I am a coke machine who trained my children to drive me crazy.

This week I attended a lunch seminar for non-profit volunteer coordinators.  An inspirational speaker gave a brief presentation on how to deal with difficult people in the workplace.  And, while I halfway listened and enjoyed the last bites of my cheesecake, the speaker shared an analogy that I am confident will forever change my parenting.  He wasn't even talking about parenting, he was talking about difficult coworkers.  But like a strike of lightening, I had a moment of clarity.

The analogy goes as follows (hang with me, I tried to make this brief... but it didn't really work):

When you put a dollar in a coke machine you expect the machine to dispense a cool, refreshing coke. But what if it takes your dollar and nothing happens?  You might push the button a few dozen more times.  And because you really want that coke, and if no one is looking... you might give the machine a little shove, shake or even a kick.  Why?  Because you're willing to take it up a notch to get what you want.  You're going to escalate the situation.  You show that coke machine who's boss!

Since this is a blog about families, and not malfunctioning vending machines, let's turn the tables. 

YOU are the coke machine.  And that customer who approaches the machine is your difficult coworker (or for our purposes, the INCREDIBLY challenging child you are raising).

So, your child approaches you (the coke machine) and inserts a dollar... but that dollar isn't a dollar, it's one of the INCREDIBLY maddening behaviors your child exhibits.  So this child unleashes that INCREDIBLY maddening behavior to get a coke.  But that coke isn't a coke... it's your reaction to their behavior.  This child is buying your reaction with their behavior.

So he inserts the dollar, then waits.  Waits for your reaction.  For you to yell.  Or pull your hair out.  Or punt a box of legos across the house.  Or bag up all the crayons and coloring books in a fit of fury and throw them in the trash can.  Or send them to bed without dinner.  Or yell at your spouse "ARE YOU NOT HEARING THIS???!!!"

But you're no newbie parent.  You're not going to give this little turd blessing the benefit of seeing you blow a gasket.  So you plant your feet, steady your resolve, and ignore this INCREDIBLY maddening behavior.  Or even better, you gently redirect your child.  You give a "do-over" or a "time in".  But this child knows what they want.  So instead of stopping, this little one looks you square in the eyes... and head-butts you so hard in the kisser that he splits your lip.  You swallow a little of your own blood and a throat full of expletives.  But there's no stopping it.

You lose it.

You yell, pull out your hair, punt a box of legos across the house, bag up everything in your reach and throw it in the trash can, send them to bed without dinner, then yell at your spouse "ARE YOU NOT HEARING THIS???!!!"  You tried to make a stand, but when this kid escalated, you had to teach him a lesson.  But here's that moment of clarity.

When you (the coke machine) didn't dispense the reaction (the coke) your child was looking for when he paid the dollar (his behavior)... you thought you were telling him "Guess what, you little sucker?  This coke machine is ALL OUT OF COKES!  You can tantrum up and down the aisles of Target, but this mama isn't giving in."  But then your child escalated, and what did you do?  You. Dispensed. The. Coke.  You finally gave your child the reaction he wanted!  So guess who's the sucker?  Look in the mirror Mama. You thought you were saying "ALL OUT OF COKES! No reactions today!!!" But do you know what you really did?

You raised the PRICE of a coke.

A coke now costs a dollar AND a head-butt.  So (from now on) when he wants a coke/reaction... you automatically get that INCREDIBLY maddening behavior PLUS escalation.  The new price of a coke.

That's when it hit me.  Lord have mercy, I have done this to MYSELF!  I have shown my children (again and again) that the coke machine is NEVER empty.  I have trained them to escalate their behaviors to get what they want.  I raised the price of a coke!

So now what?  

I'm parenting some tough little cookies.  You may be too.  Their behaviors may be caused by abuse, neglect, institutionalization, drug-exposure... or they could be a child you made yourself, who just happens to be a major handful.  If you are parenting a child who is broken, whose very core is altered by mistreatment, you can't control their behavior.  Yep.  You're off the hook.  You're reaping a harvest you didn't sow.  And that is really tough, lonely, embarrassing and might compel you to eat nachos alone, late at night.  But we can control ourselves. We can choose to focus on our reaction, instead of their behaviors.

Friends, this is a new truth that hit me this week like the stray swipe of a piñata bat.  I don't have a lot of answers.  The realization that I have the power to set the "price of a coke" has left me feeling a little bit foolish for my past behavior, but also empowered to change my ways.  I've stopped myself in my tracks and bit my tongue many times just this week, realizing I was about to offer a sought after reaction to an escalating child.

So, in case you weren't already tired of the vending machine analogy, here's how I'm going to try and un-do what I have done:

Have you ever worked somewhere with a malfunctioning vending machine?  You know the one.  The one that drops "dried fruit & nut mix" when you KNOW you pushed "G5" for a bag of Chili Cheese Fritos.  I've decided that I'm going to try and be that kind of machine.  The kind of machine that doesn't give you that unhealthy reaction you're looking for, but instead doles out wholesome alternatives.  I'm not going to walk away, or ignore behaviors, and I'm not going to allow a 4-year-old or a 19-year-old to push my buttons until I explode.  I'm going to focus on my reactions.  I'm going to offer peace when fury is expected.  I'm going to vend joy instead of anger.  This is no quick-fix.  This is a moment by moment decision I can make, and not beat myself up over if I screw up.

I'm going to try.

And, every once in a while, I might still dispense a little bag of "I'm going to sell your puppy on Craigslist if you don't remember to feed him again" just for good measure.

A new addition...

Reuben has a little announcement to make...

Look at me! My life is perfect!

Hello Facebook Friend,
        Each day you see a glimpse into my little slice of the American Dream.  You've seen my 1/4 acre yard where the children help me grow a ridiculously productive garden (without pesticides, of course).  You've seen my children snuggling in pajamas while I read.  You've seen us camping, canoeing and wakeboarding.  You've seen our family baking, grilling and delivering food to a shelter.  You've seen choir performances, winning goals, perfect attendance awards and pints of homemade pickles.  You've "liked" pictures of my husband and I singing karaoke duets, swimming with manatees and pedaling a bicycle made for two.  We "check-in" at places like church, Texas state parks, Whole Foods, and community theater productions of "The Miracle Worker".  When I'm feeling transparent,  I might even upload a pic of the jar of spaghetti sauce my "little helper" dropped on the floor, or the un-rolled roll of toilet paper shredded by my cat.

But friends, what you have seen is one, giant, marshmallow-roasting-tent-pitching-cookie-decorating-completed-Pinterest-project-themed-birthday-party-throwing-my-house-is-always-clean illusion. 

An illusion isn't the same as a lie.  Those moments, the ones I choose to share with 1,472 of my closest friend on earth... they actually exist.  An illusion creates an altered perception of reality.  A distortion of what is true.  And one of the many things I haven't shared on FB, but will share with you in this blog is... I'm a talented illusionist.

Allow me to draw back the curtain for a moment.  Here's the truth, friends:

My life is very blessed.  My home is warm, my used cars are paid for, my closet runneth over (with clothes I wish were 2 sizes smaller), my children are amazing and my husband is hot.  But those precious, hilarious moments that fill up my FB feed... are simply mountaintops that overlook many sorrows, trials and mistakes in my life.

Not a day goes by that I don't struggle to be a woman of God, supportive wife, and gentle mother to my children. Adoption is hard.  It's the hardest thing I've ever done.  My children are all unique, growing, active and hungry for attention.  Some of them have experienced trauma and abuse which can make parenting them more intense and exhausting.  I yell at my kids more than I would ever want anyone to know or overhear, and some days I am just counting down the minutes until bedtime. My house is a disaster 6.5 days out of 7. My job is demanding and I have a hard time stepping away from my laptop, so often I work until the wee hours of morning.  My friendships and house plants suffer for lack of nurturing.  Some days I'm pretty sure there isn't enough of me to go around.  At times I question why God would ask so much of me.

And every once in a while as we're driving down the road, while my kids sing along with Raffi, I cry quietly behind my sunglasses because I feel so overwhelmed.

Then I pull into Sonic and eat some mozzarella sticks with my diet coke.  But the car-hop tells me the total, and I realize it's not Happy Hour, and I feel bad spending money because I over-spent at Walmart this week and bought myself a new waffle iron at Target and we're supposed to be setting aside money for new tires for the van. But who wants to see an Instagram shot of me, with bloodshot eyes, scarfing down fried cheese? No one! So I keep it to myself.


But why do I present a rose-colored version of my life to the world?
Do you want to know the ugly truth [for once] instead of my candy-coated song and dance?
Then keep reading.

I'm motivated by vanity, shame and fear.

I obscure the truth of my own weakness so I come off looking strong and brave.  I'm ashamed of what I'm lacking, so I highlight my own successes.  I'm afraid that the truth will ruin my reputation, so I present a false reality.  I laugh when I feel like crying, act fearless when my knees are knocking, and act like I have it altogether when I'm a hot mess.

“O Lord, You have searched me and known me. You know my sitting down and my rising up; You understand my thought afar off. You comprehend my path and my lying down, and are acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word on my tongue, but behold, O Lord, You know it altogether.” Psalm 139:1-5


He sees it all. Not just the Facebook version of who I am.  So how does God see me?

"His banner over me is love." Song of Solomon 2:4.  He knows my vanity, shame and fear (and SO much more), but what He sees when he looks at me... is love.

I'm letting you see what my life looks like when all those plates I'm spinning come crashing down.  When my son runs away.  When debt creeps in.  When I'm not the mom I want to be.  When we've had Ramen noodles for dinner 3 nights in a row.  I want you to know that although my life is beautiful, joyful, charming and adventurous... it is also sometimes hard, ugly, frightening, lonely and sad.  We all have struggles that we hide away from the world.  But God knows us.  Does that sounds creepy or scary to you?  God watching...  God knowing...  It may to some of you, but friends there is good news!  The world may not offer much grace for our shortcomings, but I have found the grace I am looking for in Christ.  And when we learn to accept grace from Him... we have more grace to offer those around us.  And that helps free us from our vanity, fear and shame.

So, can you expect me to start posting unflattering pics of myself or statuses that bare my soul? Nope.
Not a chance.
No way.
I'm still a work in progress*.

*And so are my cake-pops.  So, before I take a picture of them, I take all the lumpy ones off the tray, eat all the broken ones, then post a picture of the half dozen I managed not to ruin.