Category: kids

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Jesus Is Not a Chair {guest post}

By Halley Kim | Twitter: @halleywkim

“Hi guys! Did you have fun? What’d you learn about?” I called out to my two children from the doorway of the preschool room at church, my infant on my hip. The service was over and because being a pastor’s wife means being a single mom on Sundays, I was more than ready to collect my kids and head home.

“Jesus!” replied two-year-old Phoebe while she played on the floor with blocks. I smiled at her stereotypical answer and smiled at Janice too, the classroom volunteer that week.

But Janice was disturbed. “Well, we had to backtrack quite a bit. Now I’m SURE you’ve told them this, but —” Janice put up her hand like a stop sign and took a big breath before she finished her sentence. “But when I asked them if they knew who Jesus was, they said no.”

Do you know who Jesus is? I wanted to ask. Does anyone, conclusively?

It was obvious she felt improper implying a pastor’s wife wasn’t feeding her children the prescribed diet of indoctrination. Nevertheless she felt it her duty to alert me that my kids were not fast-tracked to Heaven. I felt trapped because I couldn’t respond outside of church lady etiquette. I’m supposed to be a ringleader, not a rebel. I’m supposed to be advancing the gospel, not pondering disconcerting questions, and certainly not slipping in my charge to “train up children in the way they should go.”

Maybe Janice conveyed impropriety, but she did not hold back her objection to my parenting. With no church-sanctioned outlet for my feelings, I choked them down into the bulging box of All The Things I Cannot Say. A splash of anger was displaced by the new deposit, and I thought how easy it would be to snap Janice’s ninety pound frame like a wishbone.

She continued reporting how my children were failing Sunday School. “I asked them if they knew what it meant to believe in Jesus, and they said no. I asked them if they knew what the word ‘believe’ meant, and they said no.” Janice’s eyes seemed to bulge from her skull every time she uttered the word “no.”

“They’re big concepts for preschoolers,” I replied with my Sunday smile. I gazed at Gabe, my five-year-old who was zipping a toy airplane around the room and oblivious to my fury, to my sense of being caged, to my desire to defend my sweet babies who don’t know the five points of Calvinism and who cares anyway.

“Oh, I just used the analogy of a chair!” Janice tapped me on the forearm like she was telling me she substituted applesauce for eggs in a recipe. “I said, ‘Gabe, do you believe this chair will hold you up if you sit down in it?’ And he said ‘yes.’ So then I said, ‘Gabe, what if the legs of the chair were made of paper? Do you believe the chair would hold you up then?’ And he said ‘no.’”

Janice beamed as if to say, “There you go! Easy as that!”

The only thought I could formulate was You can’t use a word in the definition of that word, dummy.

Janice fiddled with the buttons on her sweater like she was waiting for me to thank her for unlocking the mysteries of faith. Her nine-year-old son Andrew stood nearby. Apparently he’d long-ago rejected the children’s Bible in favor of “the real thing.” Janice told me earlier that Andrew was reading before age two (yeah right) and that he just loved to sit on the couch and read Revelations.

Such a weird kid, I thought to myself.

“That Phoebe sure parrots everything Gabe says!” Janice said, changing the subject.

“Oh yeah. She does.” My mouth was full of words I couldn’t say and anger I wasn’t permitted to express. My baby fussed for her overdue nap and the bulging box inside me threatened to explode. Noted! For the hundredth time: “Only round pegs allowed here, so get your square self together.” I do not fit the pastor’s wife mold, nor am I a passable Christian mother. Guess what? You don’t get to grade me. Stop telling me that your way is the only right way.

About Halley:

Halley Kim is a writer and lactation consultant who lives in Phoenix, AZ with her husband and three kids. She has published essays with Mothers Always Write and The Junia Project. Follow her on Facebook, Twitter and Instagram.

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Pray for the Queen Esthers in the White House

Immigration is a complicated issue, but Trump’s Zero Tolerance Policy of criminalizing those seeking asylum in our country and separating mothers from their babies plunges beneath the baseline of what constitutes as a basic human right.

Children belong with their families.

Using kids to teach a lesson, or as a “deterrent” to immigrating illegally is inhumane, base and immoral.

Two months ago, on April 19th, border patrol began enforcing a Zero Tolerance policy that criminalized seeking asylum in the United States, meaning that parents were arrested and over 2,000 children were sent to stay without their loved ones in detention facilities.

I’m not writing this to convince anyone that Trump’s policy is a vile aggression on humanity. If you need to be convinced of that, then read this, look at these pictures, or listen to this.

I’m writing because this is all I can do from the safety of my kitchen table as my own three children watch Sesame Street in the room next to me. I feel helpless and paralyzed.

But not hopeless.

Because I believe there are Esthers in the White House. The Bible tells the story of a Jewish woman named Esther who was strategically placed in a position of power in order to speak truth at a time when her people were in danger. Her guardian encouraged her with the famous line that perhaps she was put in power “for such a time as this” (Esther 4:14).

I’m praying for those in the White House with a heart to begin listening to it.

I’m praying compassion would flood the floors of Congress and saturate every Congress member with grief, lament and renewed resolve to fight injustice.

And if not an Esther, perhaps a Daniel or Joseph? Daniel was chosen to serve the king when his people were in exile. He could have been belligerent, but used his power for the good of his people. In another book of the Bible, Joseph gains favor with the king, who takes him out of prison and positions him in leadership so he ends up helping many people (Gen. 50:20).

So along with donating to an organization raising money to reunite families, calling my representatives and writing letters (I used Resistbot for the first time today!), finding out about the protests in my area, and spreading the word as much as I can about this atrocity, I am also praying for the Esthers in the White House.

Join me in praying for these female Republican Senators (most of the Democrats are already on board with the proposed legislation, called the Keep Families Together Act):

Joni Erst (Iowa), Susan Collins (Maine), Cindy Hyde-Smith (Mississippi), Deb Fischer (Nebraska), Shelley Moore Capito (West Virginia), Lisa Murkowski (Alaska)

And for These Female Republican House Reps:

Martha Roby (Alabama), Martha McSally (Arizona), Debbie Lesko (Arizona), Mimi Walters (California), Ileana Ros-Lehtinen (Florida), Karen Handel (Georgia), Jackie Walorski (Indiana), Susan Brooks (Indiana), Lynn Jenkins (Kansas), Ann Wagner (Missouri), Vicky Hartzler (Missouri), Elise Stefanik (New York), Claudia Tenney (New York), Virginia Foxx (North Carolina), Kristi Noem (S. Dakota), Diane Black (Tennessee), Marsha Blackburn (Tennessee), Kay Granger (Texas), Mia Love (Utah), Barbara Comstock (Virginia), Jaime Herrera Beutler (Washington), Kathy McMorris Rodgers (Washington), Liz Cheney (Wyoming)

Jesus, move these women to use their influence for the good of all human beings, not just United States citizens. If they are mothers, I pray they would ache with the ache only a mother can know. I pray that ache would translate to action.

Amen.

More Resources & Action Points:

In addition to calling your representatives in Congress (and especially those who are Republicans) or sending them letters, you can call these numbers:

White House comment line: 202-456-1111

Department of Justice public comment line: 202-353-1555

The Department of Homeland Security which has oversight of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE); their comment line is 202-282-8495

If you need a script, this is what I’ve been using for my letters and phone calls:

Dear _____________,

I appreciate all you are doing for our state and country, but as a citizen I am very concerned about President Trump’s Zero Tolerance Policy concerning immigrants being separated from their own children at the border. This policy is cruel, dehumanizing, and un-American. Would you please do all you can to preserve the humanity and dignity of every person and fight against this policy and support Senator Feinstein’s Keep Families Together Act? I am a mother myself and I cannot fathom the torture of having my children torn from my arms. I used to be proud to be an American, now I simply feel ashamed. Thank you for reading this and I pray you use your influence and power for good.

Sincerely,

Leslie Verner

This article has tons of other organizations that are mobilizing to help these families.

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No “Late” Bloomers: Late Weddings, Old Moms & Delayed Creativity


“Are you dating anyone?” the woman asked me after church over mini muffins and bad coffee.

I shook my head.

“Oh, you have plenty of time,” she said to me. Turning to my mom, she added, “My daughter was a late bloomer.” I was spending the summer at home in Florida after graduation from college. I planned to move to Chicago to start teaching in the fall.

“Yeah, she got married in her late twenties,” she continued, my mom nodding along. I clutched my Styrofoam cup, inwardly marveling that I was no longer a college student, but was now labeled according to my marital status. I was now “a single.”

Even at the time I thought she was being a bit harsh in expecting her daughter to get married right out of college. And over the years, that phrase, “late bloomer,” has always grated on me.

Can God be “late”?

When you try to put your feet in the steps of Jesus as you live your life, can you describe any transition as “late”?

According to that woman, I would have gotten married “late,” at age 32. I would have had babies “late,” at age 33, 35, and 37. And I would have started writing “late” in my mid-30’s. But I don’t believe God is ever late.

Spring dragged her feet in arriving to Colorado this year. Tulips and daffodils, the first signs of spring, eased from the ground a few weeks later than they usually do.

We made it home from vacation last week just in time for the peonies in early June. I nearly didn’t see them because the thin stems couldn’t support the huge, fat blossoms and their faces were flattened against the rocky ground. As a first-time homeowner, this is my first summer here and I’ve watched curiously as each new flower type surges up and out, exploding in the Colorado sun, then shrivels just as a different bloom takes over the show. First daffodils, then red tulips, white apple blossoms, lilacs, irises, and now roses and fluffy peonies.

Not a single bloom has been late—each one a note rightly-timed in the rhythm of spring’s symphony.

Because spring seemed delayed this year, I was more eager—desperate, even–for its arrival. Spring unlocks a suppressed something in me and I want to weep when I spy the first green shoots poking from the dirt or bright flowers decorating the yard. For me, spring is an emotional release from months of cold, dreary, color-less winter, a catapult back into lusty life.

Waiting primes us for greater gratitude when the thing we wait for finally arrives. Though I fully embraced being single and knew that marriage would not bring me ultimate joy or pleasure, I still longed for a life-long companion. And though I knew (or thought I knew) how children would alter the landscape of my life, I still yearned for the interruption. The long years of hopeful winters made me more thankful for spring when it finally came.

I’m not a young mom, but I do have young kids. I don’t fit the “young mom” category that many church ladies cluster women into. In fact, many moms with kids the ages of my kids are at least ten years younger than me. But I still don’t believe I got married or had kids “late.”

I published my first piece of writing at age 36, not because I was a “late bloomer,” but because my talent bloomed exactly when it was supposed to.

“My soil is like silk,” my 78 year old neighbor—my gardening mentor–boasted when I lamented that mine is like a rock. “You need to really work on your soil before you try planting in it,” she advised.

Art, too, often requires years of silent cultivation before the first flower can break through the ground.

Art, too, often requires years of silent cultivation before the first flower can break through the ground.

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Browsing through a bookstore recently, I picked up a book from the shelf about Laura Ingalls Wilder. I was surprised to learn that she didn’t start writing until she was in her 40’s, and didn’t publish Little House in the Big Woods until she was in her 60’s. Perhaps her childhood experiences needed years of marinating before they were ready to share with the world.

“Late” implies something didn’t go as planned. Perhaps the Master Gardener needs a bit more time with his hands in the soil, kneading, folding in nutrients, transforming rot and death into healthy soil for new growth to form. We may long for change, but waiting doesn’t mean Jesus isn’t there, that God isn’t working, or that plans have gone awry. Because in God’s kingdom, nothing blooms “late,” but always right on time.

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What are you waiting for? In what ways are you a “late bloomer”? How would your life have been different if everything had followed your own timeline?

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Our theme this month is “Create.” If you are a maker, artist, or creator and you would like to guest post, I still have a few spots left! Otherwise, check out the themes for the coming months here. The theme for July is “Hospitality Around the World.” And if you’re not interested in guest posting, follow me on social media (buttons on the top right) to be sure you don’t miss a post this month!

Sign up for the (occasional) Mid-month Digest and the (loosely) “end of the month” Secret Newsletter Here:

No "Late Bloomers: Late Weddings, Old Moms & Delayed Creativity #marriage #motherhood #creativity #transitions #timing #Godsdelays #oldmoms #metaphors

 

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Unicorns and Rainbows: On Adoption {guest post by Sheli Massie}

By Sheli Massie | Facebook

“Being adopted is like having blank chapters in the story of your life.” – Adult Adoptee

I remember vividly the night after we had been matched with our son from Uganda. I lay awake in bed just sobbing, what I thought was a release of emotions carried these past two years of waiting. My husband kept saying over and over, but this is what we have been waiting for. This moment. As I began to process the floodgate of emotions I realized that my heart was immediately connected to his birth mother. I was imagining what her life was like or wasn’t. I was wondering what her name was, where she was, if she was alive, what a horrific and courageous decision she made to find someone to raise her child. That night imprinted a connection on my soul where answers may never come.

It’s been over six years since our youngest son joined our family and I still have so many questions of his beginning. When he came to the US he was only three, or so we think. Having a birth certificate and hospital records is a privileged expectation, not a norm. So we went by what the dentist could tell us here in the states. Home six years and just beginning to unpack his story. His beginning.

His story is his story. I can only tell you my perspective, what I have observed. I have never known what it is like to not have a family. A mother. A home. Food. Clean water. I have never been without. So I can not imagine the way he processes the abundance that is here and what was before. What I do know that when he is able to tell his story, his grief, his loss all I can do is to create a safe and healing place for it to happen. I will get it wrong. I already do. I miss cues and opportunities to enter in. Instead I rush past them and don’t recognize behaviors as something bigger. As part of his story. His undoing.

One of the greatest misconceptions that we have had to confront with his adoption is the reaction of those around us. Saying things to us, in his presence, that “he is better off here in the states. His life will be better. He is so lucky. Everything will be good for him. At least you saved one.” Yes, ALL of those things and more have been said to us.

Let me just say this, adoption is not unicorns and rainbows. It is not the happily ever after. Adoption comes with great loss and suffering. It comes with layers of unknowns and complications. And it comes with years of figuring it out together.

I was so naive when we adopted our sweet boy. I assumed that love would heal it all.

I was so naive when we adopted our sweet boy. I assumed that love would heal it all. -@sheligeoghanmas

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A real Barbie Savior complex. And then I put myself in his shoes. He has no beginning that I can remind him of. He has chapters that I am not a part of. A story that started way before this Mzungu (white person) showed up and took him from all he had ever known. He is left with a grief that is painfully deep I can not fathom.

We have this tradition in our family that we had been doing for years. The four older children knew that on their birthday I would share their birth story with them again at the dinner table. Each year I would tell their unique beginning. Their prologue. Until the year he asked what was his story. He asked me to tell him when he was “in my belly” in Africa. He would look across the table and yearn to hear how I had loved him every moment I carried him. He wanted to be more alike than different. For a while I admit I just played along. Not giving details but saying how I loved him from before I saw his face. I thought I was doing the right thing. Trying to build connection. But what I was really doing was making it easier on myself. What he needed was the truth. He needed to hear his story.

He will ask randomly about his mother. Who she is. Where she is. What her name is. If she ever calls. I give him all I know from just knowing him. “She is a strong and courageous woman. She is beautiful and brave because you are sweet boy. She loved you more than she loved herself because she chose to give to you life no matter the consequence. You are Ugandan, one of the most amazing countries I have ever seen and you will always be connected to a power greater than any of us can even imagine. “

Part of adoption is dying to self. Dying to false expectations and belief systems.

Part of adoption is dying to self. Dying to false expectations and belief systems. –@sheligeoghanmas

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You are bringing a child into your home that has undergone significant trauma, yes even as an infant. Loss and trauma are two of the biggest factors of the process that I feel gets passed over too quickly. Unless we are willing to knowingly enter into the lifetime of unpacking and hard work of healing we really should rethink adoption not as a calling but a commitment to holding space for painful trauma work.

Sweet boy is triggered by things every day and he will be for the rest of his life. It is something that we have come to accept. Behaviors that others may see as acting out or abnormal we just see as a breakthrough. That he feels safe enough to let that emotion surface or be explored. His world is not better because he was adopted and is not with his birth mom. His life is complicated and hard. He carries grief and unwritten chapters around as a daily reminder. As his second parents all we can do is create space for him to feel it all.

About Sheli:

Sheli Massie is a story keeper, seeker of justice, healing and hope in a broken world. She believes in longer tables, unlocked doors and living a barefoot life. She and her husband live outside of Chicago with their five children and one grandlove. You can find her over on Instagram @shelimassie_, Redbud Writers, Twitter, and  her website.

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GIVEAWAY OF ADOPTED!

For our last week of posts on foster care, adoption and children, I’m giving away a free copy of Kelley’s book, Adopted. It was one of my favorite reads last year and it was awarded the Christianity Today: 2018 Award of Merit Christian Living/Discipleship. Sign up for my newsletter by midnight (MT) on Thursday, May 31st and be entered to win a free copy! And/or tag up to four friends on my Instagram post about this book and I’ll enter you up to four times per friend you tag! Sorry, no bots and only U.S. residents!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

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There Has to Be More Than This {guest post}

By Lisa Russell

There has to be more than this.

That’s what was ruminating in our hearts and conversations. In the perspective of our Christian culture, we had “arrived.” We were happily married, had started a family, had a dog and a house just shy of a white picket fence. We had a church community, were in Bible studies and serving in ministry. So why the holy discontentment?

Looking at our week, we were with our Christian friends in our Christian community doing Christian things nearly every night, yet we couldn’t shake the feeling that we were full … too full.

I call it Spiritual Gluttony.

We were filling up so much without an outlet for overflow, which left us lethargic, stagnant and, well … bloated.

There has to be more than this.

We started praying and the Lord quickly responded with a question: “If you had the perspective of being a missionary in your own town, how would your life look different?”

At the time, I was an event planner doing an event for a local non-profit raising funds for abused and neglected children in our community. When they put statistics up about children in our very own community, I broke. Our community? Our city in beautiful Colorado that has been on the top places in the country to live? We have the resources, and yet there are children who don’t have a safe haven.

I was shocked to see that there are children even suffering from malnourishment. These kids are in our own backyard–would we be willing to invite them in and care for them for a while? We were already the neighborhood hub for kids–most of whom didn’t have involved parents, who were starving for attention and a fruit snack from our pantry. What if we took it to another level and became foster parents?

Every step of the journey to become certified foster parents involved excitement, hope, fear, anxiousness and self-doubt. And yet every step felt like removing a brick from a dam, unleashing the flowing water built up over time.

The foster care training felt like church–learning how perfect love casts out all fear, actually being the hands and feet of Jesus, loving on the orphan, the “great commission.” Then, one day walking out of a grocery store, I got a call from our case worker. I thought she was calling to let us know our certification went through as we just finished our home study, but she called to ask if we would be willing to take a newborn baby boy just 16 days old. Two hours later, our first foster son entered into our home and immediately into our hearts.

You would have thought he came from my very own womb. I fell in love with this little bundle like he was my own. What I didn’t expect was to fall in love with his family.

There was even more than this.

Even more than taking in a foster child, was taking in a larger family: his aunt, who was emergency care after he was removed from the home, the grandma who was desperate to see her newborn grandson, the extended family that was concerned, and even the biological mom who was entangled with addiction.

Our eyes were opening to see the need in our community that was hidden by masks of prosperity. Driving into our city from the interstate, there was a new strip of trendy restaurants and shops systematically placed in front of a trailer park. We can’t have people seeing a trailer park when they enter into the #1 city to live.

Our eyes were also being opened to the unseen– the evil that claws its way through families by speaking lies of despair and hopelessness. Our hearts were being broken for these families that have had a name spoken over them that they believe to be true.

Unwanted.

Unloved.

Our foster son’s grandma told me she is a pariah–an outcast in this society with little hope a door would be cracked open enough to get back in.

We tend to dehumanize these families. By no means am I giving a free pass or condoning their actions as perpetrators, but we gain no ground to healing and restoration if we don’t start seeing them and hearing their own stories. More often, these bio-parents are suffering from their own trauma, abuse, neglect, mental illness, poverty and injustice. I had a bio-mom tell me once that her mom was the one who taught her to shoot heroin. When that is your model and your norm, it’s more than difficult to cut the generational root of sin and addiction.

It’s a broken system because we are broken people living out generations of brokenness.

The longer we got into fostering, the more I heard and felt that the system is broken. I don’t know how we can have a healthy system with broken people on this side of heaven. The truth is, there are a lot of people who are just doing the best they can- from the caseworkers, to the bio families, to the foster parents and the children that suffer the consequences the most. I do know a good place to start is having eyes to see the humans in front of you, being willing to listen to their stories and have hope for them when they aren’t able to access it themselves.

I do know a good place to start is having eyes to see the humans in front of you, being willing to listen to their stories and have hope for them when they aren’t able to access it themselves.–Lisa Russell

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There is more than this.

There is more than this life–this futile effort to piece together the broken parts of people and our larger communities. It results in a painful glory, through the painful process of diving into the messy, stagnant waters, removing the bricks of the dam, the water will flow once again and produce life and fruit to the land. We have to hold tight to the “more than this” hope.

There is more than this.

About Lisa:

Lisa Russell and her family fostered for 5 years for Larimer County Child Protective Services. She is now focusing on Lisa Russell Ministries as a Counselor, Spiritual Mentor and Speaker.

 

GIVEAWAY OF FINDING HOME!

We’re doing a giveaway of the e-version of this book of essays by various writers about what it’s like to raise or be a Third Culture Kid (TCK). To enter, simply sign up for my newsletter AND Rachel’s newsletter before this Friday, May 26th, midnight (MT) and we’ll draw a name after that and email the winner!

 

 

 

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This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links.

There Has to Be More Than This: On Foster Care {guest post}: "Our eyes were opening to see the need in our community that was hidden by masks of prosperity." #fostercare #nationalfostercaremonth #fostercareawareness #fosterparenting #fostermom #fostermother #fostersystem

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A Confession: I Am a Tiger Mother {guest post}

By Nichole Woo | Blog

There’s this thing in the air. You’ve likely been exposed — especially if your kids’ activities (too) have incapacitated your social life.

Symptoms.
This “thing” is both infectious and highly contagious. It incubates in competitive environments, attacking parents’ vulnerable nervous systems. Symptoms range from elevated heart rates and involuntary clenched fists to sweaty palms and irritability.

These symptoms exacerbate during children’s performance “events” — school art shows, music recitals, spelling bees, the monkey bars . . . any place where parents are sizing up their offspring’s abilities to those of their peers. It is common for symptoms to worsen at sporting events, most notably during soccer games. (Scientists hypothesize that this correlates to a high incident of player distraction, from factors like butterflies, dandelions, and somersault-worthy grass.)

Symptoms are accompanied by overwhelming angst, culminating in feelings of frustration and inadequacy. Often, parents channel this emotional intensity to their own children through sideline “cheers”, the “look”, or the barely audible swear word. They believe that, applied effectively, this pressure will prompt superiority: The win, the score, the MVP, the not-just-a-participation-ribbon, the top performance. Progeny victories appear to usher in brief periods of remission. Ineffectively treated, however, symptoms will reoccur and worsen, often resulting in long-term damage to the heart.

Detection.
I began noticing infected parents – especially moms – right out of the parenting gates. There were many on my beat: The boasters of super-latching babies in lactation group, and the exuberant church moms swopping milestone stats on sleeping, sitting, rolling over, and speaking. (Either that or they were referring to their dogs . . .)

As my children grew and my circle widened, I feared an epidemic. The infected surfaced at toddler music classes (best shaky egg form), after school language programs, swimming lessons and tumble-bees gymnastics (“Tuck your head on that somersault, dang it!”). I playfully christened these women “Tiger Moms”, from Amy Chua’s controversial work, Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother.

I scoffed at the pressure parents placed on their kids to perform. It seemed every move since birth was calculated to usher their offspring out of mediocrity and on to the Ivy League, Julliard, the NBA – or at least one of these. I pitied each overly-ambitious disease carrier and their poor, defenseless children.

Until the day I glanced into the mirror, and saw orange and black stripes.

Diagnosis & Denial.
It was my husband who painfully and lovingly held up that mirror. I was vexing about some recent “Tiger Mom” encounter, when he interjected “You know you’re one, too, right?” There is nothing like realizing you are the thing you ridicule. It’s even better when your spouse exposes the hypocrisy. (The “for worse” part of my marriage vows are never lost on me.) I jokingly shrugged him off, knowing he was right.

Acceptance.
It wasn’t the title that gnawed at me so much as grasping why I deserved it. There was no denying I exhibited the symptoms. Simply put, if my kid landed on top, I was gratified — at least for a while. Anything less opened the ugly flood gates of discontent, until their next chance to shine. It’s why I felt a competitive tension whenever my kids performed, and why I constantly sized up their “opponents” in the classroom and on the playground. My radar constantly detected others like me. We prowled in the same territory, always cramming that one extra thing into our kids’ packed schedules. (Because someday, it just might matter to MIT if they can say “Where’s the bathroom?” in 12 different languages. . .)

Honest dialogue with a close friend exposed the truth: This wasn’t about my children, or their greater good. It had nothing to do with them realizing their full potential, learning the value of hard work, or becoming the best version of themselves.

It was all about me.

In my twisted version of reality, their victories meant I was “enough.” My parenting abilities were enough. Their upbringing was enough. Even my genes were “enough.” My “enough-ness” was intrinsically tied to their success, all the while exposing them to my illness, too. I could see it in their eyes every time they searched mine for approval and came up short. My “Tiger Mom” mentality was eating away at their self-worth. I either tamed it, or surely I would contaminate them.

In my twisted version of reality, their victories meant I was “enough.” -Nicole Woo

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Treatment.
Earning my stripes was effortless. Losing them meant painstakingly shedding my pride. It required me to expose the darker underbelly of a value system I’d thought was godly. As it turned out, mine just pretended to be. Finally, I recognized a comparison worth making — His values next to mine:

Threaded through Scripture’s pages, I found God in relentless pursuit of His beloved. Us, valued not for what we did (He had that covered), but for who we were. Imperfect, fallen, flawed — but masterpieces nonetheless; His workmanship, His image bearers. And just in case there was any doubt about our worth, He bought us back at the highest price possible, the price of His only Son’s blood.

No plastic trophies or gold medals required. Not from me or my kids. Not from humanity. My futile quest to net value through the likes of these now seemed absurd. Here was the antidote: In Him, enough was enough.

Recovery, and a Science Fair.
I wish I could tell you that I’m completely cured, and that I’ve lost my “Tiger Mom” credentials. But that “thing” still lingers in the air, and my tiger sometimes still rears its ugly head.

Recently, I strolled the poster board labyrinth of our school’s science fair. I’d like to say I spent that time celebrating the amazing learning on display. Instead, I secretly scrutinized each one, assuring myself of my kid’s place on the podium.

The symptoms came roaring back. But this time, I prayerfully applied His antidote: In Him, enough was enough.

And that was enough.

About Nichole:

Despite a deep desire to belong, Nicole Woo often finds life nudging her to the margins. She’s been the only girl on the team, the only public speaking teacher afraid of public speaking, the only Caucasian in the extended family photo, and the only mom who lets her kids drink Fanta. She calls the Rockies home, often pretending to be a Colorado native in spite of her flatland origins. Visit her blog at www.walkthenarrows.wordpress.com.

***

This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links.

My “enough-ness” was intrinsically tied to their success, all the while exposing them to my illness, too. I could see it in their eyes every time they searched mine for approval and came up short. My “Tiger Mom” mentality was eating away at their self-worth. I either tamed it, or surely I would contaminate them.

 

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A Lament to God for Christ the Foster Child {guest post}

By Gena Thomas | Twitter: @genaLthomas

A few months ago, lament was heavy on my mind as I was hearing the news about DACA recipients. I didn’t know how to express my lament, so I opened up an amazing book by Soong-Chan Rah about lament and found the tool I didn’t know I needed: the acrostic. Then, stretching in a way I didn’t realize I needed to, I began to pen A Lament to God for Christ the Immigrant, with help and direction from the brilliant Juliet Liu.

Today marks a culmination of decisions that have me, once again, feeling the heaviness of lament. So once again, I have turned to the acrostic. And once again, I must thank Prof. Rah for this tool in the midst of weighted pain.

I lament:

for the Adulting you had to do at such a young age.
for the Bonds that must get prematurely cut.
for the Control you should have over your life but you don’t.
for the Decisions made without your input.
for the Environment you had to grow up in.
for the ‘Foster’ put before your name, and the prejudice that will come from it.
for the Grotesque scenes you’ve witnessed.
for the Heaviness you carry with you.
for the Isolation you constantly feel.
for the Juxtaposing you do daily between your life and everyone else’s.
for the Knowledge that has come to you out of its proper order.
for the Lying you’ve learned to mimic.
for the Mountains others will call mole hills.
for the Notes home from teachers that wouldn’t be there if …
for the Opportunities that never were.
for the Pains of growing up that will be deeper than most kids your age.
for the Questions that may never be answered.
for the Rights that may terminate or may not terminate.
for the Songs of childhood you never learned to sing.
for the Tension you may always hold between your past and your future.
for the Unwillingness for most people to understand you.
for the Visions of horror and the visions of home you hold in your minds eye.
for the Ways the people of God have not been intentional about loving you.
for the X-rays that show & don’t show the abuse.
for the Youth that was stolen and will never fully return.
for the Zeniths of times with blood family that may all be in the past.

For this I pray. For this I lament.

For the ways in which I have been selfish in my love for you, I lament, I repent.

Christ have mercy.

About Gena:

Gena Thomas served as a missionary in northern Mexico for over four years with her husband, Andrew. While there, the couple founded and managed El Buho, a coffee shop ministry that still serves the town of Hidalgo. Gena holds a masters in International Development. Purchase her book, A Smoldering Wick here and/or visit her at her blog or on Twitter.

This post originally appeared at www.genathomas.com and is used with permission by the author.

***

This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

*This post includes Amazon affiliate links.

I didn't know how to express my lament, so I opened up an amazing book by Soong-Chan Rah about lament and found the tool I didn't know I needed: the acrostic. Then, stretching in a way I didn't realize I needed to, I began to pen A Lament to God for Christ the Immigrant.

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The Physicality of Motherhood {guest post + BOOK GIVEAWAY!}

By Catherine McNiel | Facebook

I spent my very first Mother’s Day on a cross-continental flight, with my husband and lap-sitting infant—the same baby who had recently made me a mother.

All three of us had the stomach flu.

Let’s just say it was a complicated day.

Oh, the stories that tiny airplane bathroom could tell. Not to mention the airport terminal. Please don’t even ask what happened on the side of the interstate driving home.

My husband and son gave me a loving card and a thoughtful gift but—let’s face it—caring for a sick, squirmy baby on a long flight while feeling sick yourself is not the ideal celebration.

But then again, maybe it is.

Twelve years into motherhood now, with many peaceful Mother’s Days under my belt, I wonder. What more appropriate way is there to mark the first year of motherhood? Let’s face it—motherhood involves quite a lot of throw-up.

From “morning sickness” (that poorly-named wilderness of all-day suffering) to the drama of “transition” during labor, making a baby entails vomit and weird physical symptoms of all kinds. Then, the baby. That precious, wonderful child shares his or her bodily fluids so readily.

Everything about being a parent, and especially a mother, is physical. These children call to us in the deepest places of our bodies and turn us inside out. Goopy noses and flowing tears are wiped on our shoulders and jeans without a thought. Our precious little ones depend upon us for their very physical existence; they unabashedly demand our bodies for themselves.

It can be easy for us to get lost in these physical acts, the unrelenting pouring out of our bodies for the life of another. Furthermore, we’ve been trained to see very little spiritual value in our bodies and what they do, in meeting bodily demands.

And yet, when Jesus came we called him God-made-flesh because he took on a body. He did not appear as a cloud this time, or a fire. He became one of us. God-made-flesh didn’t spend his time in an ivory tower, distaining the messy, physical world in favor of the clearer and more controllable world of thought and idea. No, the baby who was born in a stable and celebrated by shepherds went on to teach about fish and bread, bread and wine, sheep and goats, wheat and yeast. He touched sick people, even lepers. I’m going to guess he saw quite a bit of vomit himself.

The Gospel he taught was incredibly physical and messy. After all, it is his birth and death that most captivate us—the messiest, physical moments of our lives.

For moms—and dads, and grandparents, and caregivers—we preach the Gospel in these same physical, messy ways. We love with our hands and feet, we surrender with our tired bodies, we give life with our wombs, breasts, and hearts.

We love with our hands and feet, we surrender with our tired bodies, we give life with our wombs, breasts, and hearts. @CatherineMcNiel

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All this—and so much more—we willingly take on for the privilege of creating, bearing, sustaining, and giving life.

So, what’s a little throw-up on Mother’s Day?

Raise your air sickness bags with me. Here’s to life.

About Catherine:

Catherine McNiel writes to open eyes to God’s creative, redemptive work in each day—while caring for three kids, two jobs, and one enormous garden. Catherine is the author of Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as a Spiritual Discipline (NavPress 2017). Look for her second book (NavPress) in 2019. Catherine loves to connect on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, or at www.catherinemcniel.com.

***

I have three books to giveaway this month, so keep an eye out for them! This week, I’m giving away a copy of Long Days of Small Things: Motherhood as Spiritual Discipline. You can read my review here, but it’s a fabulous book to buy for moms of young children who need a breath of fresh air. Sign up for my newsletter by this Friday at midnight (MT) and I’ll send you a copy! Already signed up? Then like the Instagram or Facebook post I put up on 5/8 and tag up to four friends in the comments section (I’ll enter your name once per friend you tag)! Sorry, only U.S. residents and no bots allowed. 😉

It would make a fabulous mother’s day gift for a mom in the trenches!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

***

This month on Scraping Raisins, we’re talking about adoption, foster care and children. If you’re interested in guest posting about this theme, shoot me an email at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com. The theme for June is “Create,” so you can also be thinking ahead for that, too. Be sure to check back or follow me on social media so you don’t miss the fabulous guest posters I have lined up this month!

 

**Contains Amazon affiliate links.

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No More Fear for Kids~Interview with Author, JoHannah Reardon + Book Giveaway

I’ve always been fascinated by peering “behind the scenes.” Before a show, I always hope to glimpse the actors and catch them being ordinary people. I think most of us are interested–why else would we sit and watch hours of “extras” about the shows, movies and lives of cast members we love? Books are no different. I’m so curious about what inspires us to write and the process each of us takes. In this interview, author JoHannah, a friend of mine at Redbud Writer’s Guild, takes us behind the scenes of her newest book, a 40-day family devotional on fear for kids around age 8-12. But even if you don’t have kids, JoHannah has some fabulous lessons to share about how she has conquered fear in her life.

If you love free books like I do, be sure to read to the end for instructions on how to win a copy of this book!

1. Why did you write No More Fear for Kids?
I have battled a lifetime of fear and anxiety that began in childhood. I was afraid of everything and didn’t know how to process that fear. When I became a Christian, I knew the answer was in Christ, but I didn’t know how that translated into my day-to-day living. It wasn’t until I took 40 days to give up fear that I realized the stranglehold it had on me. With that in mind, I wanted to help kids get a head start on dealing with their fears when they are young. I could have avoided a lot of angst if I’d dealt with my fear much earlier in life.

2. Why 40 days to give up fear?
I did not attend a church that practiced Lent, but I worked with many people who did. I thought it would be useful to examine any habits that I knew I needed help with. So for a couple of years, I gave up food and media as everyone else I knew did, but one year I decided to pray about what I should give up. I felt as strongly as I’ve ever felt anything that I was to give up fear. That 40-day journey was absolutely life changing and broke a pattern that had dominated my life from as far back as I could remember.

3. What approach does your book No More Fear for Kids take to overcoming fear?
The 40 days of giving up fear taught me that I had a warped view of God. Since that time, I’ve been meditating on who God truly is. Knowing his good and loving character has helped me to trust him with all that happens in my life and world. In No More Fear for Kids, I stress these characteristics of God, as well as wrestle with what it means that God is a judge, that I should fear him, and that he does get angry. By understanding that I don’t have anything to fear from God has been huge in my journey away from fear and anxiety. So, by closely examining God’s attributes, I found that he was faithful and that giving up fear was simply believing that and trusting him with my life.

My hope in No More Fear for Kids is that children will gain a healthy understanding of God and realize that he loves them beyond measure, giving them a safe harbor no matter their fears and anxieties.

My hope in No More Fear for Kids is that children will gain a healthy understanding of God and realize that he loves them beyond measure, giving them a safe harbor no matter their fears and anxieties.

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 A. W. Tozer said that what we believe about God is the most important thing about us. By giving kids a right view of God’s attributes, their fears are put into perspective.

4. Is simply knowing who God is enough to overcome fears?
Good question. Before I started my 40-day journey, I knew God’s attributes intellectually. However, I hadn’t engaged my emotions in relation to his attributes. In the vein of Christianity I grew in, emotions were considered unimportant and even unnecessary. I was taught to put emotions aside and just go with what I knew to be true. So much about this is good and necessary; yet, it caused me to so disconnect with my emotions that I denied them. I decided I wasn’t afraid, even though I was terrified all the time. That’s why taking 40 days to just concentrate on my emotions of fear and anxiety were so important. I had to face those emotions head on by acknowledging them and by realizing God was trustworthy enough to deal with whatever was causing me terror. That experience with God was what caused a breakthrough for me.

5. Since you gave up fear, have you had any relapses?
I had one relapse when my husband was gone on a trip. I heard some noises in the night and felt the old panic begin to rise. I sat up in bed with all the old fears pouring in on me. But then, I felt angry—angry at Satan for throwing this old pattern of fear at me again. I said aloud, “No, Satan! I am not doing this again.” The fear lifted and I went peacefully back to sleep.

Then when I released No More Fear: 40 Days to Overcome Worry, my adult devotional, and No More Fear for Kids, I began to (ironically) fear that I had just found something simple to placate my emotions and that I couldn’t really offer help to anyone. But that week, a couple of men murdered someone in the town next to mine. They fled to my neighborhood and a massive search occurred. As the police examined every shed, camper, and nook or cranny a person could hide, general panic took over those in my town. People called me and told me I could come stay with them until these men were caught. I was elated when I realized I didn’t feel even an iota of fear. I would rather face armed murderers than return to the prison of fear I’d been locked in for so long.

6. What do you hope a child will come away with after reading No More Fear for Kids?
First of all, I hope a parent doesn’t just hand the child this book and let them read it on their own. It’s designed for discussion between the parent and child, giving the child an opportunity to talk about their fears and misconceptions about who God is. That said, for each child who spends 40 days in my book, I pray the following: that they will be able to identify their fears and rest them one by one at Jesus’ feet, knowing he will banish them. That their experience with God is so powerful they would rather face the worst life can throw at them than return to a life of fear and trembling. That their relationship with Christ becomes so real and palpable that it will affect every part of their lives and permeate it with inner peace—for years to come.

BOOK GIVEAWAY: WIN A FREE COPY OF NO MORE FEAR FOR KIDS

To win, be sure you’re signed up for my newsletter, then tag up to four friends on my Instagram post about this book who you think might be interested in reading this. I’ll enter you one time per new friend you tag. I’ll announce the winner on Instagram on Monday, April 16. Sorry, no bots and only U.S. residents!

 

BUY No More Fear for Kids from Amazon.  

More About JoHannah:

JoHannah Reardon was a Christianity Today editor for nine years. In that time she built and managed their Bible study site, ChristianBibleStudies.com. She also served as an editor for Today’s Christian Woman and Gifted For Leadership (now CTWomen and WomenLeaders). She currently serves as the senior editor for The Redbud Post and is the author of 14 books, including devotionals and novels. Although she loves her work, her favorite things in life are teasing her husband, annoying her children, and spoiling her grandkids. Find out more about JoHannah and her books at johannahreardon.com. Follow her on Twitter, Facebook and Pinterest.

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Our theme for April is “Books and Writing,” and I hope to share my favorite books, podcasts and resources for new writers.  Click here if you’re new to the series and want to catch up on old posts. Be sure to follow me on social media and sign up for my newsletter below so you can be alerted of new posts. Please get in touch at scrapingraisins (dot) gmail (dot) com if you are interested in guest posting on this topic!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

 

**This post includes Amazon affiliate links

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Laundry Overload: Simplify Laundry

A few weeks ago I asked about laundry on Facebook and got more comments than I’ve ever gotten about anything. So while there are both horrific and glorious events happening in the world, humanity ultimately finds solidarity though the universal act of laundry.

Please know I’m writing this piece more as a journalist than as an expert and that I’m still very much in the experimental stage. But I ‘ve tried out some of my friends’ techniques over the past six weeks, and I think you will find some new ideas to streamline, or at least get control of, the laundry chaos in your life.

Also, for the record, my kids are age 1, 3 and 5. We have a (purposely very large) washer and a dryer, and as a carry-over from my five years living in China without a dryer, I still hang-dry all my own clothing (except for socks and undies), but no one else’s :-).

So how do large-ish and large families do laundry? Here are some tips I’ve gathered from friends, podcasts and strangers on the internet:

To Sort or Not to Sort?

Pretty much everyone with more than three children advised stopping the ridiculousness of sorting kids’ clothing into colors and just dump the whole lot in the washer on warm. Back in the olden days when everyone used powder detergent, clothes used to bleed more than they do now, but if not sorting makes you twitchy, one friend swore by Shout Color Catchers to prevent colors bleeding (5 out of 5 stars on Amazon, too!). 

For adult clothes, we sort by light, medium and darks in our bedroom,  but I stopped sorting the kids’ clothing by color for the past six weeks and it’s been a great change (I stopped buying white clothes for kids a LONG time ago, anyway!)

Sort by Room

Sort according to where you store the clothing so it’s easy to put the clothes away. My two oldest share a room, so I wash their clothes together. I keep the baby’s clothes in our room, so I wash his clothes with ours (which gets tricky because he has sensitive skin and I’d rather use Charlie’s Soap and no fabric softener on his clothes … still figuring that one out.)

Sheets and Towels

I changed the sheets every other week for about a month, and then got lazy. I know it’s gross, but I knew farmers in China who didn’t shower for six months, so that helps put things in perspective for me. But in my ideal world, I’d use the Lazy Genius’ tip and wash all the sheets and towels pretty early on in the day (because putting sheets on the bed is the most annoying task ever–especially right before bed when you forgot), so I could put them right back on the beds and not even bother folding them first. And the towels can just go right back on the rack. I’m okay not sorting and washing all the sheets and towels and washing on warm, but my mom swears they must be done on hot or we will all be overtaken by bacteria. Just go with your gut.

I also heard a recent podcast where the woman got rid of all her towels and bought white towels for the whole house so she could just wash them all together and bleach them when needed (though I haven’t had much success with white, personally).

All in One Day or Spread Throughout the Week?

There are advantages and disadvantages to each. For me, it comes down to my answer to this question:

Will I actually put the clothes away after I wash them?

If the answer is no, then doing them all in one day is a better solution to the laundry problem. If I will be disciplined enough to put them away, then doing a load a day may prevent the despair of having to dedicate one whole day of my life each week to laundry.

That said, I’ve been trying out the “laundry day” phenomenon and I actually kind of like it. One day a week we have to stay home. I throw the kids’ clothes in first and set a timer. I make tea, give the kids a bath, and then we do other at-home-with-little-kids-things like paint, bake or glue pasta onto construction paper. I hate to say it, for the most part it’s kind of relaxing.

Lately, I’ve been washing the adult clothes last. I save them to fold after the kids go to bed and my husband helps fold while we watch T.V.

“Involve the Kids”

I laughed hysterically when people mentioned this, but thought I’d give it a try. One friend said she has her kids doing their own laundry by age 7/second grade and that I should have them learn ASAP–several other friends said theirs were doing it by middle school. I’m still a couple/few years away from that, so here’s what I did:

1. Have the kids sort: The first day of our newly instituted “laundry day,” I dumped the kids’ clothes in the middle of the carpet and had them sort them out themselves. That mostly worked.

2. Have the kids fold: Then I demonstrated how to fold them and nearly fell over when my 5 year old folded ALL off his–and they looked better than they do when I fold them! My 3 year old daughter lost steam after folding two shirts, but I couldn’t believe my son was capable of doing this and I had no idea! I did sit on the floor and turn them all right-side-in just to make it go faster, but I was amazed! (can you tell by the number of exclamation points I’m using?)

3. Have the kids put away: I finished folding my daughter’s clothes, then had them put them all away in their drawers. My daughter dumped them on the floor in front of the dresser first, but my son did it without unfolding them.

(Also, my one year old helps me transfer the clothes from my washer to the dryer. I put them in front and he scoots them in!)

4. For older kids (this is from my friends): give them their own laundry baskets or hampers to pre-sort their clothes into light and dark. Give them each a day a week to wash, dry, fold and put away (yeah right, but maybe?). OR I kind of like this idea:  do all laundry on the weekend, then do a family folding party together in the evening while watching T.V.

Stupid Socks

The most brilliant advice I read was to buy all the same color and type of socks so you don’t even have to go through the weekly madness of trying to match socks. The families with the highest number of kids don’t even bother matching them, but just have a “sock bin.” I’ve also found that even though my kids are 1, 3, and 5, they can all wear basically the same socks.

I also heard a tip about having kids put dirty socks in a washable laundry bag immediately after wearing them. Some people line a small box with it and put it by the door, then you just scoop up all the socks, cinch the bag shut and throw it in the washing machine. That way socks can’t wander away from their match into Sock Never-Never Land.

Hide Your Laundry Baskets

I used to wash, dry, and fold the clothes, then they would sit in laundry baskets until I needed to wash more clothes again. Because of this, I banned myself from even using laundry baskets other than to transport unfolded laundry to the couch for folding. That’s worked for me. Once the clothes are folded and on the coffee table, they go straight into the drawers. This is why washing according to room also works well for me.

I also find that not having too many laundry baskets is a good solution. It’s like the “empty closet” problem–you will always eventually fill up excess storage space in your home. Laundry baskets work the same way. So, in theory, I don’t really need more than one large basket if the clothes aren’t going to hang out there.

You Don’t Have to Fold Everything

One of my friends doesn’t fold her kids’ clothes at all. And it’s true that they mostly just get bunched up in the drawer anyway. I tried not folding, but I couldn’t do it. Plus, they wouldn’t fit in the drawer. Another friend said she doesn’t fold play clothes. Personally, I don’t fold underwear, but everything else gets folded. And you can avoid folding sheets and towels by using the tip above and just putting back on beds and in bathrooms immediately after washing them.

In Summary (and some other random tips):

  1. Only buy wash-and-wear clothes.
  2. Get your kids involved.
  3. Don’t buy white clothes for kids–ever.
  4. Don’t sort kids’ clothes before washing–and wash on warm.
  5. Sort by room.
  6. Get rid of excess laundry baskets.
  7. Always put clothes away immediately after you fold them.
  8. Buy all the same sock colors and types.
  9. Do something fun while you fold like watch T.V. or listen to a podcast.
  10. Wash everything on the fastest speed possible.

What works for you? I’d love to hear your tips in the comments!

10 TIPS FOR SIMPLIFYING LAUNDRY

Here are some other good resources on this very hot topic:

The Lazy Genius Does Laundry

Jen Hatmaker had a hilarious rant about laundry which led to them buying 28 new laundry baskets.

***

Thank you for meeting me here in this space. The theme for March is “Simplify,” so you can start here to read posts you may have missed. If you are a writer or just a person with words burning in your soul and are interested in guest posting, email me at scrapingraisins@ gmail (dot) com. Our theme for next month (April) is “books and writing.” I’m looking for personal stories on this theme in the 500-1000 word range. If you haven’t yet, be sure you sign up for my mid-month and monthly secret newsletter for the latest posts and even some news, discount codes and book giveaway information that only Scraping Raisins subscribers get!

Sign up for the Mid-month Digest and Secret Newsletter Here:

**Contains Amazon affiliate links

Laundry Overload: How Families Do Laundry--I asked all my friends how they simplify doing laundry with 2+ kids, this is how they responded.

 

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