Instantly my brain thought, “this is an opportunity to share wisdom at the request of a teenage daughter.  Don’t mess up now!”  I thought for a moment and decided to share the wisdom I remember my father telling me at a very early age.

He would say, “The only time you can really call a mistake a mistake, is when you don’t take the opportunity to learn from it.”

This prompted me throughout my life to always try to find something to learn from every mistake I made.  It even encouraged me to learn from the mistakes of others, like my older, nearly perfect sister.

I’m wondering though, if my sister made a mistake, and I learned from it, does that make her even more perfect?

As you have probably guessed by now, my sister was an older sister.  She was also the favorite child.  When there are two children in the family, only one can be the favorite.  And she was it.  I know it was because of her excellent grades, ability to stand up and be counted, and her towering five foot three inch frame.  Hey, when you’re only five one, five three is towering.

There was a time early in my life when I began to have hope that my sister was not as perfect as I originally thought.  At dinner my dad casually mentioned he had received a phone call from Shileen’s first grade teacher.

Immediately my ears perked up.  I thought for sure it was going to be bad news, and I was going to enjoy it.

Dad then said that the teacher was perplexed by my sister’s sudden inability to get a spelling word correct.  You see, the week before, my sister had missed one word on her spelling test.  I believe it was the first time for her.  She was crushed to say the least.  My dad encouraged her by saying something about learning from your mistakes.  “It is through mistakes that we learn the most.”  He said.

My sister (did I mention she is also the brilliant one in the family?) took his advice to heart.  She figured if one mistake made her smarter, then if she missed every word the next week, she would be twenty times smarter  (perhaps logical thinking wasn’t her strong suit).

I thought for sure she was really going to get it for missing every word on her spelling test, but instead Dad seemed proud of her for desiring to be smarter.  He then told her it doesn’t quite work the way she figured it did.  He expected her to retake the test, finishing up with another of his favorite bits of advice, “always try your hardest to do your best!”

She took that advice to heart as well.  I wonder to this day if she ever missed a question on a test.

I thought his advice to her should have been something similar to a commandment, perhaps I would have phrased it, “Thou shalt never cause your family to fear for your life, or your safety.”

There were a few times she concerned us about her safety.

When she was in high school, she became a foreign exchange student to Finland.  One day we received a letter that basically said, “Dear Mom, I’m sorry I haven’t written lately, I’ve been in the hospital with Pneumonia.  The hospitals here are nothing like the ones back home.  I had to share the room with twenty other sick people.  It was so difficult to sleep with all those people coughing and throwing up.

The worst part was when they would come and give everyone shots of Penicillin.  (She is highly allergic to Penicillin.)  They would walk down the row and give everyone a shot, using the same needle.  It was horrible.  After several weeks, I’ve been able to get miraculously better.  They told me I was near death at one point.  Signed, your loving daughter.  P.S. April Fools!

Mom was so upset reading the letter; she had to put it down to cry.  She didn’t even finish reading it to know about the P.S.  It wasn’t until I picked up the letter I told her that it was a joke.  Mom did not think it was funny.  I thought at the moment that my mom was a bit too emotional.  Obviously that was before I became a mom and worried about my own children.

After returning safely from Finland, Shileen had a few other moments that caused us to worry about her.  Once while driving the car during icy conditions, she managed to slide into oncoming traffic, hitting another car head-on, resulting in her totaling our car.

She escaped from that accident without a scratch.  I began to wonder how she managed to do that.  She told me that God had been protecting her.  I thought she was perhaps going a bit overboard with the God thing lately.  But hey, if she was safe, that was all that mattered to me.

After graduating Valedictorian from high school, she journeyed to Bryn Mawr, a prestigious women’s college in Pennsylvania.  One night we received a phone call from the dean of the college.  Apparently Shileen was last seen leaving for work.  She didn’t show up at her Pizza Hut job, and no one had seen her.

Hours slowly ticked by as we waited in Iowa for word of her whereabouts.  Every time the phone rang, I would leap with anticipation, but the calls were always to tell us there was nothing to report.

At one point in the night my dad told me to say a prayer for her.  I’m not sure if it was the desperation in his voice, or the look on his face, but I quickly prayed as tears fell down my cheeks, while asking a god I didn’t know to protect my sister from something I also didn’t know.

Morning finally arrived. With it came news that my sister arrived back at her room.  She apparently had gotten in a cab, not thinking anyone would really notice, and had the cab driver take her to a run down motel in New Jersey.  There she sat crying, and praying to the God she did know.  And he heard her cry and answered her prayer.

Dad flew out to Pennsylvania and brought her back home for a time of renewal.

Her faith in Jesus was unshakable.  She witnessed to me many times through her life and her ministry.  It also helped that she had some Christian friends who seemed equally in love with Jesus.

One night Dad had given her permission to have a party at our house.  As the house began to fill with people, we began to wonder where the hostess was.  She had left several hours before to pick up some friends in a town about an hour away.  The weather had begun to get bad out, and there was no sign of Shileen, or her friends.

As Dad began making phone calls to see if he could figure out where she could be, we realized that she was likely caught in a blizzard.

Again the clock began to tick slowly as we awaited news of her.  I was tempted to check the batteries.

One of the friends who had gathered for the party said to everyone in the room, “Let’s pray!”

We all gathered in a circle and began what became the first prayer of power I had ever heard in my life.  I had not heard someone pray with such conviction.  I could see the loving arms of Jesus take a hold of her and hold her close.  I seemed to feel that she would be all right.

The circumstances of the night as it wore on would indicate anything but her being all right.

At one point after Dad got off the phone he came to me with tears in his eyes as he said, “we need to be prepared for her to not be alive when they find her.” (What does that mean anyway?)

He had been talking to the sheriff’s department who informed him the wind chill factor was over sixty degrees below zero.  The roads were impassable and there was no way anyone was going to be able to even look for them until the storm ended.

Out of sheer exhaustion I fell asleep.

In the morning my dad exclaimed some people on snowmobiles had found the car.  He was unsure of the condition of my sister and the others but was told they were alive.

My heart rejoiced as I thought back to the prayer full of power that I had heard spoken the night before.

After a brief visit to the hospital, she came home to share the story with us.

Shortly after picking up her friends they began their journey home.  The weather quickly changed, as it often does in Iowa.  The car got stuck in a drift.  The blizzard was already so bad, they couldn’t see.  Some of the things they had learned in Driver’s Education had kept them alive.

Apparently the car stopped running shortly after getting stuck.  They huddled together in the back seat, keeping each other awake through the night while rubbing parts of their bodies that began to go numb.

What should have been sure death for them ended with miraculous intervention by the Lord! After a full examination, only a couple of girls had suffered minor frostbite.

Emergency Preparedness Kit

My kids would love to play a racing game down the stairs.  They would start at the top, count to three, yell “GO!” then they would slide down the stairs on their stomachs as fast as they could.  Often this game could go on quite awhile before they all tire of it.  Inevitably someone will come to me about thirty minutes post game and mention that their stomach hurts.  Upon further investigation it will be revealed the child has managed to get a large rug burn on his stomach.  I would rub some lotion on it, and the child would continue to go about the rest of the evening, feeling a bit like he is out of sorts.

For some reason this child forgets in a matter of a couple of days that he caused himself a great deal of pain playing the race down the stairs game.  I will hear from the other room the familiar, “GO!”  About an hour later again one of the children will come to me saying their skin hurts on their tummy.

I once tried playing the race down the stairs game, but I didn’t find it fun whatsoever, besides I was a lot slower than the children. Consequently they won every race.  And all I had to show for it was a rug burn on my tummy.

I wonder often if God sometimes gets a kick out of how stupid his creation sometimes can be.  I have done a lot of stupid things in my life.  Some have caused me tremendous embarrassment; other things I am certain were done to allow those around me to laugh at me.

My first indication of my ability to do stupid things was when I was about six years old.  I was standing next to the brick school building where I attended elementary school.  It was recess time.  Some friends and I were playing tag.  I was taking a break for a minute as I stood there.  Suddenly, around the corner came someone on the opposing team.  I took off like a cheetah.  The next thing I new I was staring up at a bunch of people surrounding me staring down at me with quizzical looks on their faces.  The fog began to lift and I could hear the voice of my teacher asking me if I was okay.  I tried to struggle to my feet, but again, fell back to the pavement.  My head ached.  The front of my head was bloody, and the back of my head felt like it had hit the pavement with a thud.  After several minutes the teacher, stifling her laugh I’m sure, told me I had turned and run full force directly into the brick school building.  My head hit the building, followed quickly by my body being forced to the pavement.  I can almost feel the ache in my head as I recall trying to impress my friend with my ability to run so fast.  It also makes me laugh to think what a sight I was.  I hope there wasn’t anyone who knew I was trying to impress someone.

Most of the stupid things I’ve done have been in an effort to impress a friend, or a <gasp> boy.

One year in order to impress Mark, my best friends’ brother, who hadn’t yet figured out that I was the one for him to spend the rest of his life with, I dressed in my nicest dress to go Trick or Treating.

Wearing dresses was not my favorite thing to wear. In fact, I hated dresses.  You couldn’t climb trees, you couldn’t twirl on the monkey bars, and you couldn’t even run as fast if you were wearing a dress.  Also the boys didn’t respect you enough to let you play kick ball on the playground if you wore a dress. My mom would force me to wear a dress to church, but that was it!

So there I was Trick or Treating wearing a dress.  Several old people would ask me, “and what are you young lady?”  I would beam a big smile and say, “I’m a girl!”

My best friend would quickly pipe up saying, “She doesn’t wear dresses and is trying to impress my brother here.”

Don’t you love friends who tell it like it is?  I was tempted to sever the relationship at that point.  It didn’t seem worth the embarrassment to have someone who would not only help me look stupid, but she would make me the sole responsibility of my own stupidity.

Another way to impress people around me was to practice doing dumb things when no one was around.  If I removed my bedroom window, I would end up on the roof of our garage.  I would practice jumping off the roof, then rolling like a stunt man.  I watched too much Starsky and Hutch as a kid I guess.

After I would tire of jumping off the roof, I would get on my bike and ride as fast as I could, then jump as if jumping from a burning car.

I wonder to this day if I was trying to be a stunt man the day I crashed into our driveway.

As hard as I try, I can’t remember anything from that day.  I can’t even remember using my sister’s bike.  I do know that it was a bigger bike than mine was, therefore the danger (stupidity) of riding it was more impressive.  I impressed everyone with my ability to smash my face into the pavement, then walking into the house while blood poured out of my face, proclaiming to my mom, “I got hurt!”

For the rest of my life I had to pay for this.  My front teeth were chipped and quite unsightly, in spite of the dentist replacing them into my mouth with several wires.  After this time, I was embarrassed to smile.  I would hide my face with my hand whenever I would happen to break out in laughter.  I assumed everyone was staring at my horrible front teeth.  It was emotionally painful to have my picture taken.  I didn’t want to smile.  It’s difficult to find a picture of me after the age of six with my mouth open.

My desire to impress did not leave me at a young age.  It stayed with me for many years.  I was in the Air Force, when I found myself diving off the top bunk of my bed, trying to make it across the room and into the bathroom in one leap.  Instead of making it across the room into the bathroom, my foot caught on my blanket, causing me to fall on my knees then sliding across the floor.  There I was trying to impress my roommate with my ability to land on my knees causing myself incredible pain. She wasn’t impressed.  This was followed by a trip to the doctor. My legs weren’t broken but I had some serious rug burns on my knees.

I was on crutches from this incident when I met Steve.  I think I was cured from trying to impress people, momentarily anyway.

I’ve even tried to impress God with my great spirituality.  I can tell you, it doesn’t impress God for us to stand up in a room full of people and tell them how great we are.

This is an excerpt from the book Gone With the Mind. You can buy it by clicking on the picture over there —->

Saturday Night Fever of 105

When illnesses hit, I seem to be the one “of little faith.”  It so amazes me how the children are certain when they pray that they will indeed get better, or that a sibling will get well quickly.  I wish I could take the credit for such faith, but I cannot.  What I can do though is see the faith of my children, and help it to nurture my own faith.  It’s kind of a role reversal of sorts. If I am careful to observe the faith of my children, perhaps my own faith will grow in the process.

Normally I am not the fearful type when it comes to illness.  I don’t tend toward the squeamish, as evidenced by my willingness to allow the children to decorate their own personal barf buckets.  Now that was quite the craft day.  We got out old ice cream buckets, paints and markers.  There was Ashley sitting at the table, writing the words in creative writing style, “Ashley’s Barf Bucket.”

I was certain if they had their own buckets they would not turn their heads away from the bucket, but rather vomit daintily into the bucket.  Perhaps if they decorated the buckets so nicely, they wouldn’t mind holding them in front of their faces for hours.  I was tempted once to hang the bucket around Erica’s neck so she could not escape it.  For some reason the children seem to look at the buckets as the enemy, rather than what they truly are, a life saving device for Mom.

It seems that every year we experience one bout of the stomach flu in our house.  Almost everyone will get sick within the space of a week or two.  This makes a lot of extra work for me.  But, hey, I’m not really complaining, I would simply like to devise a way to eliminate some of that work.

When I was growing up there were only two of us kids.  Whenever we had the stomach flu, Mom would give us a cooking pot and Seven-up.  We would then get to lie on the green couch, which folded back into a bed, watching as much TV as we wanted.  Mom would wait on us hand and foot.  We always were instructed to try to make it into the bathroom though.  The pot was to catch whatever there was that didn’t make it at breakneck speed up the stairs and down the hall to the bathroom.  Mom would come running after us.  She would then hold our foreheads as we lost everything that was supposed to have remained in our stomachs, into the toilet.

I haven’t been quite so accommodating to my children.  When I hear a child yell the familiar, I run to the laundry room to get the bucket and used towels.  I would then wash the child’s face, clean up their bed, and set them up on the floor in the bathroom.  If they really didn’t want to sleep in the bathroom, I would lay towels in their beds.

David became notorious in the house for having projectile vomit in the middle of the night that would seem to splatter every surface of his bedroom.  I hated those nights!  I still hate them.

But worse than vomiting, is a child who is so ill, she cannot seem to function at all.  These are the times when I do begin to fear for the safety of my child.  I would gladly clean up a horrible mess than have to watch my child pitifully lying around unable to eat, drink, or even move.

Erica had been sick for several days when I was suddenly gripped with fear for her.  She had been sleeping the better part of eighteen hours.  I sat next to her to cuddle with her, not so much for her comfort, but more for my own.  Instead what I felt was a child so hot, the heat penetrated through my own clothing and warmed my skin.

I’m not one who takes the temperature of my children when they are sick.  I also try to allow their natural antibodies to fight infection, so I use little medication with them.  This time was different however.  I used all the methods I knew to lower her temperature.  Still it hovered around 105 degrees.

After a brief discussion with Steve, we decided she had to go to the emergency room.

As we waited for the sitter to come, the children quickly reminded us that we needed to pray for her.  Ashley led a simple prayer, “Dear Jesus, please make Erica better real soon.”

I love the simple prayers of children.  They remind me so much of where I should be putting my faith.  The previous hours my mind whirled with how I could lower her fever.  Not once did I think to stop and pray for her.  I was putting my faith in my own ability, rather than in the healing power of our savior.

Erica was loaded into the van.  Her limp body barely seemed to notice she was heading off to a new location.

The hospital was a forty-minute drive from our house.  After twenty minutes, Erica began to perk up.  She began to act like her normal adorable self.

Once at the hospital, I almost felt silly that I brought this little girl in to see the doctors.  She seemed to have made a miraculous recovery.

Because she hadn’t managed to get any liquid down her in a couple of days, she was quite dehydrated.  Even though it had been several hours since her last visit to the bathroom, she could not manage even one drop.

They concluded she had a urinary tract infection and put her on antibiotics.

I wondered why I hadn’t seen the healing as a true healing, and marched her out of the hospital?  Why did I spend all that time, and money?  Why do I put my faith and trust in doctors and medicine?  Why can’t I be more like a little child, knowing that Jesus will answer our pleas and cries?  And why am I always so scared when things happen to my children?

When we first allowed Ashley to get a horse, I overheard someone tell her that everyone who owns a horse ends up with at least one broken arm.  I pretended not to hear, but knew in my heart that I was not going to allow it to happen.

However, what I seemed to fail to take into account was that we allowed our daughter to buy a horse that was not yet broke to ride.  Someone was going to get broken.  I was voting for the horse.

Ashley purchased every book and video on the market to help her learn to train her horses. Here is a great product for learning to train your horse like a pro.

After several months of groundwork, it was time for Ashley’s first ride.  She had written the date on her calendar and talked of nothing except riding Diamond on this particular day.  She was excited.  I was scared to death!

I reminded her to put on her helmet.  She had grown quite fond of Diamond and was quite certain Diamond would obey her every command.  She called me out to the round pen to watch the first ride.  With excitement and anticipation, followed by gripping fear, I watched Ashley put the blanket on the horse.  She then put on the saddle.  Now, it was time to mount.

Ashley, being a bit shorter than the horse needed to use a bucket to reach high enough to get on.  As soon as she placed the bucket near the horse, the horse would move about two feet away from the bucket.  I watched this comedy routine until I was feeling quite comfortable that Ashley was not actually going to be able to get on the horse.  It was in that comfort zone Ashley finally arrived, perched on top of Diamond.

As I watched, my little girl (who was 13 at the time) was taken at a full gallop heading straight for the fencing.  I bit my hand as I watched the horse suddenly stop, and Ashley flew into the fence, over the head of the horse.  Slowly she got up, went over and picked up the bucket, putting is beside the horse, she again got in the saddle.  I thought to myself that my child had more courage than I did.  Here I was scared to death watching from a distance, as she courageously got back on the horse.

I waited for the horse to once again take off running.  Instead she stood still.  Ashley kicked.  Ashley said, “giddyup!”  Ashley said, “Go you stupid horse!”  Maybe that was me who said that?

Diamond stood still.

Ashley climbed down.  Rubbed Diamond’s nose, gave her a carrot, then came over to me with the biggest smile I had ever seen and a bit of a limp.

After a thorough inspection I decided Ashley was all right.

Every day Ashley worked with Diamond, and every day they grew to love one another even more.

One day upon returning home from shopping, I noticed a pained look on Ashley’s face.  Not wanting to worry me, she said, “Oh, it’s nothing, I just fell off of Diamond today.”

Christi piped up, “You should have seen it Mom!  Ashley was loping in the pasture, when Diamond slipped.  Ashley went around under her belly, then when Diamond tried to get up she used Ashley instead of the ground.”

As Christi was relaying her story in a more than colorful way, I became increasingly worried about Ashley.  She kept assuring me she was fine.  I gave her some Tylenol and told her to rest.

The next day she was still pained, so I asked to look at the injury.  If there is one thing that embarrasses thirteen year old girls, it’s pulling their shirt up so mom can look at the hoof mark that had embedded itself into her rib cage.

We figured she must have broken a couple of ribs.  It was difficult for her to laugh or even for her to breathe out.  We had her rest for several days.

When we would talk about her injury all Ashley could say is, “I couldn’t get back on Diamond.  I have to get back on her so she knows I’m all right.”

Again I was afraid of Ashley’s courage.  I relented and allowed her to go outside and get on the horse.  She got on, patted Diamond, told her how much she loved her, then got off the horse, and went in the house to lie down.

My kids’ courage amazes me all the time.  It seems like when they are the ones who are sick, I’m the one who gets upset.  Their faith is so incredible.  Perhaps this is what is meant by, “Assuredly, I say to you, whoever does not receive the kingdom of God as a little child will by no means enter it.” Mark 10:15.

Ashley is all grown up now and owns a 6 bedroom house on nine acres with her husband Joel and son Hunter. Visit her website at http://valiantarabians.com

After David was born by a Cesarean section, I once again became fearful as I walked with the Lord.  I saw Him taking me to a place that was frightening to me, a place where I would surrender, and He might choose to make a decision different than the one I had thought should be made.

For some reason, I seemed to think that once I surrendered all to Jesus, my life would run smoothly without too many bumps in the road.  I even seemed to think that my way was the right way.  I could even be known to think in my head, “But Lord you know not the plans I have for me!”  I think a time or two, I may have heard him laugh at me.

I figured if I prayed hard enough or long enough, God would change all of His plans to correspond with mine.

When I became pregnant with John, I read everything I could about having a VBAC (vaginal birth after cesarean).  I was certain the Lord wouldn’t want me to endure three c-sections.  I prayed for a natural delivery.  Meanwhile I scheduled a c-section for one week before John’s due date.  I prayed, “Lord, make me go into labor earlier.” Therefore ensuring a natural delivery.

I was so convinced the Lord was going to heed my instructions, Steve and I made several trips to the hospital to have our baby before the scheduled c-section.  Each time we would arrive at the hospital, contractions would cease.  I would then pray harder.  I asked the church to pour an entire bottle of Crisco vegetable oil on my head.  I figured if a few drops of oil worked, then the whole gallon would for sure change the mind of God.  Our Pastor did not pour the oil on my head as I requested.  He simply laughed at me.  I wasn’t joking.  I was willing to do anything to change the mind of God to conform to my way of thinking.

My thinking of course included a smooth delivery, a healthy child, followed by a smooth recovery.

The scheduled day arrived.  In my heart I felt that I wasn’t fully trusting God, but knew that I did want our baby to be born.  I was tired of waiting for him.  The house was as clean as it was going to get.  The clothes were all set out.  I was ready to have the baby.

Fear filled my heart as I was wheeled to the operating room.  I was awake for the procedure even though I couldn’t feel anything from my neck down.  At one point I felt like I was suffocating.  The anesthesiologist assured me this was normal.  I wanted to shout, “No one told me I was going to feel like I was dying!”  But I didn’t.

Suddenly a newborn baby emerged from behind the cloth.  He was adorable.  His face was round.  I think he even smiled at me when they brought him close for my inspection.

Shortly after John was born, the doctor said, “We had a little problem with your placenta implanting into your uterus.  It’s a good thing we did this one cesarean or we could have had a serious bleeding problem on our hands.”

I praised the Lord for knowing what I did not know.

My dreams of a natural delivery had been dashed, however, I took comfort in knowing that God is completely in charge and nothing in this world can eclipse His knowledge.

Before I was able to take John from the hospital he had to be under the “lights” for several hours because of jaundice.  After spending an extra day in the hospital, we were allowed to go home, but not without the promise to return every other day for more blood tests and heal pricks.

Not only was I trying to recover from surgery, I now had to go out of the house every other day to take my son to the doctor for more tests.  I prefer bed rest after having a baby, not continual running back and forth to the doctor.  To make matters worse, it was decided that John should be on formula to reduce the jaundice to acceptable levels or he would have to be hospitalized.  I relented and gave him formula.

There’s nothing worse for a new mom than to be told she cannot nurse her children, but that they must have a bottle.  Somehow I felt like a failure as a mom because I could not perform the most basic of all functions.

I gave John formula for five days.  The day after his formula time was up and his jaundice had cleared enough for him to be out of danger, it was discovered that the water in our town’s water supply had been tainted with E. coli bacteria.  All the reports that came back said that it was especially dangerous for young children and the elderly.

I was gripped with fear at the thought that I had been giving my newborn son, E. coli tainted water.

Steve was the Associate City Engineer, which meant the water crisis had him working long hours and dealing with many irate people.  He would come home from work drained.  I didn’t dare tell him of my fears for our own child.

John began to have diarrhea.  I took him to the doctor once again.  He was all of ten days old and had been to the doctor at least six times.

That night I cried out to God.  “Lord!”  I said, “You are aware that I am a wimp right?”  That was all I said.  I had cried out with the only thing I could say.  I had to let God know that I was too wimpy to handle having a sick child.

John did test for some E. coli bacteria, but it was within normal range, if there could possibly be such a thing.  The doctor assured me he would be fine.

My worst nightmare is to have a child sick or injured.  We have been extremely fortunate.  My children all seem to be well coordinated and manage to stay away from high places from which they could fall.

This is a chapter from my book, Gone With the Mind. If you would like to read more from this book, go to the Gone With the Mind category. Or, purchase the book from the link in the sidebar.

Go ahead and get a little encouragement when you feel you’ve lost your mind.

If you want to read some excerpts, I have posted some under the category, Gone with the Mind.

I just know you’re going to love it!
Order NOW!

• Potty Training
• Disciplining the Strong Willed Child
• Getting Past the Worry and Fear
• Organization and Cleaning Tips (or not)

And most importantly as you read through these stories, you will learn, What Not to Do!

]]> http://terricamp.com/new-book-available-now/feed/ 1 http://terricamp.com/potty-training-when-you-have-lots-of-kids/ http://terricamp.com/potty-training-when-you-have-lots-of-kids/#comments Wed, 26 Jan 2011 13:28:16 +0000 Admin http://terricamp.com/?p=481

I’ve Been Working on the Commode

We have a lot of adventures that take place in our bathroom. I use the term adventures lightly.  Shortly after moving into our old country home several years ago, Steve remodeled a portion of our house to be an additional bathroom.

At the time we had one bathroom in our master bedroom.  This bathroom contained the ugliest carpet ever.  It was a shag carpet with blues, greens and browns.  It was so disgusting, yet somehow had managed to remain all those years.

Our other bathroom was the size of a bedroom.  I guess someone knew there would be a need for a lot of children lying on the floor during “sick moments” in our house.

The new bathroom was referred to as The Boys Bathroom.  The bedroom-sized bathroom was called The Girls Bathroom.  Some of the kids referred to them by other names.  The girls called the boys’ bathroom the “stink room.”  And the boys called the girls’ bathroom the “smelly room.”  It’s all in good fun I assure you.

The Girls Bathroom used to have carpet, but one Christmas Steve gave me a present of replacing the kitchen and one bathroom with wood laminate.  Oh how I loved it!  No one in his right mind would put carpet in a bathroom.  Unfortunately we didn’t replace the carpet until I had completed potty training all of our children.

Help With Potty Training

Potty training children is quite an experience.  When I had my first child, I was advised to use the book, Potty Training in Less Than a Day. I bought crackers, juice, a potty-chair, and a potty dolly.  Ashley loved it and learned quickly to use the potty-chair.  She was exactly two years old, which is when all the experts I had read said to train them.

Christi watched Ashley do everything and trained herself at eighteen months.  I figured it was my superb parenting.  I’ll take any praise I can get, even if it does come from myself.

On Cathy’s second birthday she wanted no part of this whole idea.  By her third birthday I began to get concerned.  One day Steve took Ashley and Christi camping with him.  That left me with only Cathy and David.  We spent the day eating crackers and drinking juice.  Finally victory was achieved.

Then came the boys.  I had heard boys were more difficult.  I heard you would have to be creative with them.  I heard they weren’t good aimers.  Funny thing is, potty training eight children consumed a lot of my thoughts for many years, yet I can barely remember the moments of potty training.  What I do remember was spending a lot of time in the bathroom, finally getting tired of waiting, telling the child to get up, only to have them promptly wet the floor.

I also remember doing a lot of schoolwork with kids while I sat in the bathroom waiting for someone to “go.”

It’s really stressful for a mom knowing all the things she has on her list, yet none of them get crossed off because a child is learning how to “go” on his own.  I spent the bulk of many days, simply sitting on the bathroom floor.

One time I was waiting in the bathroom, because for some reason the bathroom becomes this incredibly scary place when you’re sitting on a little plastic potty.  Someone in our house decided there was a Great Horned Owl that lived outside the bathroom window, waiting for some unsuspecting child sitting on his potty-chair.  This child decided to share the information with the newest child in training.  This realization gave me no rest!  I had to go in the bathroom every time this child thought she might need to go.  It was in this place that Ashley found me to ask a math question.

She sat down beside me and showed me which problem it was.  I looked at her quizzically.  She said, “I know you’ve shown me how to do this three times already, but I just don’t understand it!”

Again I explained how to do it.  She seemed to grasp the concept so I made up another problem for her to figure out.  She got it wrong.  How could she get it wrong?

Meanwhile the child on the chair finally goes, only he goes up and over the top and onto my foot.  I can handle a lot of things, but urine that belongs to someone else on my body upsets me.  I cleaned up my foot, the carpet, and the child.

I then went back to Ashley who was waiting patiently for me.  She still didn’t understand the problem.  I explained it again.  This time I used a different approach.  I first took her pencil and threw it down on the floor with enough force to break it.  Then I yelled at her that there was absolutely no reason she could not understand this problem.  It was basic stuff!

After my tirade, I looked into her eyes.  A small tear slowly made its way down her cheek.  Oh how badly I felt at yelling at her and breaking her pencil.

It doesn’t take much sometimes to send a mom over the edge and into a banshee.  I went over the edge and desperately wanted to change but I was already so upset I didn’t know what to do.  A fleeting thought passed through my mind, “What if I stay this way?  What if I don’t become a nice mom again?  What if my children only remember this about me?

I was suddenly consumed with fear that I would forever remain a bad Mommy.  Quickly I took Ashley into my arms as I apologized to her for losing my temper.  I resisted the urge to tell her all of my reasons for losing my temper.  I simply cried with her.

She forgave me, and life went on as usual.  However, I still had a gnawing fear that I would never totally give my whole life to the Lord. Complete surrender to the Lord has been my battle cry for a long time.

One final comment I would like to leave with you. All eight of my kids eventually got potty trained…and so will yours.

This is an excerpt from the book, Gone With the Mind. To read more of excerpts, click on the Gone With the Mind Category.

]]> http://terricamp.com/potty-training-when-you-have-lots-of-kids/feed/ 1 http://terricamp.com/bad-day-with-the-kids/ http://terricamp.com/bad-day-with-the-kids/#comments Tue, 25 Jan 2011 22:31:29 +0000 Admin http://terricamp.com/?p=477 Runaway Mom

Not long ago I was startled when I witnessed Bryan strike out in anger at my David while they played together with the train set.  As soon as Bryan hit David, you could tell on his face that he had made a grave mistake.  Almost immediately he went into the bathroom, albeit with much fear and trepidation.  After our typical prayer and consultation Bryan said to me, “I wish Jesus would rewind to the time right before I hit David.”

I kind of chuckled and thought to myself that Bryan had been watching too many movies.

Fast-forward 24 hours…. The day was not going as planned for me.  As I read to the kids the little ones were louder and more physical than normal.  With every passing paragraph I grew more irritated.  Finally the children seemed to get quiet and I was able to read about three chapters of the book.  I was halfway through the fourth when they once again began fussing with each other.  I tossed the book down, just a bit harder than I should have and declared reading time over and sent everyone to their rooms.

For the next forty-five minutes I heard nothing but bickering among the kids.  As I tried to get a simple lunch made, I had to stop every few minutes to have a consultation with a child.  I’m afraid our house was infected with a virus of unknown origin, but which had the unmistakable symptom of grouchiness.  It infected even me.

After taking three times as long to get lunch on the table, I went to settle down at my computer for a bit of writing time while kids finished up lunch then went on with their usual afternoon assignments.

Within a few short minutes I was sick of hearing my own name.  I was constantly bombarded with children asking questions, most of which were completely irrelevant to the assignments they had been given.

I tried to calm my nerves, but could do nothing.  Just when I would take a deep breath, once again I would hear from another room, “Moooooooommmmmmm, can you come here?”

I began to count my blessings and thought momentarily that I had too many.  Suddenly all the blood rushed to my head and I let out a scream.  It didn’t relieve me; it only made me feel extremely embarrassed.  Then to make matters even worse I told my husband that he was now in charge because I was leaving!

I slammed out the door, got in the car and began to drive.  I contemplated the airport, but knew that would not help.

Recently I had been feeling quite depressed and completely without reason.  Searching my mind for a way out of the depression I opted for a perm.  I drove for forty-five minutes. The alone time with the Lord was extremely helpful.  In fact, I thought that perhaps I was okay to just go home.  However, I had driven all that way, I may as well get the perm. I reasoned to myself.

As I sat being tortured, I thought to myself that I really deserved this pulling of my hair after the childish way I acted at home.  It almost comforted me to know I was getting a smidgen of what I deserved for my behavior.

I don’t often find myself in a depressed mode for very long so it had taken me a little by surprise.  I was also quite upset that I couldn’t seem to just pull myself up by my bootstraps and be happy and content.   Even though I had spent a good deal of time alone in the car talking to the Lord, I still didn’t think I was quite out of the yucky feelings.

For some reason I was convinced that getting a perm so I would look like Julia Roberts would make me all better.  The only problem I had of course was that I am way too short to look like her.  And I don’t have nearly as many teeth.  As the stylist worked on my hair I glanced into the mirror and noticed that I looked a lot like my mom.  It wasn’t the look I wanted.

When I arrived home nine smiling faces all full of forgiveness greeted me.  All the kids loved my hair.  Then Steve casually mentioned that I looked like my mom.  Tears welled up in my eyes.  I ran up the stairs and began to bawl.  I don’t want to look like my mom!  She’s twenty years older than I am.  I want to look like Julia Roberts!

I finally composed myself and returned to the family who seems to manage to love me in spite of myself.  As we sat in the living room I looked at Bryan and said, “Hey Bud, do you think I could rewind today?”

He looked me right in the eye and said. “No.  Only Jesus can rewind your day.”

He was right.  As much as I wanted to forget how badly I felt and behaved, I was powerless on my own to do anything about it.  I needed the redemptive power of Jesus Christ to come to me who at the time was worthless for Him.

Barb Shelton once said this about redemption.  “Redeem is to take something of little or no value (me when I’m too frustrated to act rationally) and turn it in to one who has great wealth and power and in exchange receive something of great value.”

Within moments after praying for Jesus to restore me, I had the great value that I so needed.  I had forgiveness, and a clean slate!  What a gift!  It was much better than a perm and He didn’t even use the remote to rewind the day.

Even though I know I’m washed clean, I still occasionally slip up and do or say, sometimes both with tremendous force, the things I know that I should not say or do.

]]> http://terricamp.com/bad-day-with-the-kids/feed/ 2 http://terricamp.com/play-with-your-children/ http://terricamp.com/play-with-your-children/#comments Mon, 24 Jan 2011 21:31:42 +0000 Admin http://terricamp.com/?p=470 I Am Child – Hear Me Roar



At the age of four, Bryan loved to play animal and dinosaur.  He would often come find me wherever I was. Even if I would be taking a nap, he will come over to me and “ROAR” as loud as he could.  Sometimes I wondered if he was trying to show me his strength.  Other times I think he prefered to be around me and wanted to find me wherever I may roam.  Perhaps there is also the possibility that he thought I might one day forget him in the crowd so he needs to make his presence known to me in such a dramatic way.

Often when I was working, Bryan will venture into my office and begin talking.  If I was in the middle of something, I might continue typing with my hands, while listening to him with my ears.  It was at those moments that Bryan will climb up into my lap.  He wanted me to be sure to focus on him.

If I was in the middle of typing a thought or an e-mail though, I would sometimes give him a quick squeeze, then continue typing.  This would often suffice for him.  But more often than not, it was not the response that he wanted.

That was when he would look at me with those big green eyes and “ROAR” in his loudest voice.  Of course this gets my attention.  I would look at him and say, “What do you want dear Bryan?”

He often responded with, “I want you to play dinosaur with me.”  I must admit there were many times I would rather continue what I was doing than stop to take the time to play dinosaur with him.  Dinosaur was probably my least favorite game.  Bryan always wanted to be the strong “sharp tooth” as he calls it.  I always got to be the “long neck.”  That meant I was the one who was always  killed.

One time I thought I would trick him.  I told him that I was going to be the “sharp tooth” this time.  And he was going to be the “long neck.”  He reluctantly agreed.  Let the games begin!

I began growling and walking the way he had instructed me to do.  Just when I was ready to bite off his head he said to me, “I’ve changed into a fire breathing dragon, and now I’m going to breathe on you!”  He then opened his mouth wide and breathed on me.  “There!  You’re dead!” He reminded me.

I was secretly glad I ended in a quick death.  There were so many things I had to do that day.  I thanked him for killing me and began to walk away.  After following me into the office, he once again climbed up on my lap.

Even though I’m not a genius, I figured out fairly quickly that my little boy simply wanted some “Mommy time.”

I had decided to devote a few more minutes to him when Ashley walked in and began to talk about something related to horses.  I can’t remember the exact conversation, but I’m sure that’s what she was talking about.

I turned to face her and began listening.  Bryan took my face in his little hands and turned me to stare right at him.  I told him I would talk to him in a few minutes, and turned once again to talk with Ashley.  Again he took my face in his hands and turned me to focus on him.

Naturally I had to discipline him for interrupting when I was talking, but I felt a tinge of remorse that he had a need in his life that seemed to be unmet by me.

Often as I study the lives of my children I will notice something that is out of whack with them.  When I delve further into the possible cause, I often am forced to look at myself as the reason they are acting a certain way.

It’s painful to look at a child who has been yelling a lot and see that perhaps the behavior she is seeing modeled by, yours truly, is not one of sweet disposition, but one of a raised voice.

I know I cannot live an exemplary life.  I will fail them and I often do, but what frightens me the most is that one day I will mess up so much, there will be no redemption in their eyes.  I fear that the children will walk away from the faith I so desperately want them to walk in, not away from, because of some mistake I may have made.

]]> http://terricamp.com/play-with-your-children/feed/ 0 http://terricamp.com/its-tough-raising-a-strong-willed-child/ http://terricamp.com/its-tough-raising-a-strong-willed-child/#comments Sun, 23 Jan 2011 20:52:37 +0000 Admin http://terricamp.com/?p=461 The Good, The Bad, and the Bryan


My stomach hurt, I felt nauseous, and I couldn’t eat.  My head ached and I couldn’t think.  You could even say my brain hurt.  Some of you are grinning right now thinking to yourself, “I bet she’s pregnant.”  No, it wasn’t a pregnancy.  But I was suffering from a child-induced illness.  The illness I’m referring to is “The Battle of the Will!”

Not long ago in our house a battle raged.  It was a battle between a three-year old with a desire, and a mom with a desire.  Unfortunately the desires were on opposite sides of the spectrum.

The three-year olds desire was to get his way.  The Mommy’s desire was to not let him get his way.  Thus, the battle began!

As with most battles the beginning is not always discernible. Or perhaps my mind was so scrambled at this point I could not think clearly to discover the opening scene of the battle.

What I can remember is that Bryan was being cantankerous.  He was sitting on the couch when I told him in a funny sort of way that what he needed was a job.  He shouted at me, “I don’t WANT a job!”  My life went fast forward as I saw him, a 20 year-old man sitting on my couch saying, “I don’t WANT a job!”  So I did what all fun loving moms do.  I said, “And you need a haircut too!”

I think that is when he jumped at me and hit me.  “Okay,” I thought, “we’ve gone beyond cantankerous to down right angry!”

It took all of three seconds for me to react to his anger in the same way.  My body tensed.  And through clenched teeth I said, “Get in the bathroom!”  While pointing to the bathroom, just in case he had forgotten where it was.

Once in the bathroom, my struggle began.  What do I do?  I’m angry.  I can’t spank him.  But I can’t let him get away with such terrible behavior.

In a flash my mind goes back to seeing his newborn body, lost in a tiny plastic enclosure bound for the children’s hospital.

Quickly I looked up toward heaven as I said to myself, “Okay Lord, I know he had to be strong willed to survive his beginnings, but could you take some of the will away now?”

Instead of removing some of Bryan’s will, he gave me a stronger will to prevail.  For over twenty minutes I worked on getting Bryan to have a heart change.  Finally we both collapsed in exhaustion on the floor of the bathroom.  He hugged me tightly and said, “I love you Mom!”

Ah!  Sweet Victory!

When I would see disobedient children in stores, I knew instantly that the mom had a serious problem disciplining her children.  If she were only consistent, her results would be fruitful. I would tell myself rather smugly as I marched my seven well-behaved children past her.  I knew she would look at them and long for me to tell her my secret.  She would want children like mine.  After all, I had it all figured out.

Then I had my precious Bryan.  I call him that often to remind myself that he truly is not the little monster he pretends to be on so many occasions.

When days that the battle of the will ensues, I question if I can even handle the parenting task I’ve been called to handle.

Great Parenting Books

A few days ago Steve was greeted at the door by a wife, with tears flowing swiftly down her cheeks.  He gave me one look and said, “Is it Bryan?”  I simply nodded my head.

“Where is he?” He inquired.

I managed to sob out that he was in his room, throwing everything around.  Steve then asked if I wanted him to take over.  I was weak.  I could not go on another moment with him.  Steve was fresh.  I wondered for a moment if it is okay to tag-team wrestle with a three year-old.  I decided to definitely go for the “conquer them at all costs” mentality.

Steve went into Bryan’s room.  Immediately I heard the throwing of toys stop.  Bryan has somehow developed a healthy fear of Steve.  Which makes me just a little bit crazy at times.  I feel that I am often the one who does most of the disciplining, yet all Steve has to do is peek his head in the door and the bad behavior ceases.

I was so drained from my battle; I asked Steve if I could go take a short nap.  After an hour, I came out to find that Bryan, with the aid of his older brothers had completely cleaned their room.

This did not have a positive effect on me.  I was happy they had cleaned their room, but I had mentioned it on at least three occasions that afternoon, and they didn’t do anything that remotely resembled cleaning.

My head ached worse than ever as the thought that I was really not a very good parent seeped into my mind.  In fact, I had turned into the woman in the grocery store who couldn’t control her children.  What was I going to do?

I thought of all the rules of discipline that I knew.  I began to wonder if there was a parenting book that I hadn’t read.  I have read them all. I know how to discipline.  I know how to be fair.  I know how to get children to obey.  So why aren’t they?  My head screamed with frustration.

All these thoughts came to me as I walked down the hall then down the stairs.  At the bottom of the stairs, a little boy threw his arms around my legs and said, “I missed you!”

There seem to be just enough of those affections for me that I keep plugging away at parenting Bryan.  When I glance into the future, I still fear that he will not have any discipline, won’t want to get a job, or a haircut for that matter.

Then I realize that it’s quite possible Bryan will grow up with a will so strong and courageous for the Lord, that none dare to question him.

Books for parents of Strong Willed Children

Shortly before Bryan was born, we had sought the Lord regarding what to name him.  I can’t remember what we had planned to name him, but just a couple of weeks before he was born Steve asked if I would mind if we named him Bryan.

Bryan is a name that belonged to his older brother, who had died of a brain aneurysm at the age of 28.  We honored him already by naming one of our daughters, Briana.  However, Steve felt compelled to name our newest child, Bryan.

I agreed on one condition.  Steve’s brother’s birthday was February 13^th.  If our son was born on that day, I didn’t want them to have the same name.  Our son was not born on the 13^th; he was born on the 12^th.  When Steve had come to tell me we had a son, and that there wasn’t a good prognosis for him to live, I once again did not want to name him Bryan.

As I talked on the phone to a friend of mine, she reminded me that Bryan means “Strong.”  I took great comfort in that.

Even now, I find it to be in keeping with the Lord’s sense of humor that the child who brings me to my knees frequently has a name that means, Strong.  Not only that, but his middle name is William.  If I combine that his name becomes Strong Will I Am. Since William means brave, I can even go one step further and mention that we named our own child Brave Strong Will I Am!  Marvelous qualities for someone who will one day live for God!  Do I dare complain again when my child is simply living up to his name?

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