Parenting

Anchor

Posted on by Lauren

When I tell you I’m having a real time with one of my daughters, I mean I am having a real time. 

I liken the reward of raising her to pouring water into a sieve. No matter how much you give, it feels as if nothing is retained. 

And thanks to the file I retrieved when cleaning out my dad’s condo, containing every one of my report cards and conference sheets, I discovered just how very similar this daughter is to me, when I was her age. 

Now I truly understand just how hard I was to parent (sorry, mom). 

There are so many days I feel as if I have nothing left to give while simultaneously feeling guilty for feeling this way about my own child. 

Therapy helps (for both of us). So do frequent breaks to refuel my empty tank.

But what to tell myself when I feel hopeless? When it seems nothing is changed, nothing learned? 

What is my role?

My steadfast presence. 

That I stay. Even when it is hard. Especially when it’s ugly. 

That although I seemingly get very little from this current relationship, I remain an anchor for her to hold onto. 

That’s it. 

I may not see great change now or ever but I remain. 

And that’s enough. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Wild Ride

Posted on by Lauren

I wish this story had a happy ending. 

Halfway through the day, it did.

And then reality set in and instead of my nicely wrapped package with a bow, I got the messy masterpiece that is parenting. 

You see, before Christmas I grappled with whether to get my children a Nintendo.  

I never had one as a child and was always jealous of other families. 

I imagined our family playing Mario Cart and Sports. Modern bonding. 

And while that has happened, my concern over screen addiction has also come true. 

So yesterday, I put it away.  

The Nintendo, the iPads, all of the screen games took a little vacation. 

And while they moaned first thing this morning, they also quickly launched into building a fishing boat made out of giant magnatiles, complete with wooden blocks taped to refrigerator magnetic gears, used as the fish they caught.  This boat even had a toilet made out of a cardboard box, so it was legit.

We played Hungry, Hungry Hippo, they painted rocks and even reenacted “ski school”. 

All was well until just before dinner time when the Hanger (hungry anger) set in and they lost. Their. Shit. 

Without screens to distract from their impending starvation, they melted down exclaiming, “THERE’S NOTHING TO DO!”

“Well, then. I’ll just burn the house down.”  

“That seems a little extreme, mom.” 

Yea? So does your so-called starvation. 

But I digress.

Parenting is hard, y’all. 

I’m 12 years into this business and many days I just don’t feel like doing it anymore. 

I keep stumbling and getting back up. It’s thankless and sacrificial and consuming. 

It has taken so much out of me, out of us parents, as individuals. 

And yet, still I know that it has given us more. 

Our children have humbled, inspired and taught us. 

And I suppose in place of a happy ending, I instead recognize that the falls, missteps and exhaustion are all part of the journey. 

And what a wild ride it is.

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

Traverse

Posted on by Lauren

It happened gradually, so quickly.  

She changed over time, overnight.  

I thought I was prepared, but never saw it coming. 

My bedside table is stacked with parenting books, I follow counselors on social media and I listen to podcasts.

But it wasn’t until a counselor with five decades of experience said the word “stop” that I finally listened. 

Melissa Trevathan of the Raising Boys and Girls podcast often speaks “words of wisdom” in the last two-to-four minutes of each episode and in the one titled “Building Intentionality and Thoughtfulness as a Family” she explained how parenting is much like skiing. 

Sometimes you are traveling along just fine but then you hit obstacles. Our instinct is to keep going- to keep trying to figure it out as we go.  Her years of wisdom has taught her to instead, stop and reevaluate.  To form a new plan of how to tackle the difficult course ahead.  

Children, much like trails, change over time and have different needs.  Toddlers are not babies, middle schoolers are no longer elementary age and so on.  

And if we seek to parent with intentionality with the end in mind, then we must ask ourselves why did we even agree to start?

Why did we say “yes” to this parenting trail?

And how are we helping our children along the way to grow into the joyful, successful adults we all hope them to become?

As our children grow, so do we. 

When I finally took a moment to “stop” and really listen to my tween daughter’s frustrations, I saw her as another young human instead of the child I was in charge of raising. 

In my mind’s eye, I moved from standing in front of her, explaining what she needed to do and stood beside her, arms linked. 

“We’re in this together.”  “I trust you.”  “You are amazing.”  

Instead of focusing on her missteps, I more audibly recognize her accomplishments.

I am actively giving her what all of us crave: acknowledgement for how far she has come and my belief in her ability to succeed.  

My daughter became a tween and although I tip my hat to those who have journeyed before me, I refuse to accept the warnings that “I’m in for it”.  

Instead, I stop.  I reevaluate my course. 

And my daughters and I traverse this mountain together.  

Grounded

Posted on by Lauren

Dear Daughter,

As your grandfather reaches the end of his life, I find myself craving more. 

More time.  More information.  What was his life really like?  How did he come to be who he is today?

So, I figured I’d make it a little easier on you. 

I was born in the early 1980s, when TVs still had antennas, or as we liked to call them: rabbit ears.

If the show was fuzzy, I had to get up and move the rabbit ears to try and get the station back in tune.  

There was no remote. Instead, I had to get up and turn the knob for the very few channels available to us.  

There was no choosing what we wanted to watch.  We watched what the stations offered.

Sometime in the 1990s, we got a tv with a remote and cable which offered a lot more channels.  Still, we found out what was playing by reading the newspaper, The Virginian Pilot, which printed a schedule of shows by the hour.  

I vividly remember channel 99 because we didn’t “subscribe” to that channel but there was a lot of moaning and an occasional boob or two amidst the fuzziness- chaotic, zig-zag lines that perpetually moved down the screen so you couldn’t get a clear view.  I was equally confused and fascinated, wondering what these people were doing. 

Yikes. Now, I know. 

My grandmother had a rotary phone- one where the numbers were displayed in a circle formation and you rotated the dial on the front for each number.  I loved it when someone had a nine in their number because I got to move the dial almost a full 360 degrees!  

We had a phone with a very long cord so that my teenage sisters could walk into another room from the kitchen and close the door to have their private conversations.  

Sometime in the 1990s, the “sneaker phone” was all the rage and boy, you know I had one, too!  It looked like a shoe but was actually a phone (with a cord of course)!  That was the bees knees.  

When I heard a song on the radio that I loved, I had to quickly find a blank cassette tape to record the song if I wanted to be able to hear it again.  Cassette tapes were four inch long plastic cases that held magnetic recording tape.  Sometimes, I accidentally recorded over another song that I loved and there was no going back.  Once it was replaced, it was gone.  

I lost many a tragic recordings to this oversight. 

I also eventually got a boombox that had TWO cassette tape players, which meant I could copy one tape to the other, making “mix tapes” for my friends.  I would create a playlist of my favorite songs, decorate the plastic cover, paper insert and plastic case and give it to them as a  sign of my love and friendship.  It took a long time, so it was a gift from the heart.  

The same went for movies.  We had VHS tapes, not DVDs.  If you wanted to jump to a certain part of the movie, you had to fast-forward.  If you wanted to go back and re-watch, you had to rewind.  It wasn’t as easy as choosing a “scene”, so you really had to want it to make the effort. 

I think that’s what I’m learning from my dad. 

He was born in 1931. 

Everything took more effort, then. 

And even in the 1980s, things took more time. 

Now, it’s faster. 

And yet, I frequently feel the need to slow down. 

Your dad, born in the 1970s, really works hard to keep you all grounded. 

To keep you playing outside.  

Often shoeless. 

So, when things feel too fast.  

Cast off those shoes. 

Head outside. 

Remember where you came from.  

And slow down.  

Dear Daughter,

Stay grounded.  

Hide

Posted on by Lauren

“Are you going to hide them?” My friend asked. 

Well, shit.  

That hadn’t even occurred to me.  

Top of the closet?  Under the bed?

Um, actually, no. 

I have nothing to hide. 

The bottom drawer of my bedside table is full of awesome adult toys and if one or more of my four daughters has the audacity to peek, well then. . . . be careful of what you search for. 

“That’s private.”  I explained to my daughter. 

Case closed. 

But much like when my eldest was no longer content with the minimal basics of procreation, I will never choose to keep my children in the dark. 

We are a home that uses correct terminology. 

Penis.  Vagina.  Breasts.

NOT- wee-wee, hoo-ha, or boobies.

There’s nothing shameful about our anatomy. 

And the sooner we embrace that, the sooner we set ourselves free. 

Fun fact:

After teaching elementary school, I was a Pure Romance Consultant for four years. 

My company’s motto was:  Empower, Educate, Entertain.

And I thrived. 

I walked into a room full of women and quickly thawed the tension with humor. 

I enlightened them with facts I had learned from professors at conferences at Indiana University, the leader in Sexual Health. 

And then I empowered them to own their bodies.  

To ask me questions when we were just one-on-one

And release their fear and shame.

I won’t stop now. 

My daughters will be well-informed.  

Empowered.  Educated.  Entertained (later). 

Nothing to hide.  

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. 

The Inevitable

Posted on by Lauren
Camille Vaughan Photography

They keep calling and I keep putting it off. 

The inevitable. 

It took so long for us to get to this point- 

Photo by Amara Minnis

A place where, although still heavily restricted, we at least know what we are dealing with. 

For three years, feeding Elizabeth was a game of Russian roulette.  

Try a new food and wait 2-4 hours to see if she begins to vomit. Sometimes until her body goes into shock. 

Repeat for the next fourteen days because she could pass the first few trials and fail the seventh attempt.  

Such is the life of a child with FPIES- Food Protein Induced Enterocolitis, a nightmare of an intestinal allergy with no formal testing other than eating the food and seeing what happens.  

Pair that with IgE mediated allergies to dairy, eggs and peanuts, throw a gluten intolerance that triggers severe eczema on top of it and you have our fourth baby girl.

Our little warrior, who in her first few years, endured misery. 

The ocean water burned Elizabeth’s skin so badly during our family photo shoot, we had to stop. Camille Vaughan Photography

No wonder she was growth restricted in the womb!  No wonder she didn’t just spit up but vomited after each nursing session!  No wonder she never slept and always cried.  The foods I was eating were her triggers and I had. No. Idea. 

I eliminated all major allergens and lost twenty pounds in my attempts to continue to nurse her only years later to find out that the avocado I was surviving on was one of her triggers.  

It took batteries of tests, UV light therapy and trial-and-error with her diet to realize her horrific head-to-toe eczema was caused by wheat.  Steroid creams, nightly wet-wraps, and baths with me at 2 o’clock in the morning in desperate attempts to provide relief, even if temporary.  

Yes, I keep putting it off because if I’m being honest, I don’t want to go back there. 

I am running away as fast as I can from those awful memories, from the trauma that was raising baby Elizabeth.  

But without risk we become stagnant.  

Her diet never evolves and we never know, unless we try . . . 

And so I finally take the call. 

I set the date. 

And I wait. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

This is the first of many in-office food challenges for Elizabeth because she has so many FPIES fails: rice, sweet potato, beef, avocado, peanuts, and quinoa just to name a few.  

But in a few weeks we begin with rice. 

The first challenge: getting her to agree to eat a cup of the food. 

A child with food allergies learns to become wary of any new food not previously deemed “safe” so I’ve had to start having conversations with her about trying this new food further adding to my guilt. 

What if she fails?

What if I convince her to eat it all and she begins to vomit?

What will that do to her trust in me?

How will I stand myself?

I’ve held her limp, near lifeless body in my arms after an FPIES fail.  I’ve helped load her onto a stretcher and into an ambulance at just 9 months-old.  I’ve witnessed my husband and babysitter administer an Epipen three times while on the phone with 911.  

I don’t want to go back there. 

And yet, here we are. 

Facing the trauma.  

Looking beyond the wave of fear with the hope of passing and swimming in the deep richness of food variety with her sisters.  

Hold my hand, baby girl.  

Here we go!

Camille Vaughan Photography

Stronger

Posted on by Lauren

Hold. My. Hand.

Let’s do this together. 

Lord knows, in these days we are ready to assign the responsibility. 

It’s somebody else’s. 

And yet, it so. isn’t. 

It’s still ours.

So, hold my hand. 

Walk with me. 

To your back bedroom, with the scary closet. 

To your government, with the problem. 

Let us not wait for somebody else to address it. 

Let us, instead, hold hands and walk together. 

For, always, we are stronger, together. 

https://www.everytown.org

Camille Vaughan Photography