Happy Birthday, Holand | Annie Holand Miller
Dearest baby girl,
You are SIX today! SIX! Why does that feel like such a major milestone? It is like you’re crossing over into this new phase of being a big kid. And as excited as I am for you, I can’t help but see you as the baby of our family. You have grown so much over the past year and really transformed yourself into a little lady.
In a world where there is great value placed on being a strong, driven woman—where I have worked hard to play that part myself—I have found it challenging to parent a little girl. Because as much as I value that strength and drive, there is so much to be said for the compassion and grace of a true lady. I hope we help you find the perfect balance.
I am proud that you are strong--that you stand your ground and do not back down. I am proud that you can do anything any boy can do. Notice that I didn’t say that you BELIEVE you can do anything any boy can do…because it isn’t about BELIEF with you. You just do it! I love watching you play t-ball on a team full of boys, battling NERF gun wars with your brother and his friends, and telling all of the boys in your life what to do, how to do it and when (and watching them follow your every word).
You are responsible and driven all wrapped up into this itty bitty body. We all know that we can rely on you. Your teachers give you extra responsibilities and tasks, and they know you will not only complete them, but help others in the process. You love to have a job, and you take great pride in not just completing that job, but completing it better than anyone ever could have imagined. Like your weekly spelling tests: we spend time every afternoon going over your spelling, and you take great pride in coming home with your 105s on those tests. But nothing topped the grin on your face when you pulled out your test last week and showed us that you had received a 140 on the test because you covered the back of your paper with sentences using each of your spelling words.
Your drive is inspiring and exhausting all at the same time. And I have realized over the past few months that it is time for me to show you not only how to work hard, but also that it is okay to take a deep breath, relax and just be.
I love hearing the stories you tell me—like the ones about the new student in your class who you befriended. You told me she was so nervous to be joining the school after you and your friends had already been there. It was important to you to make her feel comfortable and safe. Watching you hold her hand as you walked down the hall in a school-wide parade, helping to reassure her and make her feel settled when it was your first time doing this, too, made me so proud to be your mother.
I love that you tell me the details of your day; that I know that you’re listening, learning and engaging. The daily reports of your friends’ behavior in class are always entertaining—but remind me to talk with you about how annoying tattle tales are (especially to parents of 2nd grade boys).
You love your friends with all of your heart. After your birthday party last week, your Grumps marveled at the way each of your girlfriends came to find and hug you at the end of the party to say goodbye. You all hug each other and love on each other all the time, and it is so incredibly sweet.
But let me tell you the thing I love most about you: I love that you are so totally and completely at peace with yourself, that you can’t be bothered by what other people think. I love that on wacky sock day, you wore a kimono to school. And when I told you that your friends would be wearing wacky socks and not kimonos, you looked me in the eye, shrugged and said “so, I don’t care.” You marched into school so proudly that day, and it really made me think about what we, as parents, do to our kids to make them feel like they have to conform.
The greatest gift you can give—not only to yourself, but to the world—is being true to yourself. I hope you forever march to the beat of your own drum.
March on, baby girl! We’ll be standing on the sidelines, cheering you on.
Happy 6th birthday, sweet girl! You are loved beyond measure!
Essay by: Annie Holand Miller
Annie is a wife, mama, friend, attorney and essential oil fairy G-dmother. You can find her tribe here!
God is using The Courage to Become to make a difference in women's lives and I am honored to be a part of delivering the message.
Now is your chance to grab a copy for yourself and for a woman you love!
Happy Birthday, Kern | Annie Holand Miller
My sweet baby boy,
Eight years ago today, at 5:20 p.m., you entered this world and made me a mom. Every moment since then has been filled with wonder. Every single moment. You keep us busy and on our toes. You keep us entertained. And, frankly, you keep us constantly questioning and adjusting our parenting styles and plans.
This has been a big year for you. You started at a new school, and as excited as you were, you were also really nervous. You were nervous about making new friends, adjusting to a new classroom and rules, and whether you were “smart enough.”
We never doubted your brains or your abilities.
And, more importantly, we had great confidence in your heart.
You are filled with kindness, and that makes me so proud. Like the time I was waiting to have lunch with you at school, and a parent introduced herself and told me that her daughter “always talks about Kern’s kindness.” Or the time Ms. Jones told me that you walked up and down the table in the cafeteria cleaning up after your friends. Or the time the parent of a special needs student stopped to me to tell me that her son considers you his best friend and how much that means to her—that you make him feel like a million bucks. Those are the moments my chest fills with pride and I get a lump in my throat.
You love to make everyone laugh—not only your friends, but their parents, too. You are filled with life and energy and excitement, and you carry it with you wherever you go. It is awesome and exhausting. And I worry that we spend too much time and energy taming you and not enough just enjoying you and laughing with you.
It would be remiss of me not to mention your love of dancing and shaking your booty! I mean, you do it on the soccer field, in pictures, on the playground, with your friends or alone. We might have even gotten a note sent home because you stood up to “shake it off” during a test at school. You hear the music in your head and you shake it from your heart.
There are less than stellar moments, too. Those are equally as important and while painful and heartbreaking, I’m thankful we’re going through them now. I’m thankful that you’re learning how to fail, then how to pick yourself up, dust yourself off, digest the information and move on. It is so important to know that we all make mistakes. It is so important to learn to admit when we are wrong. It is so important to understand that failure is not only a part of life, but a very important part of growth.
I am embarrassed to admit this, but I think your Dad and I thought that so many of these life lessons would “come” to you--that you would wake up one morning, and just know the difference between right and wrong and good and bad. Unfortunately, that isn’t quite the way it works. I can’t tell you the number of times one of us has said to the other “I guess I just figured he KNEW that!” This is probably the biggest challenge as a parent—not only figuring out HOW to teach you to the important lessons, but also figuring out which lessons need to be taught.
The “simple” lessons we’re working on right now: toots are for the bathroom; please walk and don’t run; use your manners; and please don’t interrupt me when I’m on the phone or talking to someone else.
Then there are the big lessons. And the older you get, the harder it is to teach the big lessons because I realize that, as an adult, I still haven’t mastered so many of them myself. Being your mom has challenged me to push myself to really consider my own behaviors, my own responses and my own values and goals.
I will never forget the moment I first held you in my arms. I cherish every moment of snuggling you give me—even when it means that you’ve climbed into our bed in the middle of the night. And I love that you told me just the other day that one day you will have to tell your wife that you’ll be back later because you need to go snuggle with your mom.
You have gotten so big. But when I look at you, I still see that 7 pound 1 ounce baby who changed our lives forever. I still carry the same hopes and dreams I had for you on that day. I pray for your health and your happiness. I pray that all of your dreams come true (except for that Texas A&M dream—that one I pray you get over real quick). But most importantly, I pray that you always know that you are never, ever alone—that you know that we are part of your heart and soul forever.
Oh, how we love you! Happy 8th birthday!
Essay by: Annie Holand Miller
Annie is a wife, mama, friend, attorney and essential oil fairy G-dmother. You can find her tribe here!
God is using The Courage to Become to make a difference in women's lives and I am honored to be a part of delivering the message.
Now is your chance to grab a copy for yourself and for a woman you love!
Again | Annie Holand Miller
It happened. Again. This time it took longer for me to realize it—for it to sink in.
For the past six-ish months, there have been signs. A friend recently asked me for a family picture. I scrolled through the pictures on my phone…and found VERY FEW pictures of myself. Lots of pics of my kids--even lots of my kids and my husband. But where were the pictures of me?
I do that when this happens. Don’t we all?
About a month ago, I was out for a birthday dinner with a few girlfriends. We’re the kind of girlfriends who do not see each other very often, but we’re in constant conversation via text. So, when we’re together, we like to document it! “Would you mind getting a picture of the four of us?” one of us asked our waitress. She happily took the phone from my friend, took a few steps back, and as she adjusted angles and got ready to take the picture, I felt my fake smile tense up. I just wanted to get it over with. We passed the phone around to “approve” the picture for our obligatory Facebook post, and when I got the phone in my hand, I cringed.
HOW IN THE WORLD HAD I LET MYSELF LOOK LIKE THIS?
When it happens, I become more reclusive. It isn’t just about how much weight I’ve gained. I mean, that’s definitely a big part of it. But when I get like this, it is the pure and real and ground shaking realization that, once again, I’ve neglected myself. I’m getting kids to and from school and all of their activities. I’m getting groceries and making sure dinner is on the table every night. I’m getting things crossed off of my to-do list at work, putting out fires (maybe sometimes even starting some sparks of my own), and developing new ideas. I’m working a side-gig and trying to help others who want to jump in and build, too. I’m engaging in community activities. I’m taking my kids to Sunday School and trying to instill in them all the values it takes to be a good and kind person. I’m trying to be a supportive, loving and doting wife, a good sister, a good daughter, a good friend. I’m doing it all.
Well, I’m doing it all except taking care of me.
And it shows.
I had gotten to the point that I not only had put on a ridiculous amount of weight, but I wasn’t getting enough sleep, wasn’t exercising, wasn’t reading, wasn’t even finding time for a date night much less time for myself. I would go into the bathroom during the day at work, look at myself in the mirror with pure disgust. My skin, my make-up, my hair—I just saw a thrown together mess. In my mind, I saw the pictures of the “successful” women I know who always look put together. Why can’t I be more like them?
People say it all the time: slow down! Take care of yourself! Do you ever stop?! In response, I usually put on a tense smile, internally roll my eyes, and move on to the next activity.
But this time, I had to say it to myself. This time I had to take a deep breath and decide that I had done enough damage to myself and that if nothing else would motivate me, I had to remember this: if I do not take care of myself, I can not take care of everyone else!
I often wonder who else out there is feeling this. Who else feels the pressure to be perfect for everyone else at the expense of their own wellness? And why do I do this to myself? Why do any of us do it?
Last weekend, I put on my running shoes and headed out to the trail. I used to get out on that trail just about daily. It was MY time…for pounding out frustrations, for getting time to think, and ESPECIALLY for singing my favorite songs at the top of my lungs while strategically turning around to make sure no one was behind me listening. I was reminded of all of that goodness as soon as my Pandora clicked on, and my Runkeeper was telling me it was time to start my warm-up interval.
For the past few weeks, I’ve put my food scale and measuring cups back to work. I’ve been hitting the trail. I’ve been more deliberate in putting my phone and computer down and engaging in conversations with my husband and friends. I’ve spent my weekend mornings in bed, resting and rejuvenating for the week ahead. Slowly, but surely, I am reclaiming myself.
So I’m here to tell you, without judging, without expecting anything in return, and without preaching, but with stern instructions: do something for you. Don’t try to find the time. Make the time. Pull out your coloring books. Go for a walk. Pull out your favorite book and curl up. Be deliberate.
Take care of you.
Essay by: Annie Holand Miller
Annie is a wife, mama, friend, attorney and essential oil fairy G-dmother. You can find her tribe here!