When I joined this Sisterhood called, “Motherhood,” over 3 years ago – on June 19, 2009 – to be exact – I felt like I was becoming a part of something incredibly special. I knew from the moment I met Iz, my world would be changed forever.  She became the beginning and the end for me – the absolute reason God created me.  My purpose of this life – all bundled up in a fuzzy blanket and footie pajamas.

And then, suddenly, I was ushered into an underground, secret society within this sorority of Motherhood.  Almost “Skull” (mmm….Paul Walker) like,  I was thrust into an even more exclusive sisterhood – the group of women that are mothers to special needs/medically needy children.  It was almost as if my purpose was a bit fuzzy around the edges.  And then, I had my defining moment.  The moment my best boy was whisked away to a children’s hospital, to be poked and prodded, a future of painful surgeries, a new life marked with scars.  And in that moment of complete grief, joy, overwhelming fear….I knew that my fate was sealed….I was meant to love this tiny bit of Heaven no matter how hard our road would be.

I’m still a part of this beautiful sisterhood called Motherhood.  But, I also wear a badge of honor that only a few of us are bestowed…the one for incredibly special littles. As I sit here in the wee hours of the morning, I look around this beautiful life I’ve created – one only God could have perfectly orchestrated – and wonder.

Am I being hazed?

Hazing is a ritual that’s frowned upon and outlawed in almost all places when one joins clubs, sororities, social groups, etc.  But, its an age old tradition.  The elders of the group “welcoming” the newbies.  Newbies like me, who at one point “judged” other mothers when I was still in that beautiful blissful stage of pregnancy – when I rubbed the life still safe (and quiet) in my womb – as I looked at those women – unkempt, in the same sweat pants (often stained, mind you) – allowing their 3ish maybe 4 year old child run wild and rampant through the stores, letting their baby – their infant! – suck on car keys – as that mom would peruse through the latest gossip magazine, completely and utterly unaware of the chaos around her…and would say, “I’ll never be like her.”


My child turned 3.

My initiation into the special needs world has been difficult.  But, it was everything I read about – worse at times – but still – I was semi-prepared for the horrors that awaited me. I listened intently to other moms stories of hospital stays, surgeries, medications…all those things that mark you as “one of them.”  Those moments – the ones that bore at our soul and the ones that make our heart sing – are moments that we all share as special needs parents.

But, at the same time as I was enduring the hardest training regimen of my life – learning medical terminology, shoving tubes down little throats, monitoring vitals like it was a matter of life or death (er..I guess it kind of is….) – I was also getting hazed – almost a reverse hazing – into the next part of this sisterhood called motherhood – the dreaded – “Preschool Years.” Instead of being hazed by my “elders,” – I was just being watched by them.  The “elders” of kids in elementary, middle school, teens.  Watching my slow implosion as a parent of a child who is 3 years old.

It was the pig tailed, tutu wearing, Goldfish eating, Disney princess wannabe – that was hazing me.  Torturing me daily – hourly – minute to minute – into this sisterhood.

As she tortured, the other little of my life, the one whose bedside I sat next to, the one I lie awake and stroke his perfect cleft lipped face, the one I anoint with my tears in thanksgiving, prayer, utter amazement of his battles – decides to turn our home into an all out fraternity house.

Where I’m cleaning up vomit.  Where I’m getting puked on.  Where peeing everywhere but the acceptable receptacles (bathroom and diapers…not floors…not duvets…not my beloved sweater by the designer “Mossimo”) – is suddenly the norm.  The little dude decides that this is his party house – bottles scattered here and there, dried something (maybe vomit, maybe tee tee, maybe _______) are on the floor, food of all kinds – half eaten in crevices of couches or stuck in hair.  He decides that he wants to party at 1 in the morning, yelling, laughing, high fiving his friends (a puppy, a lion, a Scout) and wondering, “Where in the world is the lady called “Mama” – I’ll just scream louder – better yet – pee outside of my diaper (yes…he’s talented) so we can party.”

The ritual of hazing, though, by the three year old has made me wonder if I’ll live to see another day where I don’t look in the mirror and hate that I just argued for 30 minutes about the most inane things.

“The sky is so blue!” – me.

“No, its not.” – the 3 year old hazer.

“Yes it is…look!”

“No. IT’S NOT!” – possessed 3 year old.

“Fine…what color is it then?”

“It’s blue.”  – 3 year old…winner.


Hazing with food is the worst.  The battle of “just take a bite” is going to lead me to an early grave.  Why, oh, why is the carrot, the zucchini, the cucumber, the anything that is remotely healthy suddenly have a persona of the worse foods created by God. ever. Our rules of “you take a bite of each food on your plate for how old you are” has gone to the sh!tter.  The bites of anything that isn’t a carbohydrate or drowning in cheese or ketchup now results in body movements like a dog throwing up – complete convulsions of utter disgust.  Tears like we shot took her beloved Ducky hostage. Fits like she’s auditioning for the “Exorcist.”

Speaking of rules….complete defiance.  Utter defiance of all order in our home.  We are sticklers for rules and are believers in schedules, routines, politeness, social order.  Without the above…complete “Lord of the Flies.”  Truth. A switch was turned on recently, in my sweet, little baby girl, that suddenly blocks out all advice of reason.  All the things that keep her safe, keep me sane.  I never thought I’d say things like, “What did you just lick?” “Don’t stand on the counter.”

But I do.  Amongst all my rules for reason – to keep my little Princess safe and sound – I’m met with exasperation “sighs”, eyes rolling, and a quick turn of the heels as she walks quickly to her rooms and says with so much – confidence – “No.  I don’t want to.”

And then proceeds to tell her “friends” – the duck, the monkey, the Minnie – about how I – gasp! – asked her to wash her hands after she goes #2.  I think about going in and putting her in time out – you know – the time when she sits in the corner, kicks the wall and finds ways to make the value of our house depreciate with her little pre-school legs – but then decide that just the mere fact that she went #2 in an acceptable receptacle – the toilet – without having to promise her a pony or bribe her with Willy Wonka’s Chocolate Factory – is kind of a win for me.

Speaking of #2….

Back in the good ole days of college and sorority life – my sisters and I would stumble walk from party to party – often arms linked and singing dirty songs of other sororities or just plain, dirty songs (Easy E, anyone?).

But, these days, in the throes of my new sisterhood, my life is now surrounded with other “dirty songs” sung by the twirling, ballet dancing, thing in my life….songs of the beloved “Mother Goose” – now punctuated with – “poopy” “bobo” – and laughing – an evil, almost sinister laugh – that her clever new rendition of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Bobo” is now the best.song.ever.

My sisters, mothers of toddlers and pre-schoolers, we’ll make it, right?

I know one of you looked at me in fear and said, “I don’t know if I’ll survive” as I shared my experience of the past few months with my sweet girl.

I remember my college days and days of my sorority with so much longing….nostalgia at its best.  It seems like the torture of having to “make my grades” was the worst ever moment of my life…as I would stare at my report card and see a 2.5 – not because of the fact that I found a way to make C’s and a B in only 3 classes I was taking (you know…that costs my parents five grand), but because I wasn’t going to be able to go to the next social function where I’d sing the dirty song and drink the Pink Panty droppers mixed with Natty Light – was the most awful moment that could happen in my 20 something years. Alas…I’d have to resort to drinking in my pajamas at home….by myself (wait….that happens now).

But, I also loved the great moments of my sisterhood.  The bonds I formed.  The friendships I made.  The memories that seem like so long ago…the best times of our lives.

So, as I sit here, in the heart (and broken heart….oh sweet Evan) of this time of motherhood, where I feel like I’m being hazed into the next stage of our life, I know that years from now, I’ll miss it.

I’ll miss the tantrums….that is very closely followed by a tear stained apology and a hug and kiss from my best girl.

I’ll miss the house covered in vomit, poopy, littered with baby bottles…because one day it will be empty..only the sounds of me and Craig asking each other if Iz or Evan called from college.

I’ll miss the late night party sessions with my best boy…because one day I’ll have to ask for him spend time with the lady called, “Mama.”

I’ll miss the silly, dirty songs of poppy and bobo….because afterall….one of the sweetest sounds is her voice…singing at the top of her lungs….ridiculously off key….and laughing uncontrollably.   A sound that makes my heart sing.

So, as other’s watch me get hazed by the torturing 3 year old and partying like a rock star 9 month old, the other’s – who look at my indifference of the meltdown of the two littles in my life, as I lose myself in the latest “U.S. Weekly”, take my spa moment (you know…when you just ignore your kids….ah…bliss)… need to realize…

I’m not being indifferent about motherhood…I’m getting hazed into it.

We’ll make it.

We will.

I think….



  1. That’s awesome. 🙂 My son is just 3 days older than your Iz, and although the fits are a little different, I’m so glad I know what’s going on now, and I’m not alone! 🙂 He is now fighting foods, bedtime, and crying when he doesn’t get his way NOW. This is VERY new for us and a bit hard to deal with as well!! Thanks for sharing and you WILL get through it! …. Eventually….

  2. Girl, this post had me laughing out loud at my desk and then crying by the end. Keep blogging and keep exposing the truths (good, bad, hard, lovely) of this walk your on. It’s inspiring for me as a mom, as someone who works with special needs children, and as a believer in Christ. This world is broken and fallen because of sin, and you are doing your best to redeem all that is broken by loving those babies and walking your road faithfully. Keep up the good work, keep walking the road put before you, and keep suffering well. May the aches and the joys push us all the more to Jesus. Those days of stumbling around Lubbock were great and memorable, but as wonderful as dollar pitcher night was at Blue Light I am glad to be in our current season of motherhood (though it would be nice to meet up at a bar that had $5 buckets and $1 pitchers in DFW :). Your blog should be turned into a memoir one day!
    Love you and pray for you guys often!