "kids" in a word association game, many people would respond with the word "messy". It won't surprise the parents out there (or caretakers of children) that I spend a rather large portion of my day cleaning up messes that my kids have made. I have tried to teach them how to clean their messes themselves, but this endeavor usually lands with blank stares, distractions from other toys, or misplaced "cleaning" of things that don't need cleaning later.

There is no doubt to any who know me that I love my children. They are lights to the world, they have smiles and personalities that could win the hearts of the masses (and if not, my younger child might force you to give her your heart... she's a bit aggressive).

But boy can those children make a mess.

In the just over 3 years that I have been parenting and the millions of messes I have cleaned, I have developed a love/hate relationship for my kids' eating habits. I understand the sensory and developmental benefits of letting them experiment with textures and playing a bit with their foods. I appreciate the need for a variety in their diet and not surviving just on mac & cheese and chicken nuggets (though my children wouldn't complain, that's for sure).

There are many messes that I don't mind cleaning at all. I've been known to chuckle and go with it when my kids dump boxes of Cheerios all over the floor. I strip them down to the diaper on pasta & red sauce night so they can make a mess without the stress of destroying their clothes. Paint? Clear out the sink and hose 'em down when they're done.

But there are a few foods that I just can't stand cleaning.

Top Five Food Messes

I Hate Cleaning Up

Shredded Carrots: My son (3 years) is especialy not a fan of eating just plain vegetables; he's doing that whole toddler "I am not going to eat anything" thing these days. As such, I have to hide them in lots of places - smoothies, eggs, pizza, pasta, baked goods, rice.. really anywhere I can think of - to get him to eat them. One of the easiest and least expensive (only $0.89 for a pound of organic carrots at Trader Joe's!) vegetables you can do this with is carrots. They shred easily, they cook fast, they have a sweeter flavor that kids don't mind partaking in, and are quite good for you. But good gravy... they can be a pain to clean up after a kid has thrown them all over the kitchen. A wet shredded carrot that isn't immediately - and I mean the moment - after it hits the floor is destined to stick there. We have a steam mop that cleans up just about anything, and you have to hover over a dried shredded carrot for quite a while before a hard scrubbing will get it up.

If you're ever at my house and see little orange specks all over the floor, you'll know I just gave up trying.

Delicious! Nutritious! Impossible to clean!

Oatmeal: I LOVE oatmeal for breakfast, and so do my kids. You can add all sorts of dried fruit to it, maybe a little bit of honey, some almond milk - oh man, I love a good bowl of oatmeal. I found a recipe recently for banana oatmeal that my whole family loved. My daughter has just hit the age (14.5 months) where using a spoon and fork as part of the ways she gets food into her mouth are becoming a regular practice. This is also the age where oatmeal gets every-freaking-where. On the high chair, on the floor, on the table, on the walls, in her hair, on her legs. And the stuff is like cement; within seconds of it getting spread thin and exposed to air it becomes virtually impossible to clean. There was one day I didn't get to it right away and it took soaking it under a cloth and a green non-abrasive scrubber to get it off our kitchen table. Sometimes I have to wash the table 2-3 times if I don't wash the table off the nanosecond the kids get up from the table when they have oatmeal for breakfast. Have you tried to do ANYTHING the nanosecond after a child under the age of 4 finishes something? If not - try it sometime. It's the best exercise in futility you'll ever experience.

Tiny Fruit Seeds: You know what kids love? Bite-sized fruit. Blueberries, grapes, sliced kiwi, and strawberries are among some the favorites in our house. It's wonderful to know that I have healthy snack options that I can fall back on when the kids are driving me crazy right before dinner and I don't want them filling up on another handful of Goldfish crackers. But as all parents know - what goes in must also come out. When a tiny person digests bite-sized fruit they also digest the microscopic seeds that are encased in each little berry. Cleaning the diapers on the other side of a blueberry fest can be... let me put it this way. My husband will often volunteer to do diaper changes on the weekends when he's home to give me a bit of respite; since both kids are still in diapers, I do a LOT of diaper changing in the course of a day. There was one day that my daughter was especially ornery and had a full diaper after a family blueberry devouring had occurred. His words as he fought to get her to lay still to me in the kitchen were: "D! WE CAN NEVER FEED THESE CHILDREN BLUBERRIES AGAIN!!!"

We did, of course. Because blueberries are awesome.

Blueberry picking - Fall 2014

Wet Rice: This will be brief. I hate sweeping up rice after a meal. If there's any mess I'm content to let sit until the next meal to clean up, it's rice that hasn't dried yet. If I serve rice at dinner, I spend more time in the cleanup portion of the evening trying to coax wet rice into my dirt pile with my broom than I do any other part of cleaning my kitchen. It just slooooooowly drags across the floor, making you think that maybe it will cooperate but ultimately just moving about a quarter-of-an-inch every time you try to sweep. So you sweep with shorter, faster motions thinking maybe that will work. No. It just scatters and makes a bigger wet rice mess. It's horrible. I hate it.

Watermelon: Aaaah watermelon. A staple at any summer cookout, a must-stock in my kitchen this time of year. There's really nothing quite as refreshing as a slice of cold watermelon. Except in my house we don't do slices. In addition to not giving you good visibility to the choking hazard that are watermelon seeds (and before you say it - yes, we buy seedless, but there are still seeds - they aren't seed-free, just seedless), slices create wet, slurpy, disgusting messes of children. In our house we make "watermelon fries"; my husband cuts watermelons into these thin, french-fry sized pieces. They're fantastic finger food and are still messy - but don't cause the giant dripping disaster that a whole slice is guilty of doing. And can someone please explain to me why it is that watermelon - which is clearly red or a redish-pinkish color - causes orange stains in clothes that are also close to impossible to get out? Thank goodness for OxiClean gel...

No seriously. This stuff has saved more articles of clothing in my house. Pen, grease, watermelon... it's awesome.
And no, OxiClean didn't pay me to say that. But if they want to give me some free gel, I'l take it.

Look, I'm a fan of my kids and I let the messes happen. You don't even want to know the playroom disaster I'm going to look at when I get up from writing this post, or what my daughter is doing to the leftover pancake my son just gave her right now. Making messes, getting dirty - it's all part of being a kid, and I'm OK with that. I don't stop giving my kids the things that make the messes...

...but you better believe that I've been working to help teach them how to clean them up.

"What kind of mess can I make with that....?"

Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-62540615512732720882015-06-19T12:22:00.002-04:002015-06-19T12:25:51.125-04:00John 13:34So I have this blog.

I have this blog, and I hope that when I write I can do some good with it. Maybe I strike a chord with people, maybe I can help someone want to help someone else. Maybe I can relate to another mom. Maybe you want to make whatever the recipe was that I just made. Whatever.

But I have this blog.

Six women and three men died in South Carolina this week. Six women and three men who were just trying to meet and talk about Jesus. Six women and three men who welcomed a new person into their bible study. Six women and three men who were then shot and killed by that same new person.

Six women and three men that were black. They were sisters, brothers, wives, husbands, sons, daughters. People. Were killed. By another person. Who was white.

A white person who told authorities today that he was looking to start a race war. He confessed. He wanted to start a race war.

I don't often talk current events on this blog. Maybe I should more often. I don't know.

Here's what I know: I'm white. I live in a bubble. I have and have had friends of other races but I never thought about it - because they're people. They're just people. God made Man, God made women, and we're all just people.

But... I stopped living in that bubble when it became personal. My sister gave birth to my nephews who are mixed-race. My cousin married an awesome black man who she loves with all her heart. Now it's my family too.

But... I should have stopped living in that bubble a long time ago. Because - we're all. just. people. We're all family. We are all God's children.

I wish that I knew the answers to change the minds of people who can blindly hate another person just because of how they look. I wish I knew how to make us all stop judging - because we all judge one another - and just let people prove who they are. I wish I knew how to make more people choose the side of love and to let love win.

Here's what I do know.

I know that Jesus is weeping.

Regardless of your beliefs, a man had evil and hatred in his heart for other people. My beliefs say that the Devil won that heart from God - he is more powerful than we as people give him credit for - and filled it with that hatred.

Jesus wept when that heart was lost.

That man then took that hatred and - if you believe that a church is a house of God - essentially walked into Jesus' own house and lured nine of His children into a false sense of comfort. And then killed them. Six women and three men. Dead. Because of hate.

He admitted to police that he wanted to start a race war.

Jesus... Jesus is weeping...

We should be too.

Let it be clear - this should not be viewed as a gun issue. That's not the problem.

This is a heart issue. There are people who live in this country that feel that they are better than others - so much better, in fact, that they feel the others don't deserve to live. There are people so full of hatred...

I'm not a big "Daily Show" fan. I'm just not, and it saddens me that a lot of people get their news from that show. But today I saw a clip from Jon Stewart's show last night and he really hits it on the head.

We pour all this money into sending our people to other countries to fight terrorism, when we are just imploding on ourselves with the hatred that's still in our own borders.

What are we going to do about it?

I don't know the answer. I don't.

But... I have this blog.

So I am going to make a plea.

If you pray - pray for the hearts of those who are filled with hate. Pray that they can be softened, that they can work to dissolve that hatred that has filled their core and let love begin to take over. Pray that God can prevail over the Enemy in the battle for God's children, that God can win.

Do what you can to dissolve race lines from where you are. If you even have the smallest shred or ounce of racism in your heart - and let's admit it please, WE ALL DO, the denial of that hurts us more than we care to admit - pray that God can take it away. Work to see others as God does - just as people.

People. We're all people. We're all sons, daughters, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, friends, neighbors, coworkers.

Pray that folks of all races can be able to hold their heads high and to walk without fear. We cannot let fear win the battle of our hearts; when we do, we are letting the enemy attack.

Our generation is in desperate need of a real and true Martin Luther King, Jr. A real revolutionary. We've become too complacent. Or maybe a whole lot of "one person" to stand up and say that it's ridiculous. If love comes in numbers... don't they say there's strength in numbers?

Anyway... I have this blog. I have my prayers. I have love. And I have work to do.

What do you have?

Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-33546038027054246412015-06-17T08:40:00.001-04:002015-06-17T08:40:57.741-04:00More ImportantWhen I was in high school, I spent the better part of my senior year bussing tables at a small Italian restaurant. It was the kind of place that had a fancy menu and a pricey wine list. It had two dining rooms; one was a bit more on the elegant side with trellises and carpeting and a "faux al-fresco" platform while the other had red tablecloths and a black & white checkered linoleum floor. My uniform was a dressy white shirt and black dressy bottoms - either a skirt or pants - and dressy but comfortable black shoes.

For those that don't know what a busperson does - I was the person who brought you bread & water at the beginning of the meal, made sure you always had water, helped the server bring plates to the table if needed, and cleared away your empty (or mostly empty) plates. I pulled trash and carried tubs of disgusting dishes to the back to be washed. Because I did a lot of work to keep the service going, the servers "had" to give me a percentage of their tips at the end of the night.

Being a nicer restaurant, we would get a lot of couples out on dates or families having celebrations or business people bringing a client out for a nice dinner. But once in a while a reservation would happen that would put the restaurant staff on high alert.

The Antons were coming. (Yes, of Anton's Cleaners for those that live in the Merrimack Valley, Massachusetts area - those Antons.)

Every martini glass had to be washed and the buspeople would be advised to make sure to stay on top of seeing they got washed as they got used. Extra bread would be baked and extra calamari brought in for that night. The "who can work late" question would be asked and those people would be assigned to that table. And by "table" I mean 4 tables put together to accommodate a party of at LEAST 10 people who would eat, drink, and be merry from about 7:00 PM until close to midnight. Mr. Anton would usually sit somewhere in the middle of the table where he could interact with everyone, and whenever he would bring his people in it was always a good night to be working.

This picture was taken by us at a fundraiser at a local restaurant.
Funds went towards relief efforts for the Haiti earthquake.

"Who is more important: the one who sits at the table or the one who serves?" This is the question that Jesus asks His disciples at the Last Supper (Luke 22:27).

"Who is more important...?" That night as far as the proprietors of that small Italian restaurant were concerned - the Antons were the most important people, and Mr. Anton was the most important of the important people.

And when Jesus asks the questions, He immediate answers: "The one who sits at the table, of course."

"Of course."

When the Antons came, we were to find the utmost of our abilities and perform there. Be as attentive, as kind, as anticipatory of needs as we had ever been in our lives. We worked like our paychecks - at least for that evening - depended on it. Because Mr. Anton and his party were the most important people, we made sure to treat them as such.

But...

There's always a "but" with Jesus, isn't there?

Jesus sat there at the table at The Last Supper, certainly by all measures the most important person in the room. Son of God, the Messiah who would go on to die for our sins, worshiped over the ages by millions. After asking the question of his disciples as to who was more important, saying that "of course" it is the one who sits at the table - Jesus sticks his "but" into the conversation.

"But not here! For I am among you as the one who serves."

Jesus was, by every measure, the most important person at that table. He is the Son of God. He would go on to sacrifice His earthly life and take the punishment for all of our sins.

I've really got to get a copy of "The Brick Testament" for the kids...

He sat at the table, yet He placed himself in the status of one who served.

Something to ponder: If Jesus is saying that at the table of His last earthly meal that He is NOT the most important person, that He is the one who serves - what does that say about us each time we take communion? Before discussing who is the most or least important, Jesus tells his disciples to take the bread and drink the wine in remembrance of Him. We continue to take the bread and drink of the cup over 2000 years later in His honor.

He went on to serve us in the biggest of ways. He gave His life for us. He went to the tomb and rose on the third day and walked among us before ascending to Heaven to sit beside the Father.

He restored the most broken of relationships - that between Man & God.

The most gracious, most sizable, most beautiful act of service in history.

There was one night that I was able to get a later ride home when Mr. Anton brought his crew in and was therefore able to be part of the service staff that worked his table. I spent the better part of 4 hours running empty martini glasses back and forth from the kitchen, pouring pitchers of water into glasses, clearing plates, bringing clean silverware, helping the waitstaff get meals to the table in a timely fashion so they could all eat together, and just generally making sure this very important party was well taken care of. It was a whirlwind night.

As the meal was coming to a close, I felt someone gently grab my arm. I turned and saw Mr. Anton's hand as the culprit and asked how I could help him.

"Young lady," he said, "you have been working hard all night. I know you tip share, but here - I want to make sure I give you something too." With those words, this older gentleman quietly slipped a $20 bill into my hand, closed it, and patted the top. "Thank you for a great night, young lady."

I smiled, I thanked him, and I topped off his water glass. Buspeople didn't get $20 direct-from-the-customer tips. $20 is what I would get in tipsharing from one server on a busy Friday night.

Arthur Anton at an event recognizing his service to the community - 2013.
Photo credit: Meghan Moore, Megpix

I have never forgotten that act of kindness. That small, quiet act of kindness by a successful businessman is one that I have kept in my heart for almost 20 years now. I have always viewed it as
an example of staying humble, of remembering to serve each other, of recognizing the hard work that people do.

A reminder that no matter how important we become, that we should still serve. We should still love, We should still be humble.

Jesus sat at His last meal and reminded us that He walked the earth to serve.

We need to remember His example. We need to do the same.

Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-18937765038404949582015-06-04T15:11:00.000-04:002015-06-04T18:14:18.315-04:00The Beauty in the Weeds

A few weeks ago I was having a rough day. The kids were going crazy,  I was overtired, and it was all I could do not to drown myself in a pile of chocolate and/or lock my kids in their playroom while borrowing my husband's noise cancelling headphones for an hour. Or even five minutes.

After dinner, my husband brought Will outside while I cleaned up the kitchen and gave Evie a bath. While I was doing the former, the doorbell rang. I opened the door to find a certain blond haired, blue eyed little boy standing there with a giant grin and a fistful of dead dandelions.

"Here, Mommy! I picked you some flowers!"

I looked down at that little face and its giant smile and bright eyes and all my frustrations of the day melted away. I then looked down at the fistful of dead dandelions and had an inner sigh - especially as I glimpsed the semi-apologetic look on Steve's face as he handed me a branch from our blossomed cherry tree and a length of phlox. The look that said "I tried to teach our son how to pick flowers for Mommy, and he decided that dead weeds were the way to go."

But I mean... that face on that little boy holding those browned stems with the seeds holding on waiting for a strong breeze... talk about a heart melt...

When this face hands you a fistful of dandelions, you love them.
Because you love this face, and the giving heart behind it.

My paternal grandfather died when I was just shy of 8 years old, but I have very clear memories with him in the few years before that. My parents divorced when I was 5, but my brother and I would still head to visit with my grandparents and father about once a month. My grandfather had a vegetable garden and several flower beds, and I would follow him around asking what things were and being a general 6 or 7 year old nuisance. I would sit beside him on his bed as he watched "The Victory Garden", hoping he would notice me and take the headphones out so I could hear too.

One day while I was out in the yard with him, I very clearly remember picking some dandelions and buttercups and little purple flowers and bringing them over to him. I wanted to share - very proudly - these beautiful yellow flowers that I even left enough stem to put in a cup of water.

He looked at me confused as I reached to hand him the flowers. "What are you giving me weeds for? Those aren't flowers!"

This was the day that I learned the difference between weeds and wanted, purposeful plants. I also learned from my Papa that day that my Nana loved to get flowers from her grandkids, so I brought them to her from then on while Papa shook his head with a smile.

"Bena and Kenny" - Circa 1980-something in my grandparents' back yard.
Yep, that's a scan of a Polaroid.

Confession: To this day when our lawn gets cluttered with the yellow heads of dandelions every spring, even though I know that they can choke out the grass and deteriorate the health of our lawn - a part of me still sees the beauty of the yellow against the backdrop of green. When I see the weeds that sprout purple flowers start to take over the cracks coming out of our rock wall, I wait until the flowers have withered before I pull the weeds out.

I have fond memories of dandelions and purple flowers and the yellow buttercups of clover plants sitting in Dixie Cups on windowsills in my parents' kitchen that we picked. They were the first flowers I picked as a gift and the first flowers I taught my siblings to pick.

Image from RuthKassinger.com.
Check out this write-up about dandelions being used in tires.

Then there is the story of Jesus being anointed by the sinful woman while dining with the Pharisee.

"When one of the Pharisees invited Jesus to have dinner with him, he went to the Pharisee's house and reclined at the table. A woman in that town who lived a sinful life learned that Jesus was eating at the Pharisee's house, so she came there with an alabaster jar of perfume. As she stood behind him at his feet weeping, she began to wet his feet with her tears. Then she wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured perfume on them. When the Pharisee who had invited him saw this, he said to himself , 'If this man were a prophet, he would know who is touching him and what kind of woman she is - that she is a sinner.'" (Luke 7:36-39)

A sinner. A societal weed. A broken, unwanted person among those who are perceived to be beautiful and desired. Someone who is viewed as disposable, who will choke out the beauty.

But Jesus.

Jesus doesn't see the ugly that the Pharisee sees. He sees this woman's beauty, he sees her heart, sees more than her sin.

"Then he turned toward the woman and said to Simon, 'Do you see this woman? I came into your house. You did not give me any water for my feet, but she wet my feet with her tears and wiped them with her hair. You did not give me a kiss, but this woman, from the time I entered, has not stopped kissing my feet. You did not put oil on my head, but she has poured perfume on my feet. Therefore, I tell you, her many sins have been forgiven - as her great love has shown.'" (Luke 7:44-47)

Wild violets - my favorite weeds. Yes, I have favorite weeds.

There is much beauty to be found in the weeds and it's more than the beauty of the yellow, purple, white, or whatever colored flowers that poke their heads out in the spring.

Last night while we were out playing with the kids, a baby bird just kicked out of the nest was trying to figure out how to fly and had flown itself right into the middle of our street. Steve ran into the basement, grabbed a box and some gloves, and rescued the baby bird from becoming road kill. "Mommy," Will asked me, "what's Daddy doing?"

"I am going to bring this baby bird back into the woods so it doesn't get run over by a car. Do you want to see it before I bring it back?"

My 13-month old daughter bounced excitedly and reached up for me to bring her to see the bird. My 3-year-old son said "Oh! Yes!" and ran up the sidewalk to see the tiny bird. On his way up, he passed a grouping of dandelions on the edge of the lawn. "Oh! I will bring it some flowers!" he said as he grabbed a fistful and ripped them away from their base.

Notice the dead dandelions on the right side of the box.

The heart of a 3-year-old says to bring the scared little baby bird some flowers because that will make it feel better.

The beauty in the weeds isn't in the flowers. It's in the heart of those that pick the flowers to give to their Papa, their Nana, their Mommy, or the scared baby bird. Yes, weeds have undesirable qualities - but so do I. So do you.

The beauty lies in the heart.

Let your heart flowers bloom.Danielle Athanashttps://firstname.lastname@example.com:blogger.com,1999:blog-2948821458162267396.post-38584671004442055192015-05-19T14:14:00.002-04:002015-05-19T14:15:51.777-04:00EmilyWhen we met Emily, she was an 8th grade girl who was older than most 8th grade girls we had ever met. She was mature, compassionate, and knew what she was going to be when she grew up.

She was going to go to medical school. She was going to be a doctor.

Over the years as we grew to know Emily and watch her grow into an amazing young woman, we watched as God shaped her heart. She loves her family and is extremely close to her mom and three sisters (and four nephews). She is drawn to children and has babysat the children of many of our friends and was the first person besides us that was able to successfully get our baby Will to go to sleep. She cares for others, never judges, always has compassion.

Emily was one of about 10-15 kids that were in our youth group when we took over in 2008. In 2011 when we had our senior party at our house with, we watched as 6 or 7 of "our kids" went off to the world to college or the military or wherever. Most of them spent some time the way most of us do at 18 years old - trying to figure out where they fit in the world and how they fit into God's story.

The one person who didn't spend time trying to "figure" anything out was Emily. Emily went to MCPHS and began to pursue her medical career, just as she had always said she would do. A couple of weeks ago, she received her Bachelor of Science in Premedical and Health Sciences with hopes of eventually going to medical school and becoming a doctor.

Emily had been on a missions trip to the Bahamas prior to starting college. The pictures and stories we heard from those students when they returned proved that their lives had been changed. But in Emily's case, it was the beginning of a heart stirring; it was the beginning of God's call on her heart.

She went on to spend a couple of summers interning for Next Step Ministries, learning the ins and outs of missions work and also what most of us never quite fully figure out - how to listen to God's words and pull towards His plan. She prayed, she pursued, she listened to His responses. Then in 2014 she took a trip that changed her life - she went to Haiti, and God broke her heart for His people there. After several trips back and many prayers from her, her friends, and her family - it became clear to Emily that Haiti would be her home.

We sat in our living room this past winter and hung out with Em as she told us that as strange as it was to say - this wasn't her home anymore. That her home was in Haiti, that she was looking forward and ahead to being back there after graduation. That God is taking care of her family here and while she will miss them terribly - she knows that He needs her in Haiti.

Next week Emily and her oversized bags of luggage will move home; she will return to Haiti to begin work with Children's Health Ministries, an organization that works to fight malnutrition through clinics and food distribution services. She will spend a year there following God's plan for her life, abandoning the paycheck that most college graduates pursue to make a difference in the lives of who knows how many children and their families.

This amazing young woman has become a part of our family (just ask Will, that's his "Ah-meh-lee") and while we will miss her terribly, we are so proud of her willingness to follow God with minimal question. We are amazed at her boldness to initially step outside her comfort zone and find a new home in a foreign land. We are excited for her as she heads out to immerse herself in a new(ish) culture to show the people in Haiti that they are loved by God.

Would you be willing to walk alongside Emily as she steps out on this new adventure and follows God's call on her heart to Haiti? Would you be willing to pray for her and the team at Children's Health Ministries as they continue their work to fight malnutrition and hunger and the havoc it can wreak on children? Would you be willing to financially support Emily in her endeavors as she will not be paid for her work in monetary measures (but still needs to pay rent, buy food, and take care of herself)?

Would you be willing to let Emily's story be an example in your life of what it means to drop everything to pursue what God's plan for you is?

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For more on Emily's story, please visit her blog at: https://emro93.wordpress.com/

For more about Children's Health Ministries, please visit: http://www.chmhaiti.org/

For how you can help Emily financially (she will need $600-700/month to cover living expenses), please visit her Crowd Funding site at: https://www.crowdrise.com/EmilyinHaiti/fundraiser/EmilyinHaiti

Danielle Athanashttps://email@example.com