1 Corinthians 13 (Christmas Paraphrase)

~by Sharon Jaynes

If I decorate my house perfectly with lovely plaid bows, strands of twinkling lights, and shiny glass balls, but do not show love to my family - I’m just another decorator.

If I slave away in the kitchen, baking dozens of Christmas cookies, preparing gourmet meals, and arranging a beautifully adorned table at mealtime, but do not show love to my family - I’m just another cook.

If I work at the soup kitchen, carol in the nursing home, and give all that I have to charity, but do not show love to my family - It profits me nothing.

If I trim the spruce with shimmering angels and crocheted snowflakes, attend a myriad of holiday parties, and sing in the choir’s cantata but do not focus on Christ, I have missed the point.

Love stops the cooking to hug the child.
Love sets aside the decorating to kiss the husband.
Love is kind, though harried and tired.
Love doesn’t envy another home that has coordinated Christmas china and table linens.
Love doesn’t yell at the kids to get out of the way.
Love doesn’t give only to those who are able to give in return, but rejoices in giving to those who can’t.
Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, and endures all things.
Love never fails. Video games will break; pearl necklaces will be lost; golf clubs will rust. But giving the gift of love will endure.

A Christmas Reminder

His bright blue eyes were very round and sparkling. Christmas was coming!

But with it's coming, everything seemed to change.
The orderly, peaceful daily living in the home ceased; afternoon naps became irregular as the household buzzed with cookie making, housecleaning, shopping trips, and parcel wrapping. Mother had little time for her blue-eyed boy and was often impatient with him. There was practicing on this song and drilling on that "piece". There were parties, entertainments, a Santa Claus who dispensed gifts to "good little children", and late hours to bed. When Christmas night arrived, there was an overstimulated, weary, confused little boy, whose blue-eyed sparkle had disappeared.
Is this Christmas?
Is this what we covet for our children at Christmas Time?

Too often the picture described above is true to our observances in our homes, schools, and churches. The little child's Christmas experience should be of entirely different character. It should be simple and unhurried. He should have an opportunity to share something that is really his own to give and to think of the happiness of others, as well as his own desires. Times of quiet when his father or mother read to him the Christmas stories, chances to listen to beautiful Christmas music and to sing about Christmas and the Christ Child, will all nurture the child's spirit and make Christmas a holy time for him.

~author unknown

A Mother's Back to School Prayer

Here we are again, Lord. Their backpacks are loaded and their faces are scrubbed and their lunch accounts are full.

And I know you'll walk with them, Lord. You always do. But a mom still has to ask.

Will You walk with them? Will You whisper to them what they need to hear, when I'm not there to whisper it?

Will You please, Oh please, cover their school with the protection only You can give, and will You keep harm far away?

Will You make their minds strong and ready to learn? Will You help them understand that hard work honors the One who created them?

Will You guide their teachers, giving them patience and wisdom and creativity and more patience? Will You bless them for their efforts?

Will You love all those children there, the ones whose lunch accounts aren't full, the ones who feel alone? Will You teach my children to be kind and unselfish and to love those who are different from them?

Will You point them back toward home just as soon as you can?

Lord, I give them to you today and everyday, trusting them to Your care.

Amen.

The Next Survivor Series

Six married men will be dropped on an island with one car and 3 kids each for six weeks.

Each kid will play two sports and either take music or dance classes.

There is no fast food.

Each man must take care of his 3 kids; keep his assigned house clean, correct all homework, and complete science projects, cook, do laundry, and pay a list of 'pretend' bills with not enough money.

In addition, each man will have to budget in money for groceries each week.

Each man must remember the birthdays of all their friends and relatives, and send cards out on time--no emailing.

Each man must also take each child to a doctor's appointment, a dentist appointment and a haircut appointment.

He must make one unscheduled and inconvenient visit per child to the Urgent Care.

He must also make cookies or cupcakes for a social function.

Each man will be responsible for decorating his own assigned house, planting flowers outside and keeping it presentable at all times.

The men will only have access to television when the kids are asleep and all chores are done.

The men must shave their legs, wear makeup daily, adorn themselves with jewelry, wear uncomfortable yet stylish shoes, keep fingernails polished and eyebrows groomed.

During one of the six weeks, the men will have to endure severe abdominal cramps, back aches, and have extreme, unexplained mood swings but never once complain or slow down from other duties.

They must attend weekly school meetings, church, and find time at least once to spend the afternoon at the park or a similar setting.

They will need to read a book to the kids each night and in the morning, feed them, dress them, brush their teeth and comb their hair by 7:00 am.

A test will be given at the end of the six weeks, and each father will be required to know all of the following information: each child's birthday, height, weight, shoe size, clothes size and doctor's name. Also the child's weight at birth, length, time of birth, and length of labor, each child's favorite color, middle name, favorite snack, favorite song, favorite drink, favorite toy, biggest fear and what they want to be when they grow up.

The kids vote them off the island based on performance. The last man wins only if...he still has enough energy to be intimate with his spouse at a moment's notice.

If the last man does win, he can play the game over and over and over again for the next 18-25 years eventually earning the right To be called Mother!

Whew.

I'm going to bed.

Conversation with God

A baby asked God, “They tell me you are sending me to earth tomorrow, but how am I going to live there being so small and helpless?”

God said,

“Your angel will be waiting for you and will take care of you.”

The child further inquired,

“But tell me, here in heaven I don’t have to do anything but sing and smile to be happy.”

God said,

“Your angel will sing for you and will also smile for you. And you will feel your angel’s love and be very happy.”

Again the child asked,

“And how am I going to be able to understand when people talk to me if I don’t know the language?”

God said,

“Your angel will tell you the most beautiful and sweet words you will ever hear, and with much patience and care, your angel will teach you how to speak.”

“And what am I going to do when I want to talk to you?”

God said,

“Your angel will place your hands together and will teach you how to pray.”

“Who will protect me?”

God said,

“Your angel will defend you even if it means risking its life.”

“But I will always be sad because I will not see you anymore.”

God said,

“Your angel will always talk to you about Me and will teach you the way to come back to Me, even though I will always be next to you.”

At that moment there was much peace in Heaven, but voices from Earth could be heard and the child hurriedly asked, “God, if I am to leave now, please tell me my angel’s name.”

God said,

“You will simply call her, “Mom.”

Sisters

Sisters

A young wife sat on a sofa on a hot humid day, drinking iced tea and visiting with her Mother. As They talked about life, about marriage, about the responsibilities of life and the obligations of adulthood, the mother clinked the ice cubes in her glass thoughtfully and turned a clear, sober glance upon her daughter.

'Don't forget your Sisters,' she advised, swirling the tea leaves to the bottom of her glass. 'They'll be more important as you get older. No matter how much you love your husband, no matter how much you Love the children you may have, you are still going to need Sisters. Remember to go places with them now and then; do things with them.'

'Remember that 'Sisters' means ALL the women... Your girlfriends, your daughters, and all your other women relatives too. 'You'll need other women. Women always do.'

What a funny piece of advice!' the young woman thought. Haven't I just gotten married? Haven't I just joined the couple-world? I'm now a married woman, for goodness sake! A grownup! Surely my husband and the family we may start will be all I need to make my life worthwhile!'

But she listened to her Mother. She kept contact with her Sisters and made more women friends each year. As the years tumbled by, one after another, she gradually came to understand that her Mom really knew what she was talking about. As time and nature work their changes and their mysteries upon a woman, Sisters are the mainstays of her life.

After more than 50 years of living in this world, here is what I've
learned:

THIS SAYS IT ALL:

Time passes.
Life happens.
Distance separates.
Children grow up.
Jobs come and go.
Love waxes and wanes.
Men don't do what they're supposed to do.
Hearts break.
Parents die.
Colleagues forget favors.
Careers end.
BUT.........

Sisters are there, no matter how much time and how many miles are between you. A girlfriend is never farther away than needing her can reach.

When you have to walk that lonesome valley and you have to walk it by yourself, the women in your life will be on the valley's rim, cheering you on, praying for you, pulling for you, intervening on your behalf, and waiting with open arms at the valley's' end.

Sometimes, they will even break the rules and walk beside you...Or come in and carry you out.

Girlfriends, daughters, granddaughters, Daughters-in-law, sisters,
sisters-in-law, Mothers, Grandmothers, aunties, nieces, cousins, and extended family, all bless our life!

The world wouldn't be the same without women, and neither would I. When we began this adventure called Womanhood, we had no idea of the incredible joys or sorrows that lay ahead. Nor did we know how much we would need each other.

Every day, we need each other still.

PEACE

Purposefully

Embracing

All

Circumstances

Everyday

I don’t have control and never will. When I purposefully embrace all the circumstances that God allows to come into my life, and accept that He has allowed them according to His perfect plan to accomplish His purposes, then I can experience the freedom He intended and experience the peace that passes all understanding. Try peace God’s way today! It may not be what you expected, but I can testify that His peace is truly perfect peace.
Author unknown

To Be A Mom . . .

We are sitting at lunch one day when my daughter casually mentions that she and her husband are thinking of "starting a family."

"We're taking a survey," she says half-joking. "Do you think I should have a baby?"

"It will change your life," I say, carefully keeping my tone neutral. "I know," she says, "no more sleeping in on weekends, no more spontaneous vacations..."

But that is not what I meant at all. I look at my daughter, trying to decide what to tell her. I want her to know what she will never learn in childbirth classes.

I want to tell her that the physical wounds of child bearing will heal, but becoming a mother will leave her with an emotional wound so raw that she will forever be vulnerable.

I consider warning her that she will never again read a newspaper without asking, "What if that had been MY child?" That every plane crash, every house fire will haunt her. That when she sees pictures of starving children, she will wonder if anything could be worse than watching your child die.

I look at her carefully manicured nails and stylish suit and think that no matter how sophisticated she is, becoming a mother will reduce her to the primitive level of a bear protecting her cub. That an urgent call of "Mom!" will cause her to drop a soufflé or her best crystal without a moment's hesitation.

I feel that I should warn her that no matter how many years she has invested in her career, she will be professionally derailed by motherhood. She might arrange for childcare, but one day she will be going into an important business meeting and she will think of her baby's sweet smell. She will have to use every ounce of discipline to keep from running home, just to make sure her baby is all right.

I want my daughter to know that every day decisions will no longer be routine. That a five year old boy's desire to go to the men's room rather than the women's at McDonald's will become a major dilemma. That
right there, in the midst of clattering trays and screaming children, issues of independence and gender identity will be weighed against the prospect that a child molester may be lurking in that restroom.

However decisive she may be at the office, she will second-guess herself constantly as a mother. Looking at my attractive daughter, I want to assure her that eventually she will shed the pounds of pregnancy, but she will never feel the same about herself. That her life, now so important, will be of less value to her once she has a child. That she would give it up in moment to save her offspring, but will also begin to hope for more years not to accomplish her own dreams, but to watch her child accomplish theirs.

I want her to know that a cesarean scar or shiny stretch marks will become badges of honor. My daughter's relationship with her husband will change, but not in the way she thinks.

I wish she could understand how much more you can love a man who is careful to powder the baby or who never hesitates to play with his child. I think she should know that she will fall in love with him again for reasons she would now find very unromantic.

I wish my daughter could sense the bond she will feel with women throughout history who have tried to stop war, prejudice and drunk driving.

I hope she will understand why I can think rationally about most issues, but become temporarily insane when I discuss the threat of nuclear war to my children's future.

I want to describe to my daughter the exhilaration of seeing your child learn to ride a bike. I want to capture for her the belly laugh of a baby who is touching the soft fur of a dog or cat for the first time. I want her to taste the joy that is so real it actually hurts.

My daughter's quizzical look makes me realize that tears have formed in my eyes. "You'll never regret it," I finally say.

Then I reached across the table, squeezed my daughter's hand and offered a silent prayer for her, and for me, and for all the mere mortal women who stumble their way into this most wonderful of callings.

This blessed gift from God... that of being a Mother.

Too Funny

On Being Mom

On Being Mom

by Anna Quindlen

If not for the photographs, I might have a hard time believing they ever existed. The pensive infant with the swipe of dark bangs and the blackbutton eyes of a Raggedy Andy doll. The placid baby with the yellow ringlets and the high piping voice. The sturdy toddler with the lower lip that curled into an apostrophe above her chin.

ALL MY BABIES are gone now. I say this not in sorrow but in disbelief. I take great satisfaction in what I have today: three almost-adults, two taller than I am, one closing in fast. Three people who read the same books I do and have learned not to be afraid of disagreeing with me in their opinion of them, who sometimes tell vulgar jokes that make me laugh until I choke and cry, who need razor blades and shower gel and privacy, who want to keep their doors closed more than I like. Who, miraculously, go to the bathroom, zip up their jackets and move food from plate to mouth all by themselves. Like the trick soap I bought for the bathroom with a rubber ducky at its center, the baby is buried deep within each, barely discernible except through the unreliable haze of the past.

Everything in all the books I once pored over is finished for me now. Penelope Leach., T. Berry Brazelton., Dr. Spock. The ones on sibling rivalry and sleeping through the night and early-childhood education, all grown obsolete. Along with Goodnight Moon and Where the Wild Things Are, they are battered, spotted, well used. But I suspect that if you flipped the pages dust would rise like memories.

What those books taught me, finally, and what the women on the playground taught me, and the well-meaning relations --what they taught me was that they couldn't really teach me very much at all.

Raising children is presented at first as a true-false test, then becomes multiple choice, until finally, far along, you realize that it is an endless essay. No one knows anything. One child responds well to positive reinforcement, another can be managed only with a stern voice and a timeout.

One boy is toilet trained at 3, his brother at 2. When my first child was born, parents were told to put baby to bed on his belly so that he would not choke on his own spit-up. By the time my last arrived, babies were put down on their backs because of research on sudden infant death syndrome. To a new parent this ever-shifting certainty is terrifying, and then soothing. Eventually you must learn to trust yourself. Eventually the research will follow.

I remember 15 years ago poring over one of Dr. Brazelton's wonderful books on child development, in which he describes three different sorts of infants: average, quiet, and active. I was looking for a sub-quiet codicil for an 18-month-old who did not walk. Was there something wrong with his fat little legs? Was there something wrong with his tiny little mind? Was he developmentally delayed, physically challenged? Was I insane? Last year he went to China. Next year he goes to college. He can talk just fine. He can walk,too.

Every part of raising children is humbling, too. Believe me, mistakes were made. They have all been enshrined in the Remember-When-Mom-Did-Hall-of-Fame. The outbursts, the temper tantrums, the bad language, mine, not theirs. The times the baby fell off the bed. The times I arrived late for preschool pickup. The nightmare sleepover. The horrible summer camp. The day when the youngest came barreling out of the classroom with a 98 on her geography test, and I responded, "What did you get wrong?" (She insisted I included that.) The time I ordered food at the McDonald's drive-through speaker and then drove away without picking it up from the window. (They all insisted I included that.) I did not allow them to watch the Simpsons for the first two seasons. What was I thinking?

But the biggest mistake I made is the one that most of us make while doing this. I did not live in the moment enough. This is particularly clear now that the moment is gone, captured only in photographs. There is one picture of the three of them sitting in the grass on a quilt in the shadow of the swing set on a summer day, ages 6, 4 and 1. And I wish I could remember what we ate, and what we talked about, and how they sounded, and how they looked when they slept that night. I wish I had not been in such a hurry to get on to the next thing: dinner, bath, book, bed. I wish I had treasured the doing a little more and the getting it done a little less.

Even today I'm not sure what worked and what didn't, what was me and what was simply life. When they were very small, I suppose I thought someday they would become who they were because of what I'd done. Now I suspect they simply grew into their true selves because they demanded in a thousand ways that I back off and let them be.

The books said to be relaxed and I was often tense, matter-of-fact and I was sometimes over the top. And look how it all turned out. I wound up with the three people I like best in the world, who have done more than anyone to excavate my essential humanity. That's what the books never told me.

I was bound and determined to learn from the experts.

It just took me a while to figure out who the experts were.

Mom's Christmas Wish List

Author anonymous

Dear Santa,

I've been a good mom all year. I've fed, cleaned and cuddled my children on demand, visited the doctor's office more than my doctor and sold sixty-two cases of candy bars to raise money to plant a shade tree on the school playground. I was hoping you could spread my list out over several Christmases, since I had to write this letter with my son's red crayon, on the back of a receipt in the laundry room between cycles, and who knows when I'll find any more free time in the next 18 years.

Here are my Christmas wishes:

I'd like a pair of legs that don't ache (in any color, except purple, which I already have) and arms that don't hurt or flap in the breeze, but are strong enough to pull my screaming child out of the candy aisle in the grocery store.

I'd also like a waist, since I lost mine somewhere in the seventh month of my last pregnancy.

If you're hauling big ticket items this year I'd like fingerprint resistant windows and a radio that only plays adult music, a television that doesn't broadcast any programs containing talking animals, and a refrigerator with a secret compartment behind the crisper where I can hide to talk on the phone.

On the practical side, I could use a talking doll that says, "Yes, Mommy" to boost my parental confidence, along with two kids who don't fight and three pairs of jeans that will zip all the way up without the use of power tools.

I could also use a recording of Tibetan monks chanting "Don't eat in the living room" and "Take your hands off your brother," because my voice seems to be just out of my children's hearing range and can only be heard by the dog.

If it's too late to find any of these products, I'd settle for enough time to brush my teeth and comb my hair in the same morning, or the luxury of eating food warmer than room temperature without it being served in a Styrofoam container.

If you don't mind, I could also use a few Christmas miracles to brighten the holiday season. Would it be too much trouble to declare ketchup a vegetable? It will clear my conscience immensely. It would be helpful if you could coerce my children to help around the house without demanding payment as if they were the bosses of an organized crime family.

Well, Santa, the buzzer on the dryer is calling and my son saw my feet under the laundry room door. I think he wants his crayon back. Have a safe trip and remember to leave your wet boots by the door and come in and dry off so you don't catch cold.

Help yourself to cookies on the table but don't eat too many or leave crumbs on the carpet.

Yours Always,

MOM

P.S. One more thing...you can cancel all my requests if you can keep my children young enough to believe in Santa.

If you give a Mom a muffin...

If you give a mom a muffin...

She'll want a strong cup of coffee to go with it; She'll make herself some.

Her three-year-old will spill the coffee; She'll wipe it up.

While wiping the floor she'll find dirty socks.

She'll remember she has to do laundry.

When she puts the laundry in the washer, she'll trip over boots and bump into the box of Goodwill items.

Bumping into the Goodwill items will remind her that she has to get these boxes out of her basement and into the car.

When she puts the boxes in the car, she'll find a bag of groceries and this will remind her she has to cook dinner.

She will get out the chicken defrosting in the fridge.

She'll look for her cookbook, "101 Things To Do With Chicken".

The cookbook will be sitting under a pile of mail.

She will see the Netflix movie she's meant to send back and the phone bill, which is due tomorrow.

The checkbook will be in her purse that is being dumped out by her one-year-old.

As she bends down to rescue her purse, she'll smell something funny.

She'll change the baby's diaper.

While she is throwing away the diaper and searching for the hand sanitizer, the phone will ring.

Her three-year-old will answer and hang up.

She'll remember she wants to call a friend - not for coffee, but for a very strong drink.

Thinking of drinking will remind her that she was going to have a cup of coffee in order to stay awake for the rest of the day.

And chances are....

If she finds her cup of coffee (which she has to reheated by now), her children will have eaten the muffin that goes with it.

Things that change when you have a baby...

~Author Anonymous

You finally stop to smell the roses, because your baby is in your arms.

Where you once believed you were fearless, you now find yourself afraid.

The sacrifices you thought you made to have a child no longer seem like sacrifices.

You respect your body ... finally.

You respect your parents and love them in a new way.

You find that your baby's pain feels much worse than your own.

Your heart breaks much more easily.

You think of someone else 234,836,178,976 times a day.

Every day is a surprise.

Bodily functions are no longer repulsive. In fact, they please you. (Hooray for poop!)

You look at your baby in the mirror instead of yourself.

You become a morning person.

You don't mind going to bed at 9 p.m. on Friday night

You realize that the 15 pounds you can't seem to get rid of are totally worth having.

You learn that taking a shower is a luxury.

Motherhood Has Taught Me...

Motherhood Has Taught Me....
by Michelle Grant Scott
MomSense Magazine, March/April 2007

...to assess a child's well-being through a cracked door

...to tiptoe so hushed that only baby breath is audible

...to kiss an owie so lightly it removes some pain

...to interpret for a toddler who longs to speak with dignity

...to discern when a whimper means danger or simply "notice me"

...to smile at dirty dishes, while marching alongside little legs

...to embrace, not hide, "happy tears" that now come daily

...to laugh at little shoulder taps in the middle of the night

...to recognize God's wisdom in a toddler's voice

...to adapt my dancing style to lead or follow chubby bare feet

...to rely on God's strength to carry me after countless sleepless nights

...to giggle and simultaneously turn a cartwheel

...to harmonisously rock, pat and hum in the moonlight

...to perform ballet while rasting sweet drops of rain

...to appreciate the beauty of baby bellybuttons

...to look into bright blue eyes and feel the world stop

...to know beyond any doubt I am what God created me to be. . .

A MOTHER.

And this is growth.

Just for this Day...

Just for this Day...
-Sally Meyer copyright 1999


To my child...

Just for this morning, I am going to smile when I see your face, and laugh when I feel like crying.

Just for this morning, I will let you choose what you want to wear, and smile and say how perfect it is.

Just for this morning, I am going to step over the laundry, and pick you up and take you to the park to play.

Just for this morning, I will leave the dishes in the sink, and let you teach me how to put that puzzle of yours together.

Just for this afternoon, I will unplug the telephone and keep the computer off, and sit with you in the backyard and blow bubbles.

Just for this afternoon, I will not yell once, not even a tiny grumble when you scream and whine for the ice cream truck, and I will buy you one if he comes by.

Just for this afternoon, I won't worry about what you are going to be when you grow up, or second guess every decision I have made where you are concerned.

Just for this afternoon, I will let you help me bake cookies, and I won't stand over you trying to fix them.

Just for this afternoon, I will take us to McDonald's and buy us both a Happy Meal so you can have both toys.

Just for this evening, I will hold you in my arms and tell you a story about how you were born and how much I love you.

Just for this evening, I will let you splash in the tub and not get angry.

Just for this evening, I will let you stay up late while we sit on the porch and count all the stars.

Just for this evening, I will snuggle beside you for hours, and miss my favorite TV shows.

Just for this evening when I run my fingers through your hair as you pray, I will simply be grateful that God has given me the greatest gift ever given. I will think about the mothers and fathers who are searching for their missing children; the mothers and fathers who are visiting their children's graves instead of their bedrooms; and the mothers and fathers who are in hospital rooms watching their children suffer senselessly, and screaming inside that they can't handle it anymore.

And when I kiss you goodnight I will hold you a little tighter, and a little longer.

It is then, that I will thank God for you, and ask Him for nothing, except one more day...

Devotional

"Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works and glorify your Father in heaven." MATTHEW 5:16

The basic purpose for living is to glorify our Father in heaven. We who believe in Him are lights on a hillside, seen from a distance. We are to cast vision, give warmth, and show a better way to those living in darkness. In short, God instructs us to shine. How do we do that? Encourage instead of criticize. Love instead of hate. Hope instead of doubt. Give instead of take. Trust instead of worry.

We open our hearts to others so they will be prompted to open their hearts to God. Encouragement, love, hope, generosity, and trust are all gifts of God by the work of His Spirit. They don't spring from our humanity; they spring from His grace. God gives the light. He uses us to show the way. And He is glorified. What a high calling and wonderful purpose to be on this earth!

Luci Swindoll

Women of Faith

A Baby's Perspective on Sleep Training

OK, here's my situation. My Mommy has had me for almost 7 months. The first few months were great--I cried, she picked me up and fed me, anytime, day or night. Then something happened.

Over the last few weeks, she has been trying to STTN (sleep thru the night).

At first, I thought it was just a phase, but it is only getting worse. I've talked to other babies, and it seems like it's pretty common after Mommies have had us for around 6 months.

Here's the thing: these Mommies don't really need to sleep. It's just a habit. Many of them have had some 30 years to sleep--they just don't need it anymore. So I am implementing a plan. I call it the Crybaby Shuffle.

It goes like this:

Night 1--cry every 3 hours until you get fed. I know, it's hard. It's hard to see your Mommy upset over your crying. Just keep reminding yourself, it's for her own good.

Night 2--cry every 2 hours until you get fed.

Night 3--every hour.

Most Mommies will start to respond more quickly after about 3 nights. Some Mommies are more alert, and may resist the change longer. These Mommies may stand in your doorway for hours, shhhh-ing. Don't give in. I cannot stress this enough: CONSISTENCY IS KEY!!

If you let her STTN (sleep through the night), just once, she will expect it every night. I KNOW IT'S HARD! But she really does not need the sleep, she is just resisting the change.

If you have an especially alert Mommy, you can stop crying for about 10 minutes, just long enough for her to go back to bed and start to fall asleep. Then cry again. It WILL eventually work. My Mommy once stayed awake for 10 hours straight, so I know she can do it. Last night, I cried every hour. You just have to decide to stick to it and just go for it.

BE CONSISTENT! I cried for any reason I could come up with.

My sleep sack tickled my foot. I felt a wrinkle under the sheet. My mobile made a shadow on the wall. I burped, and it tasted like pears (I hadn't eaten pears since lunch - what's up with that?) The dog said "woof" (I should know. My Mommy reminds me of this about 20 times a day. LOL.) Once I cried just because I liked how it sounded when it echoed on the monitor in the other room. Too hot, too cold, just right--doesn' t matter! Keep crying!! It took awhile, but it worked. She fed me at 4am. Tomorrow night, my goal is 3:30am. You need to slowly shorten the interval between feedings in order to reset your Mommies' internal clocks.

P.S. Don't let those rubber things fool you, no matter how long you suck on them, NO milk will come out! Trust me.

MOMS

Somebody said it takes about six weeks to get back to normal after
you've had a baby ...
somebody doesn't know that once you're a mother, "normal" is history.

*********************
Somebody said you learn how to be a mother by instinct...
somebody never took a three-year-old shopping.

**********************
Somebody said being a mother is boring ...
somebody never rode in a car driven by a teenager with a driver's permit.

************************
Somebody said if you're a "good" mother, your child will "turn out
good"...
somebody thinks a child comes with directions and a guarantee.

***********************
Somebody said "good" mothers never raise their voices...
somebody never came out the back door just in time to see her child hit a golf ball through the neighbor's kitchen window.

****************************
Somebody said you don't need an education to be a mother....
somebody never helped a fourth grader with his math.

*****************************
Somebody said you can't love the second child as much as you love
the first ...
somebody doesn't have two children.

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Somebody said a mother can find all the answers to her child-
rearing questions in the books....
somebody never had a child stuff beans up his nose or in his ears.

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Somebody said the hardest part of being a mother is labor and
delivery....
somebody never watched her "baby" get on the bus for the first day of kindergarten or on a plane headed for military boot camp.

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Somebody said a mother can do her job with her eyes closed and one hand tied behind her back...
somebody never organized seven giggling Brownies to sell cookies.

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Somebody said a mother can stop worrying after her child gets married....
somebody doesn't know that marriage adds a new son or daughter-in-law to a mother's heartstrings.

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Somebody said a mother's job is done when her last child leaves home....
somebody never had grandchildren.

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Somebody said your mother knows you love her, so you don't need to tell her....
somebody isn't a mother.

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For all the Mothers....

This is for the mothers who have sat up all night
with sick toddlers in their arms, wiping up barf
laced with Oscar Mayer wieners and cherry Kool-Aid
saying, "It's okay honey, Mommy's here."

This is for all the mothers who have sat in rocking chairs
for hours on end soothing crying babies who can't
be comforted.

This is for all the mothers who show up at work with
spit-up in their hair and milk stains on their blouses
and diapers in their purse.

For all the mothers who run carpools and make
cookies and sew Halloween costumes. And all the
mothers who DON'T.

This is for the mothers who gave birth to babies
they'll never see. And the mothers who took those
babies and gave them homes.

This is for the mothers whose priceless art
collections are hanging on their refrigerator doors.

And for all the mothers who froze their buns on
metal bleachers at football or soccer games instead
of watching from the warmth of their cars, so that
when their kids asked, "Did you see me, Mom?" they
could say, "Of course, I wouldn't have missed it for
the world," and mean it.

This is for all the mothers who yell at their kids
in the grocery store and swat them in despair when
they stomp their feet and scream for ice cream
before dinner. And for all the mothers who count to
ten instead, but realize how child abuse happens.

This is for all the mothers who sat down with their
children and explained all about making babies. And
for all the (grand)mothers who wanted to, but just
couldn't find the words.

This is for all the mothers who go hungry, so their
children can eat.

For all the mothers who read "Goodnight, Moon" twice
a night for a year. And then read it again. "Just
one more time."

This is for all the mothers who taught their
children to tie their shoelaces before they started
school. And for all the mothers who opted for Velcro
instead.

This is for all the mothers who teach their sons to
cook and do laundry and their daughters to sink a
jump shot and change the oil and/or tires on their
car.

This is for every mother whose head turns
automatically when a little voice calls "Mom?" in a
crowd, even though they know their own offspring are
at home -- or even away at college.

This is for all the mothers who sent their kids to
school with stomach aches assuring them they'd be
just FINE once they got there, only to get calls
from the school nurse an hour later asking them to
please pick them up. Right away.

This is for mothers whose children have gone astray,
who can't find the words to reach them.

This is for all the step-mothers who raised another
woman's child or children, and gave their time,
attention, and love... sometimes totally
unappreciated!

For all the mothers who bite their lips until they
bleed when their 14 year olds dye their hair green.

For all the mothers of the victims of recent school
shootings, and the mothers of those who did the
shooting.

For the mothers of the survivors, and the mothers
who sat in front of their TVs in horror, hugging
their child who just came home from school, safely.

This is for all the mothers who taught their
children to be peaceful, and now pray they come home
safely from a war.

What makes a good Mother anyway?

Is it patience? Compassion? Broad hips?
The ability to nurse a baby, cook dinner, and sew a
button on a shirt, all at the same time?

Or is it in her heart?

Is it the ache you feel when you watch your son or
daughter disappear down the street, walking to
school alone for the very first time?

The jolt that takes you from sleep to dread, from
bed to crib at 2 A.M. to put your hand on the back
of a sleeping baby?

The panic, years later, that comes again at 2 A.M.
when you just want to hear their key in the door and
know they are safe again in your home?

Or the need to flee from wherever you are and hug
your child when you hear news of a fire, a car
accident, a child dying?

The emotions of motherhood are universal and so our
thoughts are for young mothers stumbling through
diaper changes and sleep deprivation...

And mature mothers learning to let go

For working mothers and stay-at-home mothers.

Single mothers and married mothers.

Mothers with money, mothers without.

This is for you all. For all of us. Hang in there.

In the end we can only do the best we can.

Tell them every day that we love them.

And pray.

1 Corinthians 13 for Moms

I can read bedtime stories till the cow jumps over the moon and sing
Ten Little Monkeys until I want to call the doctor, but if I don't have love.
I am as annoying as a ringing phone.

I can chase a naked toddler through the house while cooking dinner and
listening to the voice mail. I can fix the best cookies and Kool-Aid
in the neighborhood, and I can tell a sick child's temperature with one
touch of my finger, but if I don't have love, I am nothing.

Love is patient, while watching and praying by the front window when
it's 30 minutes past curfew.

Love is kind when my teen says, I hate you!

It does not envy the neighbor's swimming pool or new mini-van, but
trusts the Lord to provide for every need.

Love does not brag when other parents share their disappointments and
insecurities, and love rejoices when other families succeed.

It doesn't boast, even when I've multi-tasked all day long and my
husband can't do more than one thing at a time.

Love is not rude when my spouse innocently asks, what have you done today?

It does not immediately seek after glory when we see talent in our
children, but encourages them to get training and make wise choices.

It is not easily angered even when my 5-year old acts like the world
revolves around her.

It does not delight in evil (is not self-righteous) when I remind my
17-year old that he's going 83 in a 55-mph zone, but rejoices in the
truth.

Love does not give up hope. It always protects our children's
self-esteem and spirit, even while doing discipline.

It always trusts God to protect our children when we cannot.

It always perseveres, through blue nail polish, burps, and other bodily
functions, rolled eyes and crossed arms, messy rooms and sleepovers.

Love never fails. But where there are memories of thousands of
diaper changes and painful labor(s) they will fade away.

Where there is talking back, it will (eventually) cease. (Please,
Lord?)

Where there is a teenager who thinks she knows everything, there will
one day be an adult who knows you did your best.

For we know we fail our children, and we pray they don't end up in
therapy, but when we receive eternal life, our imperfect parenting will disappear.
(Thank you, God!)

When we were children, we needed a parent to love and protect us. Now
that we're parents ourselves, we have a heavenly Father who adores us,
shelters us, and holds us when we need to cry. And now these three
remain: faith, hope, and love. But the greatest of these is love.