Family

Next Chapter

Posted on by Lauren

Lately, I’ve experienced a growing sense of dissatisfaction. 

In time, I’ve come to realize it’s directly related to the challenges associated with raising children.

I’ve spent the past 15 years pouring into my daughters. 

Emmett and I filled out that initial diaper/feeding chart with such detail, left breast/right breast xx number of minutes, our pediatrician laughed out loud when we proudly handed it over at Aurora’s first office visit. 

We attended over 70 hours of parenting and childbirth classes. We weren’t just going to be parents. We were going to be amazing parents. 

Fast forward fifteen years and four children. I feel like, somehow, in my intention to get it all right, I’ve gotten it all wrong. 

My mom worked and traveled, missing a lot of my childhood along the way. I vowed to do it differently so I quit my job and stayed home- signing up for every library, music and mommy-and-me art class available. I had memberships to the zoo, aquarium and museum and took our girls regularly. I faithfully joined a stroller strides exercise class so that not only could I remain healthy, but I could do it with my children, modeling for them what it means to take care of yourself, while still mothering. 

I created “The Gift of Time” for my girls. Handwriting 48 envelopes, one for each month for each girl with an activity they could choose to do with just mom or dad, no sisters to ensure they felt seen and appreciated as an individual. 

I didn’t just throw birthday parties- I threw over-the-top themed birthday parties with creative games and decor. I took them on special trips out of town- just one-on-one with mom to spend quality time and create lasting memories. 

And I LOVED it. I loved planning those parties and trips and spending time in class with them. I shared with them my love of reading and writing, nature and adventure, reveling in the wonder of it all. 

And yet, here I am. They are 8, 10, 12 and 14 and the magic of parenting is dissipating. 

I’ve come to the awful realization that in my attempt to heal myself, I poured into my children. 

And guess what? 

Spoiler alert: they are human. 

They are not just some extension of me and Emmett but a whole new individual with their own strengths, weaknesses, and ideas. 

When they talk back to me, I’m so hurt and offended. All I see is the little girl whose hand I held as we browsed books along the library shelves. Meanwhile, they are just testing boundaries and setting their own.

They don’t remember the mommy-and-me art classes or hours spent in the swing as my arm nearly fell off from pushing. They are fully living in the here and now with very minimal ability to reflect on and appreciate the idyllic childhood Emmett and I have provided them.

I now recognize that although it’s still my responsibility to nurture and care for these beautiful children, it’s essential that I not neglect nurture and care for myself. 

I do believe that each and every human is blessed with unique, God-given gifts. It’s our job to tap into those gifts and share them with the world. 

And while I think each of my daughters is spectacular in their own, amazing way, I know that is not my only contribution to the greater world (nor would they ever want the weight of that expectation!). 

My girls are growing. 

The reality is, they don’t need me like they used to. 

And before our nest empties, I need to take the time to figure out what’s next for me and for us, as a couple. 

Of course, that takes thought and time that I do not readily have available (going on 27 interruptions as I write this article). 

But perhaps the simple act of awareness is a start. 

It’s the knowing that there’s more to this story. 

New Leaf Parenting. 

Every day is a fresh start. 

Here’s to the next chapter. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Audacity

Posted on by Lauren

It’s finally sinking in. 

My first born is off to high school tomorrow. 

It seemed so far away until it was just around the corner. 

I recognize that Emmett and I are approaching the phase of parenting where everything suddenly speeds up. She’s home and then she’s gone. 

And we’re left wondering, did we treasure it enough?

Did we pause and let it soak through our soul?

Is she going to be ok? Is she ready? Did we parent her well?

I’m overcome with emotion because I know the answers are YES. 

She, nor any of us, may ever feel ready but she’s going to be ok (come what may) because Aurora is a child of great faith. 

I’m the public school teacher but my first born has taught me more than I may have ever taught my students. 

She has humbled me and delighted me. She has made me laugh and cry. But more than anything she has blown me away with her audacity. 

As the first born, she’s had the unfortunate task of paving the way for her sisters. First to grapple with social norms, bus rides and mature friendships. First for us to parent through cell phones, sleepovers and curfews. Onward she trudged through middle school, despite longing for the comfort of her teachers in elementary. And when her three sisters had gymnastics in common, Aurora found her place in volleyball. 

Last year, she picked up the acoustic guitar and taught herself dozens of popular songs, spending hours playing and singing. She joined chorus at school and when the track music suddenly stopped during her first solo on stage in front of hundreds, she laughed and carried on, finishing strong. 

Most impressively, Aurora has brought our family to faith. 

For years, Aurora went to church with neighbors who picked her up on their way. Alone, she showed up, joining the youth group, slowly but surely finding her footing. Emmett and I witnessed this beautiful child blossom into a confident young teen. Her joy was infectious. Her songs became worship.

After a while, we started to wonder what this church was all about. How had it taken such a hold of our child?

So we started to attend. Cautiously, skeptically toes in the water we’re finding our way back to church with our first born to thank. 

Her fearlessness. Her boldness. Her audacity to pave the way is how I know she will be ok. 

My talented, intelligent, gorgeous first born is off to high school tomorrow and while it feels monumental, I have nothing but great faith in her.

Camille Vaughan Photography 2016

Tough Love

Posted on by Lauren

“This is MY school. Let ME handle it.” My fourteen year-old screamed.

And hey, she isn’t wrong. It is HER education. And there’s nothing more that I want than to let her take the wheel. But that doesn’t mean that when the train starts to veer off the tracks, I’m not going to hop in and remind her of the course ahead. 

It’s the end of the school year- the end of middle school for our oldest. She’s drained and done. Unfortunately for her, there’s still a solid week of school left, so even though she’s mentally checked out, the reality is, she’s still on the clock. 

We are not a Straight A household. Some might argue we are selling our kids short by not setting the bar extremely high but Emmett and I highly value quality of life. We do not want our kids stressing over getting a 97. Instead, we expect a strong work ethic, core values of honesty and kindness and an adventurous spirit that loves to have fun. 

When assignments are missing for no good reason other than “I didn’t feel like it” or “It’s stupid”, privileges like cell phones magically start going missing, too. This is not fun. It’s not fun for us and it’s surely not fun for our daughter. But I feel it’s the most important lesson we can teach our kids. 

Here’s the bar. If you miss it, try again. If you still miss it, give it another go- your privileges will be waiting. 

As a teacher, I see an epidemic of kids who do not know how to handle disappointment or failure. Today’s parents want to spare their children the tough love they were given. As a result, our kids are coddled. They fail to launch because what’s the incentive when they’ve got food, shelter and electronics for free?

I’m saying: “Not in my house.” Here’s the bar. It’s not set to an impossible level. But it’s there and I do expect you to meet it, if you want to retain your privileges (which, by the way, our lives are already privileged compared to the masses). 

Call me mean. Call me strict. I call it Love. I love you so much, I’m not going to let you give up. 

It’s tough, but so are you, my darling. 

Tough love. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Granny’s Farm

Posted on by Lauren

Today was a most difficult day for our family.

Today we said our final goodbye to Granny’s farm.

My in-laws home was so much more than just any-old-house.

Designed and built by my father-in-law, Bill, their retirement home rests upon over 50 acres of land on the banks of Lake Mattamuskeet, a National Wildlife Refuge found 30 miles from the nearest stop light. 

The land is full of migratory birds, black bears, and deer, to name a few. Rich, black soil supports vibrant family-owned farmland as far as the eye can see. 

My mother-in-law, Betty, grew up in her grandmother’s house next door. They didn’t have electricity until she was 12 years old and used a horse before they purchased a car.

Bill was raised with his large family across the Lake. Ten years apart in age, they met shortly after Betty graduated from high school and the rest is history. 

They moved to Chesapeake, VA to give their four children more opportunities and moved right back to retire in Fairfield the second my husband graduated high school more than 30 years ago. 

Bill passed away in the home when our oldest, Aurora, was only 4 months old. Betty has remained, ever since. 

Yes, this house and its land was so much more than any-old home. 

It’s where our little family spent every single Easter and Thanksgiving. 

This is where our girls picked figs, peaches and pears in the Summer and grapes, apples and pecans in the Fall. 

This is where they learned to ride a 3-wheeler, shoot a gun, and befriend a domesticated deer named Jane Doe. 

This is the place my children bottle fed lambs and calves, where we roasted oysters over open fire and dyed easter eggs. 

Fairfield Methodist Church is where all four of our girls were baptized. It’s where they listened to their Granny play the piano and received treats for the children’s sermon. 

When I close my eyes, I feel the soft wind brush my hair. The air is filled with the scent of ripe figs so visceral, I can taste them. I hear the crunch of the pecan hulls underneath my feet and soak in the stunning sunset over the pier my husband built in the lake. 

Yes, this home is more than just any-old-house. 

It’s a symphony of senses. 

It’s a holder of some of our family’s most precious memories that we will carry with us for a lifetime. 

Today we said our final goodbye to Granny’s farm. 

Forever we will say thank you. 

The Greatest Gift

Posted on by Lauren

“You need to tell her. You need to get into your car right now, go over there and tell her.” my husband encouraged. 

It was the eve of my birthday. We were on our front porch and I had just read aloud a letter I’d found while cleaning out my father’s condo. Apparently, he had kept a file for each of his children. In mine I found every report card, parent/teacher conference record and a collection of letters. 

What a treasure trove of memories this was for me to dive deeply into. 

But the one dated December 11, 1987 left me breathless.

If you’ve followed my blog, then you know the story of my beginning. I am the illegitimate love- child of a long-term affair. My parents worked together but no one suspected, not even after I was born. My older sisters, who also worked with my parents, knew me as “Pam’s daughter” but did not learn I was their half-sister until I was three. 

My mother was a powerful business woman. She was charismatic, magnetic, and inspiring. She meant much to many across the entire country but it was me, who wanted her attention the most. 

I spent so many years of my life resentful and angry for the time she’d spent building her career in place of a closer relationship with me. Now that I have a daughter very similar to me, when I was a child, I understand how challenging it must have been to forge that relationship. I didn’t make it easy. 

I finished this letter and instantaneously, my anger evaporated leaving nothing but remorse in its wake. 

I desperately wanted to call her and tell her how sorry I was for failing to recognize the love she had held for me my entire life. I was so busy focusing on her shortcomings that, as a result, I completely missed her devotion and steadfast love. 

My mother advocated for me. She encouraged my father to maintain a relationship with me not just in this letter but in other letters I found in the file: inviting him to conferences, recording my thoughts to him pen-to-paper when I could not yet write. 

How could I ever thank her enough for that gift? The gift of the presence of my father? 

What if I had found this after her death and had never apologized? 

What if my father hadn’t kept these letters for me to one day find?

But he did and she’s still here and my husband willed me to go to her. 

I couldn’t get a hold of her until the next day but when she answered, I started by telling her how much I loved her followed immediately by how sorry I was for remaining angry with her for so long. I thanked her for loving me anyway, in spite of my anger. For never giving up on me. Not then and not now. 

It was my birthday. 

And it was the greatest gift I’ve ever received. 

Love, forgiveness, and gratitude. 

Sums

Posted on by Lauren

“You don’t know what it’s like to be ME!” she cries.  

No, my darling. 

Not one of us knows what it is like to be you.

Or to be anyone else for that matter. 

And I think, 

That about sums it up. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Shine

Posted on by Lauren

Recently, I was told that I am “overwhelming” and “exhausting”. 

And the thing is:  it’s not untrue. 

I am 100% both of those things. 

I live life fast and furiously, never wanting to miss a moment or waste a day- including days with zero plans because those often offer the best unplanned fun.  

And I document them!  

Boy, do I document them. 

Because I never want to forget.

But in my hard-life-living, I’ve also experienced personal casualties and wondered, 

“What’s wrong with me?” 

“Am I too much?”

“Am I not enough?”

The doubt creeps in and for a minute I think, “Yes, I should be smaller.”

Then, I remember a poem read to me by a speaker at a conference:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light, not our darkness
That most frightens us.

We ask ourselves
Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?
You are a child of God.

Your playing small
Does not serve the world.
There’s nothing enlightened about shrinking
So that other people won’t feel insecure around you.

We are all meant to shine,
As children do.
We were born to make manifest
The glory of God that is within us.

It’s not just in some of us;
It’s in everyone.

And as we let our own light shine,
We unconsciously give other people permission to do the same.
As we are liberated from our own fear,
Our presence automatically liberates others.

—Marianne Williamson

I *remember* hearing this poem for the first time and the fire that it ignited in me. 

And as a mother of four daughters, 

I’ll be damned if anyone tries to put that out. 

Our girls will not accept mediocrity, if I have anything to do with it. 

They will strive for their best and nothing less.  

And you know why?

Because they are worth it!

Because we all are all worth it!

And because, as the poem says, we are all better when we let our light shine. 

Giving permission for others to shine, too.  

I considered shrinking 

And then I thought better of it.  

Instead, I shine. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Value

Posted on by Lauren

“What do you love about me?” I asked him, directly. 

And I don’t mean my mothering or wifely duties. 

Or because I love you, for that matter.

Do you see me?

Do you value me?

Anybody can sweep this under the rug.

But not me. 

And guess what?

That’s what makes me, me. 

I’ve been through enough that 

I’m not afraid.

To ask the hard questions. 

To have the difficult conversations.

Instead of filling the awkward silence,

I allow it to marinate. 

And then I remind you of who I am and how I became that person.  

How lucky we are to have one another, individually speaking.

It’s easy to get lost in a family dynamic.

But we are worth the work.

20 years go by and couples can’t remember who they married.

Well, I’ll be damned.

I’m going to tell you what I love about you. 

And I’m going to insist that you remember not only why you married me

But also my value. 

Because I am.

Valuable. Fearless.  Courageous. 

All the things that make me that great wife and mother. 

And don’t you ever forget it. 

Stay

Posted on by Lauren

She called and she said, “I don’t know what to do.”

And I said, “Here’s XY and Z.”  

All the places someone else can help.

“But here’s the truth.  

There’s no one more qualified than you.”

Listen, I have those kids.  

They need professional help.  

They need accommodations, counseling, services and meds. 

And we utilize them!

But at the end of the day, 

What do they need most?  Above all?  Since birth? In addition to God?

Me.

They need me to show up. 

Me not to punt them and their struggles for someone else to solve. 

They need me to hold their hand. 

When it’s ugly and neither of us know what the hell to do. 

They need me to just walk alongside them through it. 

I fill blanks with the qualified but I also remain steady. 

No matter what they are going through, 

I am here.

“And that’s what you do.  

You stay.”

I stay.

Camille Vaughan Photography

Just Like That

Posted on by Lauren

This one’s for all of my Empty Nesters out there. 

You think you’re ready. 

Joke as you “count down the days”.

And then, 

Just like that, 

They’re gone. 

Mine aren’t off to college

But the youngest is off to preschool this fall. 

And it’s been 10 years (and 199 days but who’s counting?)

Since I’ve been home alone. 

Let me repeat that. 

It’s been 10 and-a-half years since I’ve been home alone. 

I imagine that I will begin that first day crying and then laughing hysterically while eating ice cream in broad daylight watching inappropriate shows on Netflix. 

And on the second day . . . .

On that second day I am throwing myself a celebratory brunch because you know what?

I’ve earned it. 

And so have you. 

Take time to cry and then upon realizing that they will be just fine, 

Celebrate. 

Just like that.  

Camille Vaughan Photography