daughters

Ballers

Posted on by Lauren

“Unfair!” “Bad call!”  “These refs are the worst.”

All sentiments I heard from my players last basketball season.

Victims.

At our last practice, I gave each girl a flashlight. 

“Ultimately, you choose what you shine your light on.  Are you going to shine it on what is out of your control?  Unfair players and referees?  Offensive injuries?  Or, instead, are you going to shine your light on what you CAN do.  Are you going to see the possibility?”

In the heat of the moment, the lesson remains true: Focus on what you alone can control.

This same principle applies to my daughters with nightmares. 

Can we control the terrible thoughts that enter our heads?  Not always.

But can we allow them to pass by us like a moving thundercloud without allowing them to rain on our parade?  Yes. 

We can choose to shine our light, our thoughts on something that brings us joy. 

A recent trip to the beach, the taste of ice cream, a memory of snow. The possibility.

No, we cannot control that which offends our personal space. 

But we surely can control how we respond to it.  

It’s our light. 

And we choose where it shines. 

Ballers.

Camille Vaughan Photography

Story

Posted on by Lauren

I try. 

I keep trying to see that little face amongst the venom that spews from her mouth. 

But she’s not my little girl anymore. 

No, she is her own. 

And boy, does she have a lot to say. 

How do I tell her?

How can she know, I am the mother I never had?

Oh, but wait. 

This is her story, not mine. 

I was 30 hours into labor when my midwife dropped that truth bomb on me. 

“This is not your story, Lauren. It’s hers.”

Good God. 

Nice to know, now. 

I gave birth to a new human.  

Not a continuation. 

Instead, our contribution.  

We try. 

We listen. 

We recognize. 

She has a lot to say. 

This is her story. 

Not ours. 

Nice to know. 

Always. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Love is Love

Posted on by Lauren

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The Great Facade

Posted on by Lauren

“It’s ok to feel your feelings.” I whispered into her ear as she sobbed.

She’s been so angry lately. 

But I knew better. 

This had nothing to do with who she is

And everything to do with what she felt. 

She was lost and anger was the easiest path.  

Let’s be real. 

It’s easier to be angry than it is to admit you’re vulnerable and wounded. 

The Great Facade.

Camille Vaughan Photography

Count On

Posted on by Lauren

“If there’s one thing we can always count on,”  I explain to my daughter, “it’s change.”

No matter how much we wish we could freeze time or return to the way things were before, change is inevitable.  

We may not be able to force the way things change, but we are able to control how we respond to it.  

Entering her first year of middle school, my eldest daughter is enduring a lot of change that frankly, she’s not a huge fan of.  

Riding the school bus for the first time, switching classes that are much larger than elementary and the loss of the familiarity of her previous school.  

Change is hard, for better or worse.  

In these beginning moments of great change, her emotions are running hot and cold. The smallest of problems are monumental.  It reminds me of a conversation I had with her when she was just four years old. 

I had just given birth to our third daughter, resulting in me leaving my two and four year old to play on their own while I nursed their baby sister to sleep.  

They would barge in with battles over a toy or to ask if they could have some pretzels, waking the baby from her near slumber.  


It was time for an intervention. 

I sat them both down and discussed the difference between “Big Problems” and “Little Problems”. I actually recorded it so that I could share it with my friends and I’m so glad I did because there’s a precious moment when the lightbulb goes off in my four year-old’s head.  She got it.  

Big problems are when you are bleeding, someone is at the door or there’s a bonafide emergency. Little problems are snack requests or arguments over toys. 

The same still holds true. Sometimes in moments of stress and vulnerability, even the smallest problems seem overwhelming. But if we take a moment to stop and really think, we realize they aren’t so life-threatening after all. 

Recognizing the difference is the first step.  

Adapting is the next. 

Forgotten materials and missed assignments are challenging, but fixable. 

Changing schools is hard but not insurmountable.  

The sooner we anticipate and roll with change, the less anxious we will feel. 

“There’s another thing you can count on.”I whisper to her as I tuck her into bed.

“Me.”  

Camille Vaughan Photography

Far

Posted on by Lauren

I spent the better part of my first forty years desperate for others to understand how far I’ve come from where I started. 

Surely, they’d respect and understand me more?

But now I know, we all have stories, untold. 

And it’s best to approach all with the grace we’ve always wished upon ourselves. 

Hold my hand. 

Lean in. 

We’ve come so far. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Barbie

Posted on by Lauren

I just experienced the Barbie movie.

And I’m shook. 

It moved me to tears.  

This movie was masterfully made. 

Funny, thought-provoking and meaningful. 

The set design was epic. 

The cast, impeccable. 

The humanity- relatable. 

 A mother and her “tween” daughter at odds who ultimately work together to help Barbie and her land find their purpose. 

America Ferrera’s speech to “wake up” the barbies: “I’m just so tired of watching myself, and every single other woman, tie herself into knots so that people will like us.”

Me too, Barbie. 

Me too.  

Privilege

Posted on by Lauren

I had been in labor for 37 hours when my mom entered the room and walked straight to my husband, with a breakfast sandwich, exclaiming, “You must be so tired.”

My husband was so confused.

She had not acknowledged me or the baby. 

And I guess that’s what I want people to know. 

Privilege comes in many forms. 

Imagine sand.

Some of us build from a deeper hole. 

And yet, we’re on the same team. 

Image by Amara Minnis

Friendship

Posted on by Lauren

Friendship break-ups are the worst. 

I’ve been having this conversation with one of my daughters on the reg lately.

Listening to podcasts, reading books. 

Explaining that I’m thrice her age and still figuring it out myself. 

Suddenly, your people aren’t your people anymore. 

What’s a girl to do?

Find new people.

Rescue

Posted on by Lauren

My daughter almost drowned today.

She’s a strong swimmer and had spent the past 7.5 hours in and out of the ocean.

It was the last ten minutes of our day on the beach, when she swam out to retrieve her sister. 

Her daddy was walking towards the trash cans.

I was 100 yards away, in my chair, recognizing that she was no longer on the sand bar but being pulled by the current. 

Only her head was visible when I started to run.  

She climbed onto me as I swam parallel to the shore, out of the current and into safety. 

Adrenaline coursed through my body as a lifeguard pulled up on his four wheeler.

“Nice rescue.” He offered. 

Apparently, as he tossed our trash into the can, my husband heard the guards talking on the stand about a mom running to her child

He turned and saw Emma in my arms.

“My God.”  He shook his head in disbelief. 

“Thank God you were watching.  I turned my back for just a second.”

And that’s how long it takes for someone to drown.  

It’s only been a few hours, but I can tell my relationship with my third-born has changed. 

She looks at me differently.

She has struggled with feeling overshadowed by her big sisters and replaced by her health-demanding youngest. 

Today, she felt seen. 

She’d been rescued.  

And it was by me.

Camille Vaughan Photography