Nicole K. Twedt

Being Brave When Life Is Hard

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Happy Mother’s Day (a Few Months Late)

07.27.2017 by Nicole Kristin Twedt //

You know the saying, A Day Late and a Dollar Short? Well, how about Over Two Months Late and Flat Broke?  I’m not really broke. But I just got back from Target, so there’s that.  I guess my claim is semi-honorable, emphasis on semi.

We were mosly there because the Tiniest Tiny had birthday bucks that were burning a hole in her pocket.  The big kids were with Nana and Grandpa Dave at Wild Waves.  To quote my British gentleman friend, otherwise known as Siri, “It looks like Wild Waves Theme & Water Park is about 43 miles away as the crow flies, Knee-cole.”  Thanks for that, Siri.  Anyway, if you met me in real life you’d know that I’m not one to rock the boat.  But I’m not shy about my feelings about water parks or bathing suits in general.

Back to Target.  It was just the two of us, a rarity now that Lauren is older and in school.  What do you suppose my six-year-old chose to spend her money on?  Well, the Tiniest Tiny hand-selected four Barbie outfits, a marbled-blue bouncy ball and a purple travel toothbrush.  I have complicated feelings toward Barbie, but Lauren’s love for her is true and runs deep.

I came home with two cases of La Cruix, and a faux watercolor print of three feathers to hang above my oak writing desk.  The feathers, and really all things bird-related, reminds me of the three Twedtlings, as well as Psalm 91, which is a significant part of our family’s faith story.   I also bought two different types of dry shampoo.  The struggle is real to find the perfect dry shampoo.  We’ll see how it goes.  I solemnly swear never to write a future post about the chronicles of dry shampoo.

As I type, the Tiniest Tiny is happily treating Barbie and Ken to a day at the hair salon at the kitchen counter bar.  They’re getting the whole nine yards, well except for the haircut part of the salon experience because no, just no.   What Barbie and Ken lack in the full salon experience, Lauren is making it up to them in dry shampoo hair treatments followed by a deep conditioning of Young Living’s Thieves Hand Purifier.  “Mama, it’s the best day ever!” At least they smell delightful. Hopefully their hair won’t fall out anytime soon.

I suppose it’s very privileged and first-worldly of me to claim that I’m broke.  But there’s truth to the other part of my claim: I’m more than a few months late.  And when I say I’m late, I don’t mean I’m late in that way.  Oh no, my friend, I’m alluding to Mother’s Day and the entire month of May.   It seems that I convieniently skipped a month of writing.

I remember May being the end of volleyball season for Emily, and we were nearing the end of the autism evaluation process with Steven, which you can read about here and here.  No wonder I was too busy to write.

But Mother’s Day is on my mind this Thursday afternoon because I found myself scrolling through our family’s digital photos while Lauren’s Barbies enjoyed their day at the spa.

I landed on several pictures of me with the Twedlings on Mother’s Day.  The pictures are just terrible.  I never posted them here or even on Facebook or Instagram because, frankly, they made me angry.  Here are the photos  in all of their glory, each one more terrible than the one before.  And not because of lack of skill of the photographer, not at all.  Let’s just say it was a challenging moment I’d rather not be reminded of.  Plus, my normally round face is extra puffy.  You can tell how tired I am.  It’s not even 10 a.m.

Come to think of it, the morning of Mother’s Day began wonderfully, with a flourish of gifts and breakfast in bed, a promising start.   The day quickly went downhill from there.  It had everything to do with Steven-in-the-middle, though the details are unimportant in retrospect.

After meltdown after meltdown, we made our way to my favorite bakery in Redmond for Mother’s Day treats.  The Flying Apron was actually my third choice for how I envisioned spending Mother’s Day with Greg and the Twedtlings.  We bailed on favorite spots number one and two due to, you guessed it, more meltdowns, and a little rain.  We’re near Seattle, after all.

This post isn’t a rant about Steven.  Like every child, my boy has his share of naughty moments and poor choices but he’s my favorite guy under forty-seven.  You can guess the name of my other favorite, the one about to turn forty-seven.  Please understand, there’s usually a darn good reason for his meltdowns and misbehavior, often leading us to seek out and implement Plan B.

I don’t know why I’m writing about Mother’s Day in July.  I guess I’m writing because, looking back on these pictures from the month of May, I find myself laughing, really, really laughing as I’m reminded once again that time doesn’t erase tension but has a funny way of erasing some of the pain and frustration, or at least it kinda sorta helps me place matters into perspective.  I’m reminded that the unexpected, the unplanned, in it’s own wonky and wayward way, and when I’m not fighting against it, well, it’s also good and sometimes even wonderful.

Lauren would say the best thing about today is that I allowed her to go to town with her Barbie dolls and her business of all things beauty (except haircuts).  My favorite thing, besides watching Lauren’s delight in dry shampooing the heck out of Barbie and Ken: those hilarious Mother’s Day digital photos.

Categories // Family Tags // perspective

The Dawn of About to Get Better

04.04.2017 by Nicole Kristin Twedt //

There’s a shifting, a shaking, a changing in our family, a change for the better.  And it’s coming soon, I know it.  The Twedtlings and I (and Greg of course), well it’s like we’re living in the dawn of about to get better.  I can almost taste it, we’re that close!  From what I can tell, this change will be an awful lot of work, but it will be worth it.  For it’s already bringing hope to our family, along with peace, love and great joy.

The dawn of about to get better.  That’s a line I wrote at the end of our 2016 Christmas letter.  I don’t know why I added it.  I don’t even like the sound of the dawn of about to get better, it’s so cheesy.  What does it even mean?

Yet I couldn’t bring myself to write a different ending, even when the letter went through edits for the blog.  I didn’t know it at the time, I couldn’t have, but this little phrase was going to be down-right prophetic for our family, particularly one of us.  How could I possibly know that something so big and so terrible was about to get better?  Especially since it was going to get a lot worse in the first few months of the new year.  Nonetheless, something was about to change.

I’m itching to write more.  The whys and hows of this dawn of about to get better, all that’s shifting and changing, and taking new form.

You see, my family and I are setting off on the marathon of our lives.  No, that can’t be right.  What’s about to happen is more like a much-needed pause during the middle of a race.  Not that races have half-times.  I’m not the best when it comes to sport analogies.

I participated in quite a few 5Ks back in college, my glory days.  Or they would have been my glory days if I wasn’t so messed up.   Anyway, I admit  most of the races were all about the free long-sleeve T-shirts, the ones with the name or cause of the race on the front and all the sponsor logos on the back.  I’d proudly wear my race T-shirts on walks or runs around Green Lake.   They made me look the part of the runner that I surely wasn’t.

Back to the 5K.  Most of all, I remember the cheerful volunteers on the side of the road, around the halfway point, holding Dixie cups of cold water or Gatorade for me to grab as I dashed limped by.   Now that I’ve had three babies, drinking anything while running (even before running) is never a good idea, no matter how refreshing it sounds.  Who am I kidding? I don’t run anymore.

Anyway, the Dixie cup of cold water represents the season we’re in, a season of refreshing.  Not to be confused with a season of rest.  There will be no resting in this season.  We’ll be running harder than we’ve ever run before.  But our bodies and souls will be nourished along the way, which makes all the difference.  For nourishment to the soul is what it will take for us to run together and not hold back.

Perhaps a better picture would be of the five of us entering a new race altogether, one we’re equipped to run because we’re learning to pace ourselves.  The race course is new to us, but we’ll figure it out with a little help.  We’re sure to grow tired, we’ll stumble or fall.  But help will come when we need it.

I’m mixing metaphors.  I’m getting tired.

I will write more about this soon, very soon, and with fear and trembling.

For it’s a different kind of story altogether.  It’s not about healing or grieving, or any of what I usually write about.  It’s more of a perspective shift.  And this little shift in perspective has been one of the greatest Ah-ha moments of my life.

O Lord, help me trust you.  Help me trust you as I dwell with my family in the dawn of about to get better.  A new day is dawning, surely it is.  I’m holding onto this promise.   I think of Psalm 92:4 when I think of you and I praise you for it.  For you said about yourself, “He will cover you with feathers.  In his wings you will find refuge.”  How mighty and how beautiful it is to be covered by the feathers of your wings.  Up close, I can see the intricate detail, patterning and glossiness of your feathers, of your glory, your strength.  I don’t even like birds but I have a thing for them because of you.  Help me be brave enough to see your beauty in every point of this new race, even the ugly parts when I’m limping along, out of breath and ready to quit.  But I will keep running because I’m not alone, never alone.  You are here, with every step along the way.

 P.S. You can read about the big ah-ha moment here.  Then everything went out the window with an even greater ah-ha moment.  You can read that essay here.

Categories // Being Brave, Family, Writing Tags // perspective

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