Mom

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

Peace

Posted on by Lauren

At first, a thread. 

Then, the seam. 

Piece by piece, 

My unraveling.

Not the sort you might think:

My pretty dress, favorite shirt. 

Instead, my knots. 

My tension, stress, anxiety.  

Bit-by-bit, 

Loosening.  

Letting go. 

They are all off to school.  

I said no to volunteering. 

And here I am. 

Unraveling the last dozen years. 

There was a moment when I considered adding to the size of this knot.

More money, more things, more praise.

Instead, 

Less. 

Unraveling.

Piece to Peace.

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

Electricity

Posted on by Lauren

The crowd gathered round. 

Electricity. 

You could feel it in the air and we all wanted to witness.

Most didn’t know what for but I knew. 

These were my parents. 

Illicit lovers so long ago. 

Not meant to be forever. 

But meant to make and love me. 

Years passed but their magnetism never did. 

If only we could all be so lucky to love, at least once 

Just like that. 

Captain

Posted on by Lauren

They were my island. 

My safe haven from the rushing waters. 

In time, the shoreline shrank, leaving me grasping for olive branches. 

I had a choice to make. 

Do I stay, hoping and praying for the island to return?

Instead, I let go. 

Allowing the current to take me. 

I built my own boat from the surrounding pieces of my life. 

And found myself stronger than ever. 

The Captain. 

Dee Akright Photography

Inside

Posted on by Lauren

He said, “I wasn’t sure you still had it in you. You’ve been inside so much.”

I laughed.

Oh, you think?

You think I’ve been inside a lot the last 12 years of raising our children?

Yes.

I’ve been inside cooking meals and folding laundry. 

I’ve been inside doctor’s offices and school buildings. 

I’ve been inside the heart of our family. 

But please don’t lose sight of me. 

My soul has always lived outdoors. 

I’m still here. 

I’ve been here all along.  

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