Hurricane Hormone

I finally got around to taking Ashton's 12th birthday photos earlier this week. What with him being sick on his actual birthday, then the hubbub of the holidays, I'm pretty proud that I got them done at all. I managed to get both of the girls' sessions done, but I haven't blogged either of them. You see? Motherhood is just a constant balance of choosing which child will get neglected today. (Kidding! I'm kidding.... Mostly.)

Ashton... Where do I begin? I've been kind of whining a lot lately about my battles with my preteen. Ashton has always been old for his age. To tell the truth, his "teenage angst" began several years ago. At least, that's what I thought. Nothing could have prepared me for the hurricane of hormones that now resides in my precious baby boy's bedroom. Most days, I feel like I'm just caught and pulled along in the powerful gale that is my pubescent boy. Most days, I'm just clutching my hair in bewilderment, trying to keep whatever shreds of sanity I have left after the toddler years inside my exhausted brain. Most days, I have emotional crying jags more than he does. Because, just like with every emotion he experiences since the moment he entered this world, I am right there with him, feeling them, hating them, loving them. One of the potential downsides of being an empathetic INFP personality, I suppose. So this crazy roller coaster he rides everyday has me strapped in right beside him. 

Is it hard? 

Yes. 

Is it exhausting and overwhelming?

Absolutely. 

Would I trade it back for those sleepless nights, diaper changes, and temper tantrums?

Eh.... Yes. Sometimes. A lot of times, okay??

But, this is where we are now. This is the season we're in, and I'm here to love him fierce, to hug him hard in the moments he'll let me, and to respect him with personal space in the moments he won't. I'm here to mirror the type of adult he can become, on the other side of this godawful maelstrom he's caught in right now. 

And, you know, it isn't all bad- I know I make it sound like it is. But we still have laughter, and smiles, and dance parties (although he'll swear up and down that he hates to dance. Even when I catch him at it every time I turn around). We still have our reading time, and movie time, and just plain talking time. In some ways, I'm enjoying him even more, enjoying this little sneak peek into the relationship we can have as he grows older. And every once in awhile, he'll look at me with those crinkled blue eyes, and I'll see my baby boy looking at me all over again. Those moments make all the others seem so small. Those moments more than repay me for all the others. Those moments are the ones I'll hang on to.

{{Here are a few shots from Ashton's 12th birthday photo session. It's mostly a lot of sarcastic smirking, exasperated glaring, and stone-faced staring. But on reviewing them while editing, I decided not to try and redo the whole shoot. After all, I'm a huge proponent of being honest, of showing your messy life. And pictures of a happy go lucky 12 year old Ashton, more likely than not, would not be a true representation of where he is right now. One day, I'll be able to show him these pictures and say, "Remember when you were 12, and thought that everything was awful all the time? No? Oh. Well I just so happen to have some photos right here..."}}

100 Things

This past week the kids reached their 100th day of school. Atleigh's class, especially, made a really big deal out of it. They encouraged them to dress up, to bring in 100 items, to make it a big celebration. "I'm 100 days smarter!"

That's how I found myself, at 1am the night before the 100th day of school, scrounging through my bathroom drawers for Q-tips. Chloe had spilled the box in one of the drawers months before, and instead of picking them up, I'd just left them. I desperately picked them up by twos, sticking them in a Ziploc, and knowing that there was no way I would reach 100. 

That's when I started detailing in my mind the 100 things I'm bad at. Surely a good mom would have had her child's one hundred things for 100 Day already bagged and labeled and sent in to class before the day of. Surely a good mom would have already picked up the Q-tips up and put them back in the box, or thrown them away, or done whatever it is that good moms do. They certainly don't find themselves crouched on the floor in their pajamas while the whole household is asleep, freezing on the stone tile and counting Q-tips by twos. 

The truth is, there are 100 things I'm bad at. Good God, there are probably 10 times 100. 100 times 100. I could, unfortunately, list them all, starting right then with "poor planner". I don't volunteer at my kids' school enough. I'm a terrible housekeeper: it's a toss up over whether I hate cooking or laundry more. My stress threshold is low. My sleeping patterns are ridiculous. I could go on and on, from the little things, all the way down to the deep, dark things that plague me from the inside out. 

But why?

Why do I need to list those things? And why was my first instinct to remind myself of the hundred things I'm bad at? I make my kids laugh. I sing to them. I can do a mean British accent. I take pictures of them, little random memories that they'll be able to look back on and smile over. And God knows I love them. I love them so much my heart breaks with it, pouring down their heads like oil, like perfume from the alabaster box. They may not be able to feel it now, but one day they will. My question is, why don't we list these things first?

Moms. Dads. Parents. Let's do this for each other: let's clasp hands. Let's love each other, encourage each other. And for every one thing one of us finds wrong with ourselves, someone else should be there, saying, "But there are a hundred things you're doing right!" Whatever is true. Whatever is noble. Whatever is right, and pure. Let's think on those things. Let's grace each other, stand shoulder to shoulder, and raise these kids who are going to be directing our world in a few years in a way that shows them it's okay to mess up, it's okay to fall down, as long as you get back up and remind yourself you have a hundred reasons to. 

Those are the 100 things I'll think on. 

{{And at the very top of the list of things I do right, is throw together a costume for events like 100 Day. Scroll down for this week's photo dump and Atleigh's 100 Day photo session.}}