I am regularly asked to join prayer requests for friends at church, friends from work, home, wherever. Sometimes I even join them for people I don’t know. Knowing the power of prayer, I figure I have a few more to spare each day and can definitely pray for those who need God’s healing hand.

Recently, I joined a prayer list for a young girl suffering from Shaken Baby Syndrome. I found myself drawn to her updates and praying every night for her healthy return. How her father could shake her and cause such damage to her tiny brain was beyond me. Many nights my son has frustrated me, last night even—his screaming into my ear in the bathtub made me question my sanity at having another child and hoping I wasn’t going deaf—but I would never abuse him nor blame him. It was a frustrating moment and I just put him down and walked away for about 30 seconds.

Reading about and praying for this baby girl every day led me to the Facebook prayer pages of several other babies suffering from abuse and medical issues. I found myself having a hard time remembering all the families I was supposed to pray for each night because I’d joined so many prayer chains. I was praying for babies with unspeakable genetic issues and found myself every night forgetting to pray to God with thanks for my own healthy family.

As I went down the rabbit hole of these abused babies, I finally had to delete the Facebook page of the baby with SBS. I know I will continue to pray for her each night so my deletion does not mean she will be ignored. But I could no longer read another case about child abuse. I hear it on the news and online and even in my place of silly time-wasting, Facebook. I can not wrap my brain around this evil act and as so many know how precious it is to bring a child into this world, we with our bare hands can reverse it so quickly. We are adults and need to act like ones.

I often wonder if I waited too long to have kids. Maybe I will be 40 when my kids are still in diapers and in my 60s when they graduate college. But I now know in my 20s I was not mature enough to handle the lack of sleep; the giving up of fun things and most important, the patience necessary to handle a screaming infant or toddler. My maturity level just wasn’t there. I’m sure there are plenty of people who at 21 or 25 or 28 are mature enough to handle this, but I wasn’t.

I think sometimes we as first-time parents try too hard to have this bravado, and we forget it’s okay to ask for help. We think we must know it all and therefore get frustrated when something doesn’t go like we see in the movies or hear about from friends. If our kid isn’t walking by a certain age or feeding him or herself or reciting the alphabet by 3, we think we’ve failed. And in those failures and frustration, I wonder if that is when people abuse their children. But in reality, we are all just doing the best we can and children progress at their own pace.

I feel bad for having to take myself off the prayer chain on Facebook but I can promise that little girl I will continue to pray for her. I just couldn’t take the daily updates about yet another child suffering from the impatience of a monster. An infant, a toddler and even a grade-school child, are still so young and impressionable and irresponsible with their actions, they deserve no such thing. In fact, no one deserves abuse, at any age. But my heart breaks daily over those Facebook updates, so for now I must remove myself. I cannot take it anymore. I know I am a coward to turn the other cheek but I hope there are other prayer warriors out there who can sustain the hope these babies need.

My silly Christmas angel

As I look around my house and see the Christmas tree, I am excited for Christmas this year with my son. He is almost 17 months and will no doubt be able to enjoy Christmas a little more this year. I tried to get him a few things that will have some longevity to them and allow his development to continue to flourish. He is bored with his singing toys, his rattles, his squeaky balls. Even some of the light-up devices and blocks are not as fun as they once were. I think about the puzzle under the tree, the musical frog rocker waiting to be wrapped in the attic, and the giant slide/rock-climbing wall device sitting in the garage waiting to be assembled. I know it will be such a joy to watch him unwrap these items and grow into them as he did the rattle, squeaky ball and push-car that yells, “Ka Chow!”

But somewhere in all this growing and developing, I’m realizing he is no longer my little baby. The swing that once doubled as a nap place is gone and upstairs; the pack and play no longer blocks the fire place to double as a holding cell for me to use the bathroom and him to stay “put”; and burp cloths — once enough for there to be a clean one on hand for every hour — are now collecting dust in a wicker basket under the coffee table. Where has my baby gone?

I know I complained and bitched and moaned a lot when my husband was on second shift. Yes, it was difficult and I had a lot of help from friends and family and God who listened to my prayers. We are now not just a weekend family but now one of routine in the morning, breakfasts together, dinners together, book readers and even a group/family kiss. Yes the latter is a bit gross and probably only something the three of us can enjoy, but when my baby watches me kiss my husband good bye in the morning and decides he wants to also tell us “bye” in his own slobbery way, I indulge the momentary grossness and love every second of it.

Two nights ago my husband chopped my son’s hair in a haphazard way that displeased me to say the least. Not one to ever really get angry, I some-what silently watched my infant transform right before my eyes. Knowing he now looked like a British rock star with a redneck mullet, I realized we would have to get his hair cut for real this weekend. I know it will be fine and he will hopefully look just as cute (minus some bangs my husband chopped off), but I can’t help but think this might be the last few days of baby-dom. I realize i sound like so many other annoying mothers who blog and put posts on Facebook that make people roll their eyes and fake vomit. Yes, I am one of those today. I am nostalgic and missing the days I complained about.

When my son was first born, I thought each day lasted at least 30+ hours. Breastfeeding around the clock makes you so aware of time and even five months later, I was still breastfeeding and thinking, “when will he grow up so we can do X or X.” But now, as we lay him to bed each night, he no longer wants to cuddle or snuggle or have me sing to him. He wants to read book after book and then screams and pulls my hair when it’s time to get in the crib. My little baby is gone.

But then in the mornings, as I wake him and he uses his sign language to tell me he wants to listen to his “fish” music (is that ironic or what!), I turn on his aquarium and we begin our routine. “Ox” he yells out as he knows it’s time to pick out socks. “Book” he says thinking it might be Saturday and we can read a book in our pajamas. I tell him to take “off” his shirt, and he points to the light switch, which we also turn “off” each day. He’s putting words and sounds together. Somehow, this is becoming the same level of connection I had when we snuggled, yet now we’re communicating. We walk down the stairs looking at the rows of family photos and he points to mommy and daddy and his favorite, a giant canvas of Baby C. He turns off the lights downstairs and signs “food,” not because he is hungry I’m guessing, but because he knows his Dad has breakfast waiting for him as soon as we turn the corner. He knows we eat before school and then we put on “oos” or shoes. He then shakes his hand to say he is all done and our family does our group kiss goodbye. It is our little morning routine, one that he has picked up quickly and is now narrating through sign language and monosyllabic abbreviations.

So as I look around the room and miss the swing and the newborn-sized diapers and even the sleepless nights, I accept that we are now in toddler-dom and I have a little person in my life rather than a little baby. Hopefully God will bless me with another child one day, but for now, I’ll try to enjoy each phase and not wish one away or hold on too tightly to the one we’re leaving.

Only seeing two columns can be frustrating.

Today I went for a physical at my on-campus health facility. This would have cost me quite a bit more at my regular physician’s office so instead I opted for the on-campus/at-work health screening. They did a full head-to-toe checkup, along with blood work and a female exam I hope to never, EVER, have again. Having a health professional narrate everything to the young student performing the exam is NOT my idea of making me comfortable. But I’ll leave those details out.

I knew when it was time to go to the vision test, I would have to tell her I was blind in one eye. I figured she would shine her light in my eye and see that my pupil didn’t adjust. But I knew I could say that with no emotion, no looks for sympathy, just blunt admittance. Yet today I was surprised. After shining the light, they took me to the little vision machine, and I was immediately taken back to the DMV experience I had a year ago.

It’s been seven + years since my accident. Every day I know I am blind in one eye, but every day I refuse to let it get in the way of my happiness. I refuse to let it identify me or even be a part of my daily life. My husband walked in my blind spot the other morning and I sadly bumped him into a cedar chest in our bedroom. We both laughed about it bc I was walking rather quickly and he practically fell over.

But today, when asked to read columns A, B and C, I could see there was a third column, only it was blank for me. I asked the nursing student if there was indeed text in the column and she said, “yes, but don’t worry about reading it since you said you were blind.” I kept my face pressed up against the reading machine, hoping she couldn’t see the tears starting to form. Why was I crying, I thought? It’s okay, you are blind. This is no surprise.

Yet somehow I was just as surprised as I was the day at the DMV. I hadn’t had to have an eye test (surprisingly) since my accident and was due for a license renewal. When I read columns A and B, she kept telling me to read C. Except I didn’t see a C. It was plain as day to me that there were only A and B. I thought she was crazy. Then she told me there WAS a column C on the right side. I had to tell her I was blind in one eye and could not see it. Immediately I thought they would take away my license and I would once again lose my independence. I had to excuse myself and burst into tears in the stupid DMV. I’m sure someone thought they were repossessing my car or something. I’m guessing I’m not the first person who cried in the DMV. Certainly there were 15-year-olds who failed their driving test and were overcome with emotion.

The nurse today thankfully had a nice bedside manor and comforted me in the office. As lame as I felt, it also felt good to release some anger that I guess swells up over the years. It’s time like these, that I REALLY have the blindness pointed out to me. It’s a situation where I can’t overcome my injury nor pretend it doesn’t exist. I have to face it head on, and those blank columns stare back at me, reminding me that no matter how much I overcome it, I still have a life-altering injury.

I’m sure I’ll have more days like this, as I sometimes do. Thankfully they are few and far between. And I need to not be so hard on myself when and if they do occur. Only God knows why he chose me to experience the accident I did. And I know much worse things have happened to others so I don’t ever try to complain and I don’t want sympathy. Sometimes I am just surprised when my emotions get the better of me. I realize that I am still vulnerable and have my off days like everyone else.

Thankfully, my friends, family, husband and son remind me of all the beauty and wonderful things I get to experience every day. My quality of life is no less than it was, or at least I don’t allow the injury to lessen my life. I wonder how great things would look through two eyes? Guess I’ll never know but I’ll enjoy the view from one.

Thankfully they put things into perspective for me.

I like to think I am spontaneous, and at times I can be. But who am I kidding, I love to plan. I love to put trips together for my friends and often find myself organizing hotels, tickets and arrangements for people. Rarely do things go awry and at the end of a trip, I hold onto the photos and silly memories as some of my most cherished possessions.

Being a mother, however, does not allow one to really plan very well. I have learned this rather quickly and had to adopt a fast-on-my-feet mentality. I have been blessed with a beautiful, healthy child who until very recently ate everything I gave him. Whole tomatoes as a snack, sweet potatoes in every variety and avocadoes peeled and chopped. He would look at a salad bar like it was the candy store. But sadly, this trend of healthy eating came to a quick, abrupt stop. Not a halt but a stop!

Somehow, my son has developed a super-human skill of knowing what a vegetable is. I know he can see colors, but he can apparently also tell the texture of a vegetable as well. Gone are the days of his plate full of tomatoes and here are the meals with hidden vegetables. My mother-in-law was shocked to see me put lima beans in applesauce. Gross to us, yes, but guess what, it works. I also hide lots of veggies in tomato sauce which has about a 50 percent chance of working.

But because I enjoy planning, even meals that I think will be yum for the hubby and me, I spent an hour one weekend planning out some meals for the week that could incorporate vegetables in hidden varieties. Monday night I finely chopped some squash and made 90-percent lean beef patties with chopped squash to become a somewhat veggie burger. I had leftover beef and made them into veggie/meat balls for spaghetti the next night. I used some fresh mushrooms and made homemade sweet potato “fries” in the oven.

My husband was a good sport, as he usually is, and ate along with us. I made him some tater tots and bacon to accompany his burger, but nonetheless he eats what I make. Sitting down with my son I couldn’t wait to watch him enjoy my veggie/hamburger. One bite and he immediately hated it, threw it on the floor and looked at me like “what is next?” I had just spent 45 mins cooking him what I thought was a nice dinner and he killed it in 2 seconds. Hmmm, time to be creative.

He did manage to eat the potatoes, some applesauce and a glass of milk. I found some yogurt in the fridge and some bananas. I, on the other hand, enjoyed the heck out of my cold burger and potatoes. My lesson learned was that in life, we always need a back up plan. I’ve known this from a financial perspective and a career perspective (much to the chagrin of my parents, being a writer WAS my back up plan!), but never from a parenting perspective. I now know that food needs a backup plan, clothes, even diapers and toys. So the next time you see a mom traveling with a suitcase for a diaper bag, you’ll know why.

And wouldn’t’ you know, the next night, the exact same veggie/meat balls in spaghetti were the best thing he’d ever tasted. He ate green beans doused in tomato sauce, the same mushrooms from the night before, whole-wheat pasta and tomatoes as well as the squash in the meatballs. Who knew!

Typical mealtime mess at a restaurant

There’s no place like home

I’ve heard the expression home is where the heart is a million times. It immediately conjures images of country craft décor like cross-stitched pillow or framed photo. I think of some place like Cracker Barrel selling this clichéd phrase on many of its pieces. While there is some truth to it, I like to think of Miss Dorothy Gale from the Wizard of Oz. Her words ring more true with me, as there truly is no place like home.

At 18, I wanted nothing more than to get away from Greenville, S.C. Although I was only three hours away and still near quite a bit of family, I felt like I moved “away” when I enrolled at the University of Tennessee. The only one from my high school at UT, I was beyond thrilled to move away and make friends and start a new life. NEVER would I have thought I’d move back to Greenville, marry a guy from Greenville and go to my same church as a child.

But with age comes wisdom, or perhaps laziness, and I am definitely much older (not sure if any wiser) and I am back in Greenville. Well, right outside the city limits in Powdersville. But my point is that being back “home” is exactly where I want to be.

I spoke with an old friend this past weekend who had fallen on hard times and decided to move “home.” He quit his job, got divorced and is moving to Greenville. Although he hasn’t lived here in 12 years and really hasn’t even visited much, this is still his home.  He realized after many years of shunning the city where he grew up, it was actually the one place he could always go back to. He is no longer ashamed and is leaving the big city life to come home to a quieter place.

But it is actually not that quiet here. In fact, I think he will be quite surprised to see what our city has become when he returns. Greenville is constantly on every nationwide list for up-and-coming cities, best places for young professionals, fastest growth, best manufacturing, top for outdoors, etc. I’m sure we’re not at the top of every list but I know we are on many of them. In fact, here is a fantastic video showcasing some of the amazing things in Greenville: http://www.greenvillehd.com/. We are three hours to the beach, 30 to the mountains, 1.5 hours to Charlotte, 2 hours to Atlanta, affordable real estate, decent-to-good job market, a home to a million art and food and wine festivals, amazing restaurants, beautiful parks and my new favorite, the Swamp Rabbit bike trail. It’s 26 miles of paved trails through the woods from one city to another.

Like my aforementioned friend, I once fell on hard times and lost my job and needed to move home. I was house-less but not home-less. My parents let me move in, gave me some strict rules ( I was 25) but let me live there rent-free until I got back on my feet. They provided meals and some guidance, albeit not what I always wanted to hear, and took me in. Not too much later I met a guy I would later marry and started my writing career.

I bought my first home, in Greenville. Met my husband, in Greenville. Got a dog, had a child, bought another home, all outside of, but still near—Greenville. My husband’s entire family lives in Greenville and with the exception of my sister, my immediate family is here too. My son will grow up getting to see ALL of his grandparents within a 20-minute drive. This excites me like no other because he will have an abundance of experiences with them that will provide a lifetime of memories.

I love being able to go to the same church where I grew up. I was confirmed there, married there, my son was baptized there and now my husband is a member as well. It too, is home. There are people still there who knew me when I was a baby and some who can’t believe my family has been members for that long. NEVER did I think my husband and I would join a church 25 minutes away. I thought for sure we would go somewhere near our house because just getting to church on a Sunday was hard enough. Adding 30 minutes to the drive was even more ludicrous. Yet when we kept going back and becoming more involved, I realized it was my church HOME. And S. felt the same way…he felt at HOME there too. So now, it is our home on Sundays and sometimes Saturdays, Wednesdays and as soon as basketball season starts, probably Thursdays too.

My ramblings today just reinforce what I already know: that it is good to be home. There’s no place I’d rather be, not even Tennessee. We may be rednecks in South Carolina but like the license plate says, nothing could be finer.

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This weekend, Thursday actually, my husband is descending on a three-day/night camping trip with friends at the coast. it’s a guys’ getaway and one that I am sure will no doubt be memorable for them. As they celebrate a friends’ birthday on a deserted island, I know they will have a blast leaving their wives and children behind for a few days to probably act about the same age as they were when many of them met, grade school. All kidding aside, last year i was the mother of a two-month-old when this camping trip ensued. I rode down with my husband and stayed at my sister’s so I could have some help. Being a first-time mom with a two month old, a weekend alone seemed like an eternity to me so I needed help.

This year, i am actually looking forward to our weekend alone. One of my best friends is coming over for a girl’s night and pizza and movies. Saturday I’m hitting up the Farmer’s Market downtown to sample some good local food and music. Then hitting up the nearby park for some exercise and playtime with C. Later that day, going to C’s girlfriend’s house and my close friends’ house for some football and poker. Should be a great mix and busy day perfect for wiping out a 14 month old. Sunday we’ll go to church and I’m excited to check out the children’s museum in town. Apparently it’s the 10th biggest in the world and just 15 mins away!

As cheesy as it sounds, I’m looking forward to some uninterrupted time with my son and me. My husband I’m sure is looking forward to some uninterrupted time with his friends, as I think that is very healthy for a marriage and parenthood. I’m sure by Sunday i will be welcoming the help, esp since we don’t have much of a napper in our kid. But i’m finding myself looking forward to discovering all of the family-friendly places in town this weekend and checking them out. I’m not sure who will have more fun. As a mom, there is nothing more exciting than seeing something through your child’s eyes. Yesterday we had 10 mins of laughter about a light switch and how turning it off was so neat. It’s the little things like that that are so funny and i never would have expected.

i used to look forward to the weekends for sleep and late nights and intoxicated conversations. I probably still would look forward to that if that were my weekend agenda but having a child takes that away, at least on a regular basis. But now I’m finding myself enjoying this amazing weather and looking forward to the time my little chubby-yet-itty-bitty-boy and I can spend together. We’ll see after Sunday if all of my plans come to fruition. I might need to just spend some hours relaxing with him as well. But a girl can plan right?

My husband I have been blessed in so many ways. Most obvious is our gorgeous, amazing son C. Yes, every parent thinks their children are special, and yes, they are. But lately, we’ve had to practice tough love and deal with the fact that our son LOVES to read. Why is this a problem? Bc every night we read to him multiple books. I say goodnight moon at least two times a day, count dinosaurs, read about Milly and Tilly and can never remember which one is the country mouse and which one is the city one. And my son’s favorite book, When Will it Be Spring, asks the question from the perspective of a little bear bothering mama bear.

But now, when reading time is over, he does not want to stop. He throws a tantrum and screams. This is the only time we’ve ever encountered a tantrum and it’s hard knowing it’s not bc he is in pain, hungry, wet, tired (well sometimes he’s over tired) and we can’t make it better. But basically, it’s because he loves us and wants to play and be in our arms and hear our voices. How do you say no to that?

We know people who do not discipline their child and the kid walks all over them. We have seen people give in and I always said I would not be that person. I still stand by that, even though the screaming and wailing breaks my heart. Two nights ago it lasted 20 mins after we left him in the crib. Last night, it lasted five. I’m hoping tonight when my parents babysit, for their sake, it will be even shorter and he will fall asleep to them reading to him.

I’m sure this won’t be the first and last time we have to practice tough love. I wonder what other parents have done knowing it was for the good of the child but broke their heart at the same time. It’s so hard to say no to something that brings you so much joy! Doesn’t he know I want to stay up and read to him all night too?

You never know where you’ll find inspiration. Sometimes it’s from something obvious, sometimes it’s from your child. Often it’s from your child. But other times it’s from a stranger’s story. Today was the latter. I read about a man whose daughter has CP and she can’t speak or walk. Her father isn’t even sure if she can see. She acts like a 3-month old and is a teen. Yet he loves her unconditionally, the way every parent does and should.

This man decided a few years ago to start competing in triathlons for his daughter’s sake. Since 2008 he has done over 70 races and swims pulling her in a kayak; bikes pulling her in a little trailer and runs pushing her wheelchair. As someone who has competed in triathlons, I know even doing one WITHOUT pulling or pushing someone else is a great feat. I could only ever imagine getting myself across the finish line, not another person. And yet, here is this man who said, “She is my heart. I am her legs.” That line moves me to tears. I feel that way sometimes about my own son, that he is at the heart of everything I do. But in this instance, this man literally is her legs and she provides the determination, or heart, for him to move. It’s amazing. I am inspired just reading his story and seeing his photos. I am inspired to be a better mother and wife and to never take my life for granted. Not because I don’t want to be in his situation or because like some might think, it could always be worse. But rather, to be able to live so openly and recognize what a joy and miracle life is, even for those who can’t talk., or walk, or see,. The father got involved in the race because he knew his daughter loved being outdoors and having the wind on her face. Knowing she probably can’t enjoy a good movie or song like you or I could, he does this to give her hours of wind in her face.

I wonder, what will I do to give others the wind in their face they so desire?

Team Maddy: Father and Daughter