My heart was on lockdown today. My heart.

The text had just popped up on my phone that Little Red's school would be letting out at lunch due to the weather (Sleet, icy roads and a run on milk and bread down here today!). I was smiling from ear-to-ear because I knew she would be thrilled to be spend the afternoon with her college kids -- and I would be delighted to have all my chicks home in my nest.

So when a second text popped up I barely glanced down -- but the barely was enough to see the word "lock down" and force me to grab my phone immediately! The information was very scant -- Cate's school was on lock down at the urging of the local police. Lock down.

I wasn't sure what to do. My instinct was to get as close to campus as possible. I felt a pit in my stomach.

Fortunately for us, the all clear was given within half an hour. The situation was secure and we could proceed to pick up our kiddos as planned for the early-snow-release. I could not get her in the car fast enough.

My precious girl had her own story to tell:

She and her friends were walking out of the Epiphany Chapel service elated to find snowy ice on the ground and falling from the sky. She said they were trying to get enough for a snowball when other students started yelling for them to get in their classrooms. She said, "We were like, it is JUST snow. It won't hurt us."

Right until she saw the faces of the teachers urging them inside, that's when she knew it was something other than the snow. Sweet girl described where they hid and how they did exactly what they had practiced in lock down drills before. She said someone on the loud speaker kept telling them this was NOT a drill. She told me who cried and how she wanted to comfort them but they weren't near her.

She told me how she and her little friend held on to each other in fear.

But when I asked her if she cried, she said, "Uh, no. Of course not."

Which was good because I did.

Today two people fought at work and one pulled out a gun and started shooting. According to our local news, he shot 14 times but only hit his target once. He had more weapons in a backpack.

And all of this happened across the street from my baby's school.

When I was little, we practiced tornado drills. We pressed our heads against the inner hall walls and held a textbook over us. We occasionally practiced fire drills where we had to evacuate the school as the principal timed us to see how quickly we could do it.

I never remember hearing "this is not a drill" for either instance.

But I grew up in  a world where people didn't carry guns in their backpacks and start shooting in restaurants known for their delicious cinnamon crunch bagels and coffee! I grew up with a mother who couldn't name a long list of schools where gunman had opened fire.

That is not the case today. Cate had practiced this drill. She and her classmates knew exactly what to do today. And please understand how grateful I am for that!

But really, when are we going to stop this madness and do something to prevent what happened today? There are too many Mamas who never got the all-clear text to go get their littles because of a mad man with a gun.

For the love of all the little girls huddled together holding each other in their hiding place at school, can we please do something to stop mad men from waving guns?

Please.

This day never gets easier.

Every year I say it. Every year I think I am prepared. And every year this day hits me right in the stomach taking my breath and any manner of sanity and emotional stability along with it.

I was six months old when my Daddy was drafted into the Vietnam War. Apparently, I halted all developmental milestones the day he left. I sat and only sat until the day we were reunited (right after my first birthday) when I walked to him. Apparently, I COULD walk. I had just seen nothing worth walking to.

Following his funeral, my mother looked me in the eye and said, "You cannot just sit this time." She knew my inclination -- even at 25 -- would be to climb in bed and never move again.

It has been 22 years since I had a hug from the man that showed me the world, the one who taught me how to laugh and ride my bike, how to pray, and how to love others. The one who showed me the importance of coffee and a good joke. The one who thought I was practically perfect in every way.

It is no small thing to lose your biggest cheerleader. Even all these years later, there are more days than not that I wish I could climb on the couch beside him, ask him  a myriad of questions about life, faith and family...and then have him tell me he loves me and is proud of me. No amount of time seems to dull the ache of losing the one who called me his angel.

I still feel the need to wallow this time of year. But Terry Mason taught me many other lessons as well...and one of those would involve a spanking if he knew I was wallowing around in pity rather than celebrating all the gifts I have been given.

Thank you, Daddy, for setting the parenting bar so high. Thank you for modeling Godly parenthood every day of my life. Thank you for still being a goal I strive for.

 And Daddy, thank you for loving me.

Can we quit thinking of wheelchairs as something that limits us?

For the better part of last week, I was in San Diego soaking up the knowledge of 1000+ members of the medical community -- surgeons, physicians, occupational therapists, physical therapists, researchers -- who are striving to make a difference for children and adults with Cerebral Palsy. (You can get more info about AACPDM right here!)

It was informative, encouraging and a bit emotional as I looked around the conference center and realized every one of the people in my line of sight were trying, working, striving to help my boys. Every. Single. Person. Wow.

The conference began with an opening address by the incoming president, Dr. Darcy Fehlings. As part of her address, Dr. Fehlings opted to be bold and do something that had never been done before at the AACPDM. She asked four mothers of children with CP to answer questions and address the audience. I was privileged to be included among this group: Dana Florence, founder of an organization raising awareness and money in Canada, and mom to six-year-old triplets; Cynthia Frisina, founder of Reaching for the Stars, an Atlanta-based organization that is also raising awareness for medical research on Cerebral palsy and mom to a pre-teen with CP; Jill Chambers, an avid volunteer and mom to a 32-year-old young man with CP. We were four women facing common challenges as well as challenges unique to our children. We were four women approaching the challenges in a myriad of ways.

But really, we were four Mamas with a mic.

The night before my stomach was doing somersaults. Wade looked at me curiously and asked why in the world I would be nervous. "You love a microphone," he said. And he is right. I love the opportunity to share our story, to show all the ways God has provided for my little family in the hopes that even one other Mama would have her heart encouraged.

But this group. This group was vastly different from someone handing me a mic to encourage Mamas! This was a group of brilliant minds. Minds doing research. Minds that, frankly, know stuff and can use big words and impressive charts to share what they know. Minds I admire and thank God that they exist. Minds that frankly, might not want to hear what I had to say.

All I had was a Mama heart and microphone.

Here's the thing: My Mama heart believes in helping Benjamin and Mason (as well as Claire and Cate of course!) reach their full potential. Once upon a time, reaching that potential meant that we engaged in physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy. Reaching that potential meant that we stretched and propped and made them stand. Because in my limited paradigm as a young mom, reaching their potential was synonymous with walking.

Do you know walking is defined as moving "at a regular and fairly slow pace by lifting and setting down each foot in turn, never having both feet off the ground at once?"

I giggle just reading that. My Benjamin used a walker for years -- a little gait trainer that allowed him to propel forward, as his arms rested in the troughs supporting much of his weight. The wheels allowed any forward motion he achieved to surge forward and he will be the first to tell you that it was in fact a slow pace. But he could also confirm that often -- very very often -- both of his feet were off the ground!

So as someone who had been there, done that, what I desperately wanted this audience to hear is that walking was never and I mean never ever  one of the things Benjamin thought he required to achieve his dreams. As a matter of fact, the first question my little boy would ask surgeons prior to any surgery was, "Will I still be able to talk afterwards?" That is not a typo. He wanted to know if he would still be able to T.A.L.K.  And just in case you can't grasp that -- he never once mentioned W.A.L.K.

Surgeons thought he was silly. Of course, he would be able to talk. They were operating on his legs not his voice...but they were missing the point. We -- and by we, I mean his parents, his therapists, his doctors -- were all far far more concerned with Benjamin's legs doing what WE believed they should be doing than he was. He was focused on what he knew was his strength -- and what continues to be his strength today --  his ability to TALK, to share his thoughts, to discuss issues, and beliefs and opinions!

So with my boys' permission, I implored my audience to put the child -- and childhood -- first. I begged them to research quality of life and mental health issues as ways to truly help these amazing young people and their families. And I begged them not to rob these extraordinary individuals of the precious commodity of TIME by teasing them with false promises if they spent hours, days and months in intense therapy.

When we were done, when we had answered the questions and bared a bit of our heart to this medical community an extraordinary thing happened -- they clapped, and clapped and clapped and then gave us a standing ovation.

In the days that followed, I was bombarded with people wanting to ask me more, wanting to hear more about my boys and...my OPINIONS on appropriate amounts of therapy, surgery, appointments. I was asked to film a short video discussing some of these issues. I was asked to come home with more than one group and speak to their researchers, their parents, their community.

The appeal you see, was not me but rather to my so-called wisdom. My wisdom didn't come from research, or statistics, or any lab. Rather, everything I said was straight from Benjamin and Mason. The pearls I shared were from the lessons they taught. It was Benjamin and Mason who should be lauded, applauded and asked to speak. They are the wise ones. They are the ones living life, achieving their dreams and not letting wheelchairs or crutches get in the way.

At Trafalfar Square in London.

On campus at Mississippi State.

Another parent, Richard Ellenson, closed the conference. Richard is doing enormous things with technology to help his 16-year-old son -- and all children with CP -- and I was excited to meet him and hear him speak. But the thing that most spoke to my heart was a quote someone wrote about his son re-shaping the image of the wheelchair. With Richard's permission, I am changing it to fit my boy:

Benjamin's wheelchair is not a limit on him or his possibility in life. It is not a constraint to his dreams, his ideals or his ambition. Rather his wheelchair is the "Foundation" from which he will change the world!

If I could wrap my arms around all the Mamas in the world with the 100 million children on this planet dealing with a physical disability, this is what I would tell them: Let go of your paradigms. Determine to help your child find their strength in the things they CAN do! Don't misguide them into thinking the things they CAN NOT do are the things that define them. For dear Mamas, if we focus more hours a day making them propel themselves forward in a little walker, then we do allowing them to follow their passions, then the message we are sending them is clear: if you can not walk you are worth little.

It is a lie. Don't buy it.

Let them soar, dear Mamas. Let them fly with whatever aides they require...let it be their own personal FOUNDATION for changing the world!

Easter bunnies, jelly beans and eggs made new....

Yesterday morning, I was getting Benjamin up to his wheelchair and Cate was right there with me, anxious to see if the Easter Bunny had paid a visit. She opened the curtains in her brothers' room and sitting right outside the window, on our little front "perch" was the sweetest white-tailed bunny, looking so much like he was darting from inside our house that we all just stopped what we were doing and watched him. (Ok, then I tore through the house for my camera and returned to see his little self hopping away...)

Can you see the little guy? Right in the middle of the photo??

All week my news feed on Facebook had been inundated with posts about Easter being so much more than about the bunny. And oh my goodness, that is the absolute truth. Easter is a celebration of our RISEN savior; a celebration of an empty tomb; a celebration of death being defeated when Jesus rose from the dead.

And while I would never want to confuse anyone about the real meaning of this holiday, I have to say that I, frankly, love the Easter Bunny. I also love dyeing eggs and eating jelly beans (you already knew that) and a church filled with lovely spring dresses. Easter is a celebration of new life for Jesus and for us, IN and THROUGH Jesus and sweet little bunny represents just that.

Unadorned, our eggs were waiting for new life...

When I was little, we didn't make a huge deal out of a lot of holidays -- you know we wore green on St. Patrick's Day; we bought a box of Valentine's to give our friends; we had a cookout on the 4th of July -- but Christmas and Easter were different. As a little bitty girl, before I understood the depth of what Easter meant, I knew it was bigger than the other holidays. It was big like Christmas was big. I KNEW this because it was the ONLY other time of the year -- besides Christmas -- that I went to sleep and woke up to a few lovely surprises.

Do not misunderstand. The basket was not filled with huge gifts -- the Easter Bunny usually brought me a spring outfit and some new shoes....and a little candy, of course. But the celebration -- the waking up to see what that bunny had brought -- set the day apart when my brain was too young to comprehend more. And so when the connection was made. When I realized the amazing gift we received on Easter was so much more than goodies in a basket, it made perfect sense that this would be a BIG holiday.

Cate made one egg to look like a Tardis -- a Dr. Who reference for her brothers!

We seem to be living in an age of extremes. An age where some groups call for an end to dressing up at Halloween, visits from the Easter Bunny and instead telling our children the hard facts of life early and loudly. While other groups want us to celebrate every single holiday extravagantly -- leprechauns hiding gifts throughout the house; Valentine treats that require a 20-people assembly line.

Sigh.

Fancy, over-indulgent, extravagance is not what I am talking about here. I am simply saying that Jesus called the little children unto him. He loved them and did not force them to grow up and accept the hard facts of life; but rather urged us to be like them in our faith, trusting, loving and accepting of each other.

Loved the "All things new" egg...

Perhaps when I get to Heaven, He will reprimand me for allowing the Easter Bunny to stop by my house. But I don't think so. I think celebrating little children, helping them to piece the beauty of NEW LIFE in a way that is joy-filled, fun and innocent is exactly what He would want us to do.

Jesus died on the cross. He was buried. He rose again on the third day -- defeating death so that WE might have life to the fullest. So that we could have everlasting life with Him in heaven.

In a world filled with darkness, pain and so much suffering, I think the new life of a bunny, the new beauty of freshly-dyed Easter eggs and the joy of sharing it all as a family, is exactly how we should celebrate.

He is risen. He is risen indeed!!

Praying this morning that you are filled with the spirit of the resurrection -- and maybe a few jelly beans too boot!

When the tooth drops...

Ten years ago, a little five-year-old Mason walked out of his kindergarten class door grinning from ear-to-ear. He was wearing a treasure box around his little neck that held his first lost tooth -- and I should add, the first lost tooth of the triplets. He was so proud.

I apparently looked crest-fallen because upon reaching me he looked up into my eyes and said, "Don't worry, Mommy. I promise not to grow up too fast."

Sigh. We all know that is a promise he could not even begin to keep.

Did I sigh yet?

Sweet Cate began losing teeth a year ago. But she had only lost the bottom ones before this week. There is something about that first top tooth that changes her entire little face. I want to squeeze her cheeks and hug her close.

I can not freeze time. And honestly, as mom to three amazing 15-year-olds, I wouldn't want to. I KNOW that each phase brings its own share of wonder, awe and amazing. I know that I will love Little Red when she is 10, 12 and 15 even more than I do now.

But I can freeze this season through photos. Oh, just for a glimpse back at the sweet sweet face that lights up my world today; this little toothless smile that will change far too soon for my taste as she loses more teeth, as grown-up teeth grow in and as she grows and changes daily.

So today, I captured her. I captured her little personality as she picked each pose, made suggestions for back drops and suggested where I should stand! (Bossy little thing needs her own camera!)

"For every time there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven.....a time to laugh....and a time to dance...." (Ecc.3:1,4)

That gaping smile is a reminder to seize the day. A reminder to cherish the moments, to walk away from the busy-ness of my day to just be with this little who is growing so fast.

And as long as she is willing to pose, I plan to snap and click and freeze the moments. So that I can relive them over and over again -- that is why I am a photography nut after all!

But rest assured, I am enjoying the blessing of the here and now. I am cuddling, giggling and being silly with this amazing girl -- and her precious "big kids"! They are my richest blessings!!