Teething Blues

Sweet Little Gordito,

Today you are teething and it must be very painful. You are normally such a happy baby, but today, nothing is working. You scream and arch your back, you nurse constantly, and won’t let me put you down. Your feelings are so big, but you are so small, and it must be really hard to process that.

My feelings are big, too. I’m touched out, my ears are ringing from the constant switch between screaming and white noise, and sometimes both combined. I’m trying to get my kitchen organized and there are piles of dirty dishes and pantry items strewn about. Every time I make progress in one cabinet or on one shelf you awake or begin to fuss, and I have to stop what I’m doing, leave a half done job, and pick you up and nurse. My breasts are sore from the constant popping off and latching on, back and forth to either side, and gnawing as you teethe.

I remember it was about 6.5 years ago when your oldest brother Captain was a baby. He had lots of big feelings, too. Especially at night. I remember these endless nights where we would be up constantly. And I was so tired. One night he was up 23 times and I thought he was broken and I was broken, and we took him to doctors and chiropractors, tried medicines and tinctures, tried routines and methods, and nothing worked, and we were exhausted. Everyone had an opinion, so we tried them all.

One time we decided to let him cry. He cried and cried and cried. The books said he would stop, but he didn’t stop. He cried so hard it hurt, and each night we tried it got worse, and we set timers and sat outside the door waiting for that break, but it never came. A few days of that and your daddy and I decided we would never do that to one of our babies again. We remembered how as Christian parents it was particularly important for us to remember that we were called to treat our children how God treats us. We remembered that we were ambassadors for Him, and that every time we were tired and weary God always listened to us and responded. We remembered that when we cry out to God, he is gracious and loving. We remembered that even when we are being irrational in our adult tantrums, the Lord is patient with us.

And when we remembered this, our mindset shifted. We learned to accept the long nights, to realize that our baby was just pushing us closer to Jesus, and that he wasn’t broken. I went to bed every night knowing I would be awake in 30 minutes, to nurse, and every 30 minutes for the whole night. And I changed. I literally changed. Yes, I still had nights where I felt like I was losing my mind and I was so exhausted I googled “can you die from sleep deprivation?” But overall, I was less angry, less anxious, less depressed, and less frustrated and daddy was, too.

Since Captain, each of your older siblings have slept better than the sibling before them. Most nights, I’m only up 4-6 times with you, which is a delightful change from Captain’s usual 10-12 a night. You meld so well into our routine and are so low maintenance that I’m not used to fussiness in a baby, so when you are, it comes as a shock. A reminder to switch off the part in my brain that grows weary and frustrated, angry and upset and fights, and turn on the part of my brain that remembers that you are only small once. That you aren’t trying to ruin my day or my night. That accepting these interruptions are for growing me and also slowing me so I can spend more time kissing your pudgy cheeks and soaking in your delicious scent.

My feelings are big, your feelings are big, but I am bigger than you. So it’s my job to hold yours and my own, to breathe and remember that soon— too soon— you’ll be reading books and riding bikes, and I’ll be missing your teething snuggles.

I love you, little fatling.



I Don’t Want To

I don’t want to co-parent today. I don’t want to pretend that it isn’t frustrating that someone parents differently from me. I don’t want to get a child back with a diaper put on incorrectly. I don’t want to smell someone else’s strong perfume on him.

I don’t want to have to spend 3 days getting eczema flares down after a visit. I don’t want to deal with the meltdowns that will plague us for the next 24 hours. The clingy baby who refuses to let you pee alone, because he’s so afraid you’re going to leave him with someone else again. I don’t want to deal with crappy naps and night terrors for the next day.

I don’t want to send texts and pictures every day. I don’t want to give updates that aren’t appreciated. I don’t want to spend hours writing up parenting instructions per the social worker to find out they were never read. I don’t want to spend hours every week transporting and dealing with 3 other whiny children stuck in a car. I don’t want to make pleasant small talk at drop off and pick up.

I don’t want to worry. I don’t want to be scared about something going wrong. I don’t want to spend hours with my stomach in knots in fear. I don’t want to get a baby back who has gotten hurt.

This is the point where you ask “Then why are you a foster parent? Stop complaining and find something else to do with your life!”

Because this is what I’m supposed to do. Because doing the right thing is hard— but you still have to do it. Because being selfish isn’t a right– and it’s a pretty crappy character quality. Because, if I don’t do it, someone else also might not. Because this is what i signed up to do. Because being a co-parent is a necessary role for a foster parent to fulfill. Because this is how I can help a family reunite. Because sometimes you have to fake it ‘til you make it. Because this baby is worth trying for. Because his mama is worth trying for. Because it’s not about me. Because, today is just a bad day. Because, tomorrow will probably be better.

Visitation Day Blues: Kid Edition

As we all piled for our morning cuddle on the couch the kids asked what the plan was for the day. I told them, “Don’t forget, you guys need to pack your backpacks with quiet activities, today is visitation.”

Captain, my oldest asked, “Is it the one where we go to the coffee shop?”

“No, that’s the other visit. Today is the one where you need to sit quietly in the car in the parking lot so your baby sister can sleep while the baby is visiting with his mom.”

Both my preschooler and kindergartener groaned. This is the least favorite day of the week. We eat an early lunch, every one goes potty, and we load up into the van and head to the other side of the county for our fosterling to visit his mother for an hour. Because of when it’s scheduled, my little ones end up stuck in the car for two and a half hours. I don’t like it either. Trying to keep my older kids quiet and occupied so that my youngest can get some sleep is stressful. On good days, she gets half of her normal length in nap. On bad days, it’s a 5 minute nap and a whole afternoon of meltdowns. It’s not easy on our foster baby either. Some how it always works out that he gets awoken to go to the visit or awoken once we get to the visit. Lots of interrupted sleep usually equals a very long day with lots of crying, nap fighting, and fussiness for him.

“Mom, we don’t like this visitation day! It’s boring!” I sighed as the day had just started and the complaining was already starting. Milkman looked at me sleepily from the corner of the couch where he spent the early morning after a very early wake up call from our foster baby. We trade off nights, so I actually got sleep last night, but I couldn’t say the same for my sweet husband.

As much as I wanted to reply, “Stop complaining, too bad!” I realized this was a teaching moment. “You know what guys? I don’t necessarily like this visitation day either. It’s stressful for me trying to ensure every one is quiet in the car. But… Well. Do you know why we do this? God says that we need to care for orphans and widows. Do you know what a widow is? It’s someone who has lost their spouse and has no one to care for them. Do you know what an orphan is?”

They looked at me blankly.

“An orphan is someone who either doesn’t have living parents, or their parents cannot currently safely care for them. The foster children we’ve had in and out of our home are considered orphans. So we actually have a really important job, because we are obeying God when we care for foster children. We don’t just do this because babies are cute— even though they are! We do this because we love them, and have a duty to obey God, and this is how our family has been called to obey. And one of the jobs of foster families is to make sure foster children get to see their parents.”

They nodded slowly. Well, the older kids did. My youngest, Peachy, was dancing around like a wild maniac to Celtic Christmas music. Never a dull moment.

Milkman chimed in, “Can you imagine if you only got to see mama and papa two hours a week?? You would miss us so much and we would miss you so much, right? The baby’s mommy wants to see her baby.”

I continued, “Exactly! And that’s one way we can serve his mommy, too. She loves her baby. So I know that visitation day is kinda lousy and boring for us. But it’s a sacrifice we make together as a family to obey God and to serve the baby and his mommy. Can you understand that?”

“Yes, mama.” They replied. I’m sure they didn’t feel super happy to go on with the plan for the day, but at least they now knew there was a valid reason behind their boring day ahead.

Sometimes teaching moments are hard to come by, and sometimes they fall perfectly in your lap, like it did for us today. My kiddos do sacrifice a lot for our family to continue fostering. While it’s not as much as Milkman and I have to, it’s a decent amount for very young children.

I hope they know, for as long or short as we have to foster, it’s not just something we do for the heck of it. It’s something that takes self sacrifice. It’s something that is hard to do. It’s something that takes giving up our schedules, preferences, and desires. It’s certainly not something we do for praise from others or accolades. But, most importantly it’s something that we do in love and obedience— together. As a family.

Why Did We Bother Going to Church Today?

Some Sunday mornings are blessed with quiet children, happily coloring or munching on snacks while listening to the sermon, a sleeping baby, and a toddler who wants to go to the nursery.

Then there are days like today, where I ask myself, “Why did we even bother to show up today if we weren’t going to hear a single word of the sermon because all 5  kids are screaming, fighting, crying, filled with energy, and all around going crazy??” I couldn’t wait to leave church today, because the kids were such a handful! I felt like today was a total waste.

So why do we still go to church, when we end up pacing the lobby with children having difficult mornings, and we don’t hear any of the preaching? 

We go because we are setting an example to our kids. We go to show our children that even on rough Sundays, God is the priority. That some times obeying really sucks, and we would rather stay home in our Jammies and hermit, but being with God’s other kids delights him. We go to show them that we don’t get to throw out the commandments that we don’t think are important. We go because God’s word never returns void, and even if they caught one sentence of the sermon today, it may stick with them later. We go because it’s not about us. It’s about God. It’s His day. And what better place to spend His day, than with other people who love Him, too!

It’s Not a Season, It’s a Baby.

“It’s just not your time.”


“It’s only for a season.”


“It doesn’t last forever, this is just how it is for all of us.”


“You can get spiritual feeding in AFTER your kids are older.”


These are just some of the responses I have received many times when I have lamented that I am struggling with my place in the church since having children. But guess what? I got sick of it.  I’ve talked to my spiritual advisors, to my elders, to my husband, I’ve cried out to the Lord about it, and here’s what I came up with in response to those statements:


This is absolute crap.


Okay, okay, so maybe that’s not the nicest way to put it, but that’s what I’ve wanted to say.


When I had Captain in 2012, I spent an entire year worshipping apart from my husband.  I use the term “worshipping” very loosely.  I spent a year in a room either alone, or with 2 other wonderful nursing women and their babies that had a TV with the sermon being piped in, while my husband sat in the service and got to listen to the sermon like the rest of the church, because he wasn’t lactating and I was.


At the year mark, after countless Sundays and Thursdays being stuck in a room apart from my husband where the audio or the visual wasn’t working at times, I had had it.  I went to my wonderful husband, my sweet spiritual head and with tears pouring down my face I said, “I can’t do this anymore. I haven’t heard a whole sermon, let alone a quarter of a sermon in a year.  My daily devotional time suffers, I never get to fellowship with the body anymore, I am sick of being in a room apart from you and not hearing the word preached.  I need help because I feel like I am drowning.”


My husband held me while I cried and we decided it was high time I made my way back into at least the lobby, if not the sanctuary of our church.  Thankfully, the lobby of our church at the time has two large glass windows and the sermon audio piped in, so we were able to take Captain into the lobby from the sanctuary if he got too loud, without me being segregated from my husband, and without feeling shut up in a dark room by myself.


Once we had Mamitas, we were told by a well meaning woman that there were people uncomfortable with me nursing in the lobby– even with a cover.  Back to the nursing room I went– feeling alone, defeated, and an outcast.


Even for women’s functions, I was told were for adult women, and to leave my nursing child home with daddy.  Women’s teas, retreats, and social events weren’t the place for my nursing baby.


I began to see a common trend.  The people who were the most unsupportive of me in my young motherhood were not some chauvinistic, patriarchal men– it was women.  Every time. And not just women who didn’t have husbands or kids, no!  It was always middle-aged to older women, who had children at one point in their lives too.  These same women had probably sat in the same dark rooms, nursing under blankets in bathrooms or lobbies or hallways, not hearing the Word preached, longing to be fed, and they were probably placed there by other older women themselves.


I’ve talked to many young mothers about this in the church, and we all seem to be frustrated with it, but for some reason, the squeakiest wheels seem to be the older women, and so, we young moms end up in a dark back room because we have noisy babies and milk in our breasts.


I can’t help but think this has only become an issue in the last 100-150 years in the westernized world, due to two things:


  1. The change from biological feeding with breasts to bottles and thereby making breasts single (and sexually) purposed in our societies.
  2. The popularity of segregating children from adults into their very specific age groups– namely because of the public school system and the rise of Sunday School and mandatory nursery care in churches.


Tell me that Ma Ingalls had to nurse her baby in a cry room, or that Mary had to take Jesus to the nursery each Sabbath.  That just wasn’t a thing.  This has not been the norm for thousands of years, and because of tradition and popular culture, the church now has no place for young mothers and babies.  How is a church to grow and sustain itself without young families?  It can’t.  It will die out without children.


What other sector of the body of Christ do we tell, “It’s not your season to listen to the preaching of the Word of God”?  What if we told teenage boys that they were excluded for this season, or old women, or elementary aged children?  We would all be in an uproar.  The gospel message and preaching of the Bible is for ALL Christians.  Its commanded that we be in fellowship and following good, solid teaching and doctrine, and yet, I hear it constantly. “It’s just not your time– we all go through this.”


As for the claim that I have heard the most: “It’s just a season in your life”: I hear the “season” comment mostly from women who have chosen to have 1 or 2 babies.  Most of these women either didn’t breastfeed at all, or they did for a very short period of time. That was the perfect amount of babies for them.  That was the perfect amount of time for them to nurse.  Milkman and I desire a large family.  Thus far, I’ve been nursing 2 days short of 48 months straight.  We choose to let our kiddos wean sometime after 2.5.  What if my “season” is 10 years?  Is it okay for any Christian to miss out on preaching for 10 years?  My grandmother had 15 pregnancies, and raised 13 children over a course of 21 years.  TWENTY-ONE YEARS.  By the season argument, if my grandmother had been in a modern Evangelical church, her season would have been about 23 years.  


23 years of no women’s retreats.  23 years of not sitting with my grandfather in church.  23 years of audio/visual mishaps on the CCTV in the nursing room.  23 years of not getting spiritual feeding with the rest of the congregation.  Many years of also not sitting with her older children in church, leaving my grandfather with 4, 5, 6, 10, 12, kids to manage on his own. Many years of being alone and lonely and told by her older sisters, “Sorry, Panchita, it’s just not your season.”


Let’s be real, sitting in a sermon with young children and babies is still going to have you struggling to get the full message uninterrupted each week.  I’m not ignorant of the fact that children distract us in church and need parenting 24 hours a day, 7 days a week– meaning I’m not off duty for 2 hours each Sunday, and my kids are still going to need my attention.  But if my husband and I are tackling the parenting in church together as a team, we can support each other, be encouraged that we aren’t alone, be with the rest of the congregation on a Sunday (what a concept!), and most importantly, we can worship together, teaching our children of the importance their parents place on the preaching of God’s Word, and honoring the Lord’s day.


I don’t think we should do away with nursing rooms, I appreciated ours when I was in the early stages of nursing and needed 17 hands and a boppy to get a good latch.  I don’t think we should do away with nurseries.  I think they are excellent options for parents of children who are happy to go into childcare.  I don’t think we should do away with Sunday School, I loved Sunday School as a kid, and it serves a wonderful purpose for families who would like their child in a more kid-friendly environment.


In fact, this isn’t even so much about where to nurse as it is about women tearing down other women.  I see it constantly, not just in the church, but I see it there a lot.  I am incredibly thankful for a husband who advocates for me, for elders who have listened to me while I weep, and for the few, very special older women in my church who have been there to encourage me and help me through this sometimes lonely journey of being a nursing mother.  But the naysayers are always the ones whose comments seem to be what sticks with you.


To those older sisters, I just want to say, I know kids can be a distraction.  I know they can be annoying, believe me I have personal experience in dealing with their frustrating behaviors!  I know it is easy to forget that you were once in my shoes, but dear older sister, would you show me some compassion?  If not on me, then on my helpless infant. She needs love from her church, to hear as a baby what the Word says.  She needs to hear her pastor praying and she needs to see her parents lifting their hands to the Lord in worship.  She needs to hear the Psalms read, so that one day she can say, “There was never a day I could remember that I didn’t know the love of Jesus.”


Gather the people, Sanctify the congregation, Assemble the elders, Gather the children and nursing babes; Let the bridegroom go out from his chamber, And the bride from her dressing room.


–Joel 2:16


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**as an addendum, I would like to share that after meeting with our elders and lots of prayer, we are happily worshiping with the congregation each Sunday, and it feels so good to be with my brothers and sisters while still nourishing my youngest, tending to my olders, and standing next to my husband.**

Find me on Facebook.

Facebook Free for Lent

Though I am not catholic and most Protestants do not observe Lent, I find it a good thing to fast from things in order to give special focus on my relationship with God periodically.

In the past I have fasted from soda or meat, but to be honest it was more for dietary than spiritual reasons–which kind of defeats the purpose of Lent! Ha!

This year I have chosen to give up Facebook for lent! It seems silly that giving up Facebook for 40 Days is daunting, but for a SAHM who rarely gets time or occasion to socialize in real life, it has become a crutch for me! I spend too much time on it, and it’s become a constant habit to check in and see what is going on in everyone else’s lives while scraping by on the bare minimum when it comes to my spiritual life.

Fasting isn’t about God thinking you’re so awesome for giving something up. Fasting is about using the time and affection and energy and dedication you gave to the things from which you are fasting, to focus on God. Fasting isn’t to impress God, we can’t do that. How do you impress the One who has seen it all?!

I’m looking forward to this Facebook fast. I hope to spend less time comparing my life to others. I hope to spend less time staring at a screen. I hope to spend less time escaping the present. I hope to spend less time complaining. I hope to spend less time judging.

I hope to spend more time in the scripture. I hope to spend more time listening to solid teaching. I hope to spend more time being thankful. I hope to spend more time in prayer. I hope to spend more time encouraging. I hope to spend more time listening to my children and husband. I hope to become more well rounded as a result of all of the above!

Here’s to 40 days of Facebook Freedom!


of skulls, skalliwags, and babies

I didn’t grow up in a family that glorified death.  We had a realistic view of death, and death was a real part of our lives and my growing up.  I remember seeing my first casket as a very young child.  My Great Aunt Doris’ husband had died, and I was being held by my papa as we walked past the casket.  I saw many open caskets as a kid and a teen.  We went to a lot of funerals.  We went to a lot of wakes.  The reasoning is three-fold I suppose.  Part of this had to do with being a part of a very large family, particularly on my mother’s side.  We had a lot of extended family, and when you know a lot of people, there are going to be a larger amount of people dying in your environment.  Another part of this had to do with being a pastor’s kid.  My dad performed a lot of weddings, services, and indeed, funerals.  The last reason why I have been to so many funerals, was because my parent’s always told my sisters and I,  that if you are available, and you knew the person or the family of the person who died, you should do everything you can to attend their funeral.

My mother, who is perhaps where I get a bit of my morbidity (Sorry for ratting you out mom, but a woman who channels Morticia Addams, is just not the norm for most moms! Haha!), talked about death a lot.  However, she would be the first to tell you that her reasoning for talking about, and even longing for it sometimes, is not based in morbidity, rather in a desire to go home to Heaven.  She talks about brain tumors less and less since having grandkids, and talks more of the perfection of God’s timing in all things, even so she never made death seem scary.  It was always talked about as a homecoming, because of her faith, she has something to look forward to when that last breath escapes her lungs, and she gets to say goodbye to back pain, housework, and the things of this world, to meet her Maker.

Death is not a scary thing to me, really.  Now the PROCESS of dying?  That is another thing altogether.  I am terrified of dying in my sleep, I think that you must be in a horrible state of panic if you are sleeping peacefully and then you can’t wake up as your soul departs and your body fights to stay alive.  I’d rather be shot in the head in my sleep, or something nice like that.  Don’t even know it’s coming, and BAM!  You’re in Gloryland!  But that’s a topic for another day.

Why do I bring all this up, and what does it have to do with anything, particularly relating to kids?  Well, as many of you know, I am expecting a baby boy come March.  As I have been picking out décor, and drooling over baby clothes, as so many first time moms do, I am drawn to all things black, red, skull, and pirate related.  I have had a long love affair with accessories and décor in that vein, and even my wedding had a pirate flair.  I wore a red, black, and white dress for goodness sakes.  Being a So. Cal kid, and spending a lot of time at Disneyland, my favorite ride has always been Pirates.  Peter Ustinov in Disney’s Blackbeard’s Ghost?  One of my first (of many) old man crushes.  My room as a young adult woman was not plastered with Brad Pitt or chic design.  It had (and has!) rich colors, maps, way too big prints of old art in gaudy ornate frames, a ship’s wheel, and candelabras.  I listen to a lot of metal, and like both my parents, I dress primarily in black.  I love scary movies and books, and Dia de los Muertos art is some of my favorite.

Naturally, when preparing to dress and adorn a baby, my eye is drawn to tiny skulls, little pirate boots, stripey baby clothes, big krakens, leather jackets, and Jolly Rodger baby blankets.  I think baby blue is an abomination to my son’s masculinity, and pastels are anything but stimulating for his surroundings.  I have come under some scrutiny for such likes, and my husband, whose tastes are FAR different from mine, and I have had no few talks on the matter of love for such “dark” things.  As baby showers are planned for me (I am so thankful for such loving women in my life!) the big topic seems to be “Are pirate crossbones acceptable for a baby shower!?”

I must ask a question to those who think that other décor for baby is acceptable.  Noah’s Ark?  Oh my gosh.  Man becomes exceedingly sinful, God decides to destroy the entire planet and kill everyone but 8 people and a couple of each animal, then those 8 people and countless smelly animals have to stay in a boat for over a year.  Let’s make a nursery theme for Junior about God’s judgement on the earth! YAY!  Okay, another, how about safari.  You wanna talk about scary??  Lions eat people.  I mean not every day, but they can.  And elephants?  Some of the most dangerous animals to come face to face with if you are in the African wilderness.  Let’s not even talk about monkeys.  Holy cow, those things are scary. Fairy tales?  Have you ever read the real Snow White or Goldilocks?  Terrifying.  Fairies or mermaids?  Those chicks are dangerous!   And how about clowns?  Let’s put it this way, the sight of clowns has been known to send me into tears and dry heaving.

I do know that pirates were bad guys.  I don’t think we should glorify death.  I don’t want my child to be morbid… okay, maybe a little.  I don’t want my child turning into a Satanist.  I don’t want him to be a self-absorbed emo kid.  I know full well that I could expose him to all the things I love, and strap him to a chair at age 12 (because as much as I love Tim Burton, my kids aren’t allowed to watch him til they are older) and make him watch Nightmare Before Christmas, and cry with me when Jack ruins Christmas, take him on Pirates 3 times every time we go to DL, and read him lots of Grimm’s fairy tales while we listen to Rachmaninoff, and he might still turn into a preppy kid who likes to play golf.

Fact of the matter is, when you are a baby, you have to wear whatever your parents put you in, you are at their mercy for style (Which is why my mom and I made him a ridiculous looking bunny hat, which will make him look so incredibly stupid and cute), and he can’t say anything about it.  There is a fine line, and I don’t want to cross it if the other side of that line is glorifying evil and death.  I don’t want the little man to be afraid of his surroundings.  I want him to have bright and cheery surroundings, and to be surrounded by love and happy people.  I want to be half as good of a mother as my own mama was, and give him lots of attention and teach him about everything from our faith to morality, cars to music, character to the dangers of women (hehe!).  I want to teach him about death and life, pain and joy, suffering, and merrymaking.  I want him to know and love the Lord has his father and I do.  I just don’t think that putting him in a black t-shirt, jeans, a little Jolly Rodger bib, and black converse is going to keep that from happening.

So, if you disagree, that’s okay.  I don’t mind.  If you’d rather get him a pair of ducky slippers than a vampire teeth pacifier (thank you, Uncle Ronald!) then I will be more than grateful.  Every person has their own convictions to follow, liberties and limitations, but as long as we are united in the important things, that’s what matters.  I can’t wait for him to experience the diversity in the personalities, culture differences, and surroundings in which he will be raised!