Tag Archives: Marriage

Thanks, but… | unedited thoughts on body image 

“Dave, a guy at Walmart hit on me today. Who on Earth would find this attractive? A stupid person, I guess.”

“Lyndse, you just called me stupid. I obviously find you attractive. I chose to spend every day of my life with you. I chose you over becoming a scholar with a gigantic library and a fireplace. I chose you over traveling the world. I chose you knowing you’d gain weight when we had babies. Every time you insult yourself, you insult me. Because I chose you.”

It was a turning point in our marriage. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. He couldn’t understand why I couldn’t grasp how beautiful he saw me. 

Later on, when the repressed memories of my abuse resurfaced, it started to make sense. It was textbook stuff at that point. After decades of abuse, any positive self-image had been altered. Destroyed. 

As I progressed on my journey of healing, I was able to start seeing what Dave saw. What he had chosen. When he would compliment me, I would thank him. 

In the early years of our marriage, I would pair a thank you with a but. 

“Lyndse, you look gorgeous today.” 

“Thanks, but I’ve gained so much weight.” 

“Sweetie, your hair is beautiful today!” 

“Thanks, but I look so tired. My face looks horrible.”

“Lyndse, your outfit looks so great on you.”

“Thanks, but these pants are a size bigger than I was wearing last month.”

The irony: my love language is words of affirmation. I craved those compliments from Dave, even when I couldn’t receive them. It was frustrating for both of us. 

In the last three years, so many things have changed for us. When he tells me I’m gorgeous, I say thanks and kiss him. When he tousles my hair and calls it cute, I thank him and smack his butt. When he comments on my outfit, I pair a “Thank you!” with a little spin. 

I don’t look much different, honestly. My weight has fluctuated about 75 pounds in our 10 years of marriage. Up and down. I’ve had seasons of amazing haircuts and seasons of us not being able to afford haircuts. My wardrobe has definitely improved, but I’ve always had stuff in my closet that worked. I just went from a few things to having an entire wardrobe that works for me. 

What’s changed is my heart.

I’m still changing. My heart is healing. I’m still learning to capture all the negative thoughts about myself and replace them with truth. But it’s happening more and more each day. 

I’m blessed that I’m married to a man who didn’t give up. On our wedding day, he told me, “You are so unbelievably sexy.” And I answered, “Thanks, but I gained 10 pounds last month.” But Dave never gave up. He never stopped trying to tell me the truth, when I couldn’t tell myself. 

After 13 1/2 years together, I see the same look in his eyes that he had when I was a size 0, well-rested, with zero stretchmarks, and perfect hair/nails/clothes. Scratch that. The look is different. It’s more. His eyes then were filled with wonder and new love and curiosity. Young and waiting for a wedding night. 

Now, he looks at me like a man who has climbed peaks and gone through valleys. A man who gave up dreams for new ones. A man who finds me irresistible, with stretchmarks and jiggle and dark circles under my eyes. Thousands of nights together. 

We’ve lived life. A life that’s unique to us. We’re the only two people on this planet who know what it was like to see Graham for the first time. The only ones who know what it’s like to parent Adelaide. The only ones who know the exact pitch of Bess’ voice. The only ones who know the specific hurt of burying Laurence and Flannery. And the specific joy of seeing Lewis inside my uterus, when we all feared he wasn’t. 

I still have such a long way to go, but each sunrise gets me closer to my goal of seeing myself the way my husband sees me. The way I see him. When I tell Dave, “You look hot today!” He smiles and thanks me. And gives me a kiss. And that’s the way it should be. Two healthy people loving one another. Growing older and wiser and getting wrinkles and buying jeans that fit without caring about the size on the tag. 

 

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Albums That Feel Like First Kisses

“Try to describe to me how music makes you feel.” A question from my kindergarten teacher. “I love music a lot. I think kissing will make me feel the way I feel when I hear my favorite music.” She chuckled. I didn’t understand her laugh. I was being so serious. Music caught my breath in my chest. I thought about every Disney kiss I had ever watched on VHS. I thought about Almonzo Wilder kissing Laura Ingalls in my paperback book from the Bookmobile. Why was this comical to her?

I only kissed two guys before Dave. I wanted to kiss a few dozen more from middle school to college, but I was never brave enough to initiate a kiss. The guys I liked never chose me for that moment you read in hundreds of books. When he takes your hands, your eyes lock, you look away slightly embarrassed, and your lips touch that very first time. And it feels like music.

When Dave and I were friends, he mentioned that he wouldn’t kiss again unless he knew he loved her and wanted to kiss only her for the rest of his life. Several months later, I wasn’t expecting to be kissed. I was surprised and elated when he asked if he could kiss me. My hands in his hands. We looked into one another’s eyes. Then I looked down, remembering his words. This was more than a first kiss. This was a declaration. Our lips met and it was the most incredible feeling. I remembered thinking, “This is my last first kiss.” And that feeling in my chest was the same feeling I had the first time I heard U2’s Heartland.

Most people have songs that move them. I have those in spades. But I also have albums. Entire albums that give me that feeling so far into my chest, I think it must burn me up completely.

I doubt mine do the same for others. We are all so different. But these albums are mine, from start to finish. And that feeling of kissing your spouse for the first time floods me.

That first kiss, and all the dating and engagement kisses that follow, are nothing like married kisses. Two categories that rarely overlap. Those first kisses leave you wanting what you don’t even know. When evenings end with kissing and can’t go any further. For me, music is like those kisses, because I can’t ever get enough. I want to feel more from that song. Dance more. Cry more.

But married kisses almost always lead to that act that transcends the music. Where the lyrics can’t fulfill, those married nights together are everything you imagined as a college girl holding his hand at an amusement park.

Last year, Dave bought Coldplay’s Ghost Stories for me. I listened to it on repeat all the way to Kansas City and back. I was on 71 thinking about our first kiss. He had that album ready for me, along with coffee, and a goodbye kiss. I was taking the girls to the hospital and he had a meeting he couldn’t miss. His goodbye kiss wasn’t his normal goodbye kiss. It said, “Please be careful. I love you. I want to be leaving with you right now. Please, please, please be careful.” And that album was in my chest for 7 hours. It became one of mine.

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Here are a few of my albums. They are part of the soundtrack for my life. I equate them with heartburn and happy/sad/mad tears and being incandescently in love, to steal Lizzie’s words. I want to dance and laugh and kiss my husband and travel all over the world and spoon on our couch while children sleep and travel back to 2003 for our first kiss. And sing. Always singing.

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Photo credit: amazon & wikipedia

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You Know You’re A Filmmaker’s Wife When

“Sweetie, did we wash my villain clothes?”

“I’ve got an idea that should need only a few guys.”

“We found this perfect spot for the explosion scene.”

“You’re in the movie this time. I need someone to kiss.”

“I just watched this great tutorial on YouTube.”

“I think I can build that myself for way less.”

“That was all shot on the GoPro.”

“Can you run to Salvation Army to see if they have an old, nasty prom dress?”

“Thank you for always supporting my dreams. I love you.”

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Yeah I Saw Sparks

It’s so cliche, but I fell in love with Dave’s eyes the first moment I saw them. He walked into an ice cream shop and I turned to my best friend and whispered, “He is so sexy. I see Jesus in his eyes.” Then Dave sat down across from us. I blushed. We talked for almost 5 hours.

And that night, I told my mom I wanted to marry him.

A few years later, we were Mr & Mrs David Ballew. Alex, who had introduced us, was our best man. My sister was my maid of honor. Dave and I danced to a Coldplay song with twinkle lights all around the room. And he touched my leg for the first time when he removed my garter. His eyes were twinkling brighter than those lights, and I couldn’t stop looking into them.

And I haven’t ever stopped.

I promise I get that same feeling in the pit of my stomach when he looks at me. While he’s making dinner. Or making a bottle. Or making a Lego helicopter. His eyes have seen grief and joy and test results and I still get lost in them. They are my safe place. But also where I find so much excitement in myself.

It sometimes takes my breath away for a moment when I think back on that day. When I least expected to meet the person I would never want to be away from. And I didn’t want to leave him. Then, I got into Alex’s car and remembered I was dating someone. A really nice guy from my university. So sweet. And a great friend.

Dave just wanted to be friends, but there was no way I could continue dating someone else. I broke up with a perfectly wonderful guy, for one who wasn’t that interested in me. “I met someone else. He doesn’t actually want to date me, but I can’t date you when I’m in love with him. That seems like a horrible thing to do.”

My mom had always teased that ‘you never know when you’ll meet your husband’…which was her line every time I tried to run an errand in baggy yoga pants. But she was right, as most moms are. I didn’t wake up that June Wednesday thinking I would meet my future lover. Over strawberry ice cream.

And I didn’t think I would love him before he loved me. It just happened that way. And I waited and waited for him to either fall in love with me or just fall in love with someone else. Even though the thought of him marrying anyone other than me caused tears so many nights.

There are times when I forget that I’m a mom with three kids and a mortgage and junk mail to sift through everyday. And I just think back to our first kiss.

I don’t share the details very often, because it’s one of the most intimate and gorgeous nights of my life. Months before, he had already told me he wouldn’t kiss me until he knew he wanted to marry me. So when his voice said, “May I kiss you?” his eyes said, “I want to marry you someday.”

This month is the anniversary of our first date. And the anniversary of when he asked me to be his bride. One year apart. We went through four seasons together before he was in front of me with that ring box. And that’s another story I don’t share very often, but I just might if pressed.

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Sex After Three Kids

*****I once said I would never talk about sex on the blog. But it seems like all the people who shouldn’t really be talking about it are clogging the internet with their thoughts. So, here are some ramblings from a monogamous 32-year-old mom.*****

“Last night, I told my husband I’d slept with only 2 other guys. Not sure if he bought it.”

“Were you lying to him?”

“Lyndse, how do you not know the subtraction rule? You take the number of guys you’ve slept with and subtract 3. Or 7. Depends on how much you’ve gotten around. You can’t tell a guy your real number.”

“But my number is zero.”

“It can’t be. Nobody’s number is zero. And guys wouldn’t believe that anyway. You’ll need to at least say 1. You don’t want a virgin reputation.”

“I already have a virgin reputation, because I’m a virgin. I’m not going to add false notches to my chastity belt. That’s absurd.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, but nobody’s gonna date a college girl who says zero.”

My co-worker and I had very different worldviews about sex. I can’t even remember her name. This is the only conversation I even remember having with her in all the time we worked together. She saw me as a silly little college girl with a promise ring. I saw her as someone I didn’t understand who desperately needed to know that Jesus loved her…she was looking for love in some scary places.

I was a virgin on my wedding day. I don’t say it to brag, just to point out that Dave and I were clueless about sex. But we were clueless together. We had read all those books you were supposed to read before you get married. But reading and doing are two very different skill sets. We were both starting at zero. And our inexperience brought us together quickly.

We went away on a month long honeymoon. It was filled with joy, unmet expectations, funny conversations, fireworks…so.many.fireworks…and indifferent experiences. But it was fabulous. No schedule. Doing as we pleased. Caught up in exploring one another. Even when it seemed awkward.

But neither one of us would say that our honeymoon sex was our best sex. We look back and laugh. We have fond memories and hilarious anecdotes. And we would never trade that season of naivety and learning for what we have now. Because it was worth it to start at the ground floor and build our intimacy together.

Nine years and three kids later. Sex is different. We no longer dance around one another. We know what we like, love, hate, and what makes us yawn. We can tell one another anything and everything. Always transparent. And we can try new things and chuckle if they go horribly wrong.

Sex after three kids changes things. Literally. We traded gold canopy curtains for drying diapers. Exactly 22 bath toys took up residence where our candles and bath oil used to sit. We started keeping jingle bells on our door, because Graham is a sleepwalker.

We find the laughter, just like in the early days. But the reason for our laughter has changed. Making bets about which kid will wake up when we turn on the shower. Or who will cry for a bottle as soon as we light the first candle.

And we cherish all the moments we get, because sex after three kids is a gamble. Sometimes we hit a jackpot. Sometimes the house, with three tiny owners, wins. But Dave and I are still on the same team. We exchanged the zero for 1 almost a decade ago. It’s been our unique adventure. With straightforward math. I love our story more and more each day. drying diapersbath toysjingle bells

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We Are Still An Ampersand

It was Spring of 2010 when my mom surprised us with Switchfoot tickets. I was going to Cincinnati for a conference, and Dave was tagging along. Dave’s mom kept a baby Graham.

It was our first and last trip away without kids. We sang and danced through the concert. Strolled hand in hand through the art museum. Meandered through the farmer’s market. Toured the Creation Museum. Drove the bridges. Talked architecture. Just Dave & Lyndse.

This weekend will be our very first trip away without our three kids. And our first time away together since that lovely time in Cincinnati. We are headed to the place I was raised. Where Dave proposed. Where we honeymooned. The land of Graham’s first vacation.

No washing diapers, pouring bottles, cutting food, giving seizure meds, unloading a wheelchair, folding tiny laundry, singing/signing Old MacDonald, wiping poop from a 5-year-old’s bottom.

Just the two of us. A man and his bride. Reading books. Making love. Blasting our favorite music. Touring a castle. Talking about anything and everything and nothing. Enjoying one another with no distractions.

Of course we’ll miss our kids. We’re parents. We will talk about our three blessings. Wonder how they’re doing. Call our moms and ask to hear little voices.

But ‘The Ballews’ were a couple before they were a quintet. Dave & Lyndse. Just Dave & Lyndse. And we are going to hoard this time together like a dragon with his gold. Selfishly wrapped up in one another’s arms and gaze. For ninety blissful hours.

After we pack.

Someone pinch me as I include my honeymoon lingerie and leave the Transformers toothbrush…

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My Husband Doesn’t Read My Blog And That’s Okay

“Do we have the same love language?” Dave was doing the dishes and I was cutting the girls’ dinner. I laughed. “No.” I couldn’t even remember all of them, but I knew ours were different. Why? Because I know that one of mine is Words of Affirmation and it is so-very-far from Dave’s.

I married a man who could go his whole life without a thank you card, birthday greeting on Facebook, or compliment on his work. Dave gets uncomfortable when people tell him he has done a good job. Much of his work goes unnoticed and uncredited and it doesn’t bother him a bit. I call his work fabulous and he calls it good. The word ‘good’ is an issue between us. He doesn’t know it, but it is.

I wrote a raw post on the blog about my dying dad-in-law. It was my unedited thoughts the week before Resurrection Sunday. It was shared a couple hundred  times, and then picked up by OhAmanda and even featured in a post she wrote. Dave didn’t read it until after Bob died. And then he said, “I read your post about Holy Week. It was good.” Good. A word that means almost nothing to me.

I tell Graham that his poop is good. His drawings are fantastic. His K’Nex creations are amazing. I am raising a kid who thrives on Words of Affirmation. I know what he needs. And if I miss the mark, he tells me. Graham and I use superlatives excessively. It’s just who we are. Dave doesn’t use them. When Dave tells you something is good, he means it. It’s genuine, but not over the top.

“Your post was good.” It was a compliment that felt like an insult to a person who had poured her heart out about suffering and brain cancer and redemption. Good. My feelings were hurt. Minutes later, Dave said one of my best friends was a ‘super creative, talented, brilliant artist’…and she is all those things and more! But almost instantly, the Enemy whispered, “See. You are ‘just’ good at writing. Listen to what he said about her. And he doesn’t even read your blog.” I knew it wasn’t truth. I quickly reigned in my thoughts.

It’s difficult being married to a writer. Dave has a degree in writing and a degree in literature. Most of the time, I am pretty happy he doesn’t read my work. Hahaha! We have extremely different writing styles. And I have this deep-down insecurity that he wouldn’t even like my writing if he took the time to read it. Dave is very transparent. When he says it’s good, he thinks it’s good. When he says I look pretty, he means I look pretty. I have spent a decade learning to be okay with the lack of praise. It took several years of being together before I could even take his compliments at face-value without reading disappointment into them. He would tell me I looked nice, and I would cry at work. Isn’t your husband supposed to think you look gorgeous? But nice meant nice. I wasn’t going to the Emmys. I was teaching in a Junior High. How amazing can a person look in khaki capris?

I do think you need to show love the way people receive it, but I also don’t want a fake husband. When Dave says I look great, it carries a lot of meaning. When he says I made a meal that was fantastic, it means I will be making it again very soon. When he says a shirt looks wonderful on me, I know it truly does. Dave doesn’t mess around with words. And the older I get, the more I appreciate that my husband is honest and not just saying things to please me. I grew up with a lot of fake. I crave authentic.

Don’t misread all of this. Dave and I do show and receive love in similar ways, and I have learned to cherish those other outlets. We absolutely love spending time together, having {lots and lots of} sex, and serving one another. Dave serves the people he loves. It’s one of my favorite things about him. I have watched him serve his mom through the death of two husbands. He doesn’t leave my mom’s house without doing dishes. He makes meals and mows lawns and organizes toys and brews coffee if he cares about you. And he spends time with you. He is introverted, but will pour out time and make gifts for the people he loves.

He works all day. Comes home to make dinner, help feed the kids, change diapers, do dishes, brush teeth, give medication, read nighttime stories, work on the house, and date his wife after his kids are asleep. And those things are worth more than reading the blog and praising me for having my work published. I made my very first money yesterday for my writing. His response was “That’s great.” And he meant it. I just make the concerted effort to be loved in all the other ways he shows it, instead of asking him to change for me. Then, I texted a girlfriend who I knew would send a hundred exclamation points and a dozen smiley faces and an all caps I AM SO PROUD OF YOU! It’s a choice on my part to get those words from other people. It’s unrealistic to think that a husband can meet every single need.

And I have no doubt that Dave could start praising me more if I asked him to, but we are in a season of life that causes many couples in our situation to get divorced at a rate of 85%. Raising a kid with special needs is not easy. I am not willing to say, “Hey, I know we are just trying to keep our heads above water, but could you say I look terrific today?” I am choosing not to focus on receiving love in a certain way while we navigate a normal that changes every day. We are loving and laughing in a hard season. When our kids are grown, and we are most likely still caring for Adelaide, a servant-husband who is transparent and deeply loves will be a blessing. I know, because he is a blessing now. And maybe I will ask him to step up the superlatives and adjectives, or maybe I will have outgrown it. I’ll know when we get there.

Once, someone asked Dave if he read the blog. “No, I live the blog.” I used to think Dave just wasn’t taking the time to read my words and it bothered me. I can honestly say: My husband doesn’t read my blog, and that’s okay. It’s more than okay. He shows me love in so many other ways, I am not even sure I could list them all. And I definitely don’t always show him love the ways he needs it. Dave pretends like it isn’t a big deal, but I know that he loves coming home to a clean house. He feels like he can breathe. As our kids get older and our responsibilities change, I hope to love him more in that way. It’s just not possible right now. We are imperfect people imperfectly loving one another. And I really don’t want it any other way. A good man is hard to find, but I was blessed with a great one.

And I am refraining from using thirty-four superlatives to describe him…just in case he does read this. It would embarrass him. I called him sexy on Facebook and I thought he was going to stay red for all his days ever. But, seriously, I am thankful for my sexy husband. He spent a lot of time working on our refinance. Then, he asked the barista to do a pour-over of one of my favorites, because all they had brewed was Pike, which he knew I didn’t like. Dave brought me coffee, which I sipped while we signed all our closing papers. And he said I looked beautiful in my shirt. And I knew he meant it.

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A Sonnet of Sorts {star ‘crostic lovers}

Do the statisticians see ev’rything,
As their line graphs and black and white numbers
Vaticinate our paths, separating
Into parallel lives join-ed by hers?
Divorce, they cry, is our morose end all.
Attaching a stigma to us parents,
Naming us ‘most likely to fail and fall.’
Dedication to helpmate is nonsense.
Lover and caregiver, a task for loons.
Young infatuation weighed down with chains,
No longer enjoying the honeymoon.
Does the cultural norm decide our fate?
Say I, “We still do until parted by death.”
Eighty-percent rate, you aren’t our kismet.

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Five Minute Friday {true}

I was engaged before Dave. His name was Juan Carlos Bautista. It was kindergarten. It lasted one whole week. I called it off because he and I had very different interests. And I was in love with someone else.

 

“Juan Carlos, I don’t think I can marry you.”

“Why not?”

“Because I love Larry Mullen, Jr. from U2. I have loved him my whole life.”

“What is that? I never heard of that.”

“If you don’t know who U2 is, then we definitely can’t get married. I am sorry.”

 

And I unintentionally made a five-year-old boy sob on a playground in Denver.

True story.

 

Fifteen years later, I ended up meeting a different drummer. He would play airdrums and we would sing Where the Streets Have No Name as we blasted The Joshua Tree and traveled on I-44 the summer before we started dating. The next year, we were engaged. And then he went from fiance to husband on a gorgeous summer day in 2006. And now we have three children. And our 10 year history is riddled with U2 memories. And there will be so many more in our future. Sometimes, I just watch him playing the airdrums in our minivan full of carseats and it takes my breath away thinking how blessed I am to be Mrs. Drummer. And then I breathe deeply and belt out a chorus with my love and our adorable backseat backup singers.

 

 

Time’s Up…

Five Minute Friday

Linking up with Lisa-Jo Baker for Five Minute Friday. Unscripted. Unedited. Real.

1. Write for 5 minutes flat for pure unedited love of the written word.
2. Link back here and invite others to join in.
3. Be generous and leave an encouraging comment for the person who linked up before you. That’s the best part about this community.

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Blog at Home Mom: Balancing Blogging and Motherhood {Book Review}

<a href="https://www.e-junkie.com/ecom/gb.php?cl=154490&c=ib&aff=236267" target="ejejcsingle">Click here to visit Christin Slade.</a>

This book could have easily been called Do Anything at Home Mom: Balancing Anything and Motherhood because it is about so much more than blogging. It is about priorities. Organization. Schedules. Goals. Your relationships with God, your husband, your children, your community.

I was just a few pages into the forward of Christin Slade’s new ebook, Blog at Home Mom: Balancing Blogging and Motherhood and was in love. Earlier this year, Dave and I decided that we (I, he was being nice) need some major help learning to balance the responsibilities of marriage, children, home, blogging, and the new eBay business. It was like God said, “Here you go! A friend wrote this book to help YOU. And to raise money for her adoption. Be blessed!” Honestly, the blogging was pretty far down on the list of things I needed to get in order. But, I was amazed at how much I learned about this new adventure of writing for the world to see.

Dave and I went to a wedding in Miami the morning after we learned we were having another baby. A complete surprise. An amazing surprise. But, it meant a serious heart-to-heart about how we were going to become a more organized family. We spent the drive discussing all we knew God wanted us to do. But how? Graham is starting homeschool preschool in the Fall. Adelaide has physical therapy once a week, with Mommy-led therapy 1 hour a day. She also has speech and occupational therapy evaluations in December. The eBay store is getting bigger every week, as we follow God’s call to bring in extra income for Adelaide’s needs and continue to follow His calling on my life to be a stay-at-home mom. And now, we have a  another Ballew blessing arriving in September. We really could not be more thrilled about it. Even though the timing was not what we expected, we knew there would be another little one in our home. {And possibly a fourth…who may be birthed in our hearts, but not from my womb. That is a subject for a post way into the future. And still something we are seeking the Lord about…}

Each chapter of Blog at Home Mom: Balancing Blogging and Motherhood provided me more of the wisdom I was craving. The information I knew I needed. The help I coveted from women who are ahead of me in this mothering race. We run always keeping our eyes on the prize, but need encouragement from those ahead of us. The ones who have already been on our hills. I cried through several chapters, as I realized I am not alone. I am not the only mom who thinks I can spend the entire day getting absolutely nothing done, only to feel I have wasted our day. My children didn’t get the mama they needed or deserved. They got a tired, weary one. My house was neglected. I just turned and turned my wheels in the mud, which sloshed all over this little house. I started my day without a plan. I wasn’t sitting around eating bon-bons watching soap operas, but I wasn’t being intentional. I wasn’t carving out time to teach my children about God. His Love. His Son. His Word. Well, not every day. I had no goals for being a mom. I just expected things to happen while we were surviving our days. I wasn’t getting many chores done, because I didn’t even know where to start. I added some stuff to my blog when I found a few minutes to write. {This review was really supposed to be up days ago, but my head was either in a toilet all week. Or cleaning it off after Graham was done trying to use it.} I was giving myself grace in this season, but realizing this season of 24/7 nausea will be done soon. And I need a plan. A combination of Grace & Goals.

Although this book is specifically about blogging, and how to balance this calling with all our other God-given responsibilities, you could replace blogging with any other hobby or business or dream. I gleaned practical tips from every single page. Every contributor. Dave humored me as I quoted line after line to him. So excited to read another chapter. I didn’t feel condemnation, but conviction. Followed by freedom. I felt a new freedom to take control of my time and allow God to make me a better wife, mom, homemaker, and writer.

This book is a must-read for all moms. Blogging or not. If you are a mom whose children wear clothes and eat food, you will benefit from reading this book. Here is a sneak peek at the chapter titles. Every single chapter was a balance of practicality and spiritual morsels.

Chapter 1: Set Goals and Have a Plan
Know what to do and how to get there

Chapter 2: Organize Your Days
Know what to do and when to do it

Chapter 3: Prioritize Your Tasks
Put your most important duties and details in order

Chapter 4: The Power of a Schedule
Make the most of your time by giving it purpose

Chapter 5: Stay Consistent to Keep Balance
Knowing the needs is key to knowing balance

Chapter 6: Make the Most of Your Time
Learn to make the minutes count

Chapter 7: Care for Your Marriage
Be intentional about keeping your man in the loop

Chapter 8: Care for Your Spiritual Walk
Everything flows from this vital point

You can purchase the ebook here for only $4.99. It is worth every cent. You should buy it now for your Kindle. Or your Nook. Or as a PDF. You will read it, and then read it again. Then, you will tell your husband, your mom, and your best friend about everything you learned and loved. Be blessed!

*By the way, there are affiliate links in this review. I was given a free copy of this book by Christin. I would never recommend something I would not buy for myself. I will receive a small commission if you purchase this book through my review. 10% will go toward ministries we support (Compassion, WorldVision, Operation Christmas Child, Samaritans Purse, and others) while 90% goes toward Adelaide’s medical bills. Just a legal and ethical heads up… ; )

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