A Glowing Reminder

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You are never too old to wear glow sticks.

It is 10 p.m. on a Saturday night, and I am celebrating a friend’s birthday at the local bowling alley. I suppose this is what you do when you are 30 – you chuckle in the bathroom mirror at yourself for wearing a neon pink bracelet to feel young. The fact that I will be out until 11 suggests that it may be working…

Suddenly, my thoughts are interrupted by an infant’s incessant tears.  The heightened anxiety behind the wailing is only countered with the wrath of the mother in the last stall attempting to change her distressed offspring’s diaper. She rebukes her child loudly and without forgiveness.

I am at a loss for words and, without realizing it, my hands drip dry. The beratement ends. Mercy.

I offer a prayer of thanksgiving for the dreams of two children sleeping sweetly at home.

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Bad Cop

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The longer I teach, the less I enjoy wearing the badge – the bad cop badge, that is.

For whatever reason, I was more willing to embrace this role as a younger teacher. I stood firm. I got results. Eventually, student hatred gave way to respect.

Perhaps it is the parent in me that is tired.

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Chasing the Avocado

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Happiness is a ripe avocado. If you have ever lived in California, you know this to be true.

My daughter, six months young, is learning all about this magical fruit’s elusivity, as she cannot yet grasp avocado between her lusting fingers. Perhaps it is because she is mine or because her blue eyes penetrate my soul, but I find few things more mesmerizing than watching my daughter’s hands seek the promise of satiety.

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The Hard Truth about Cloth Diapering

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You never forget the times when someone implies that you are a bad mother.

Recently, such a situation occurred in our church’s elevator. I had just nursed my daughter in the designated room and was traveling two floors to reach my husband and our Sunday school class. Sleep deprivation and perpetual nursing have a way of chronically weakening one, so I sent my daughter’s carrier and blanket with my husband. The baby and diaper bag were enough to juggle.

I entered the elevator with baby in arms. I took a deep breath, and the door began to close. Ah, a moment’s peace for communion with…

[Enter older, more experienced mother. Think Baby Boomer.]

“You’re wearing a jacket. Where’s hers?”

Few things sting quite like an unexpected, self-righteous bullet.

“Her blanket is with my husband.”

I departed with the kind of restraint that would make even Jesus proud.

We live in Southeast Georgia. The temperature reached the low-70s before the worship service ended just 90 minutes later.

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