Value.

I did not want to be a mother. When I wrote down the plans that I had after high school, nothing consisted of settling down, finding love, or starting a family. My five and ten year plan was all about me, the selfish desires of materialism, greed, and creating not only a name, but a legacy that would far outlive me.

I weighed my worth by the amount of money that I had in my bank account, the cash in my hand, and the brands displayed on my clothes. I did not care about others. I did not care about third world countries, starving children, or the poverty happening just down the street from the perfect world I was raised within.

I did not understand violence. I did not understand manipulation. I did not understand that my voice had value, that my single hand could be raised to stop cycles of abuse, or that I could do anything positive to change the lives around me. I did not understand that greatness had nothing to do with talents or money or fame. I did not understand that love could hold the same truths that the bible spoke over--about lacking pride, envy, and jealousy--where love could be messy, yet pure, protective, and honest.

I did not understand that while the perfect life I planned, was not the life God had in mind, but yet, it would somehow be better, greater than I could have ever wanted and more beautiful than I ever imagined.

My years in college and my first years within the social work field changed my life. My eyes were opened far wider than I knew behind the perfect picket fence I believed in and I saw hurt, depression, deteriorating mental health, abuse, poverty, bad choices stacked against worse choices, addictions, alcoholism, violence, trauma, and babies left alone without protection, left to face the world without parents, without knowledge of good or bad, left alone to eat out of dumpsters fighting to survive before their first birthday.

I left the world of heartbreak to run full force suddenly and nearly overnight back into the world of fun, and childhood, and birthdays, and celebrations, and excitement. And while I would never change a single sentence of the life I have lived, I would have slowed down to breathe in the innocence a little longer... the hurt a little longer... the beauty a little longer... the injustice a little longer.

Then, I became a mother.

The hurt I saw as a professional could not compare to the hurt and trauma I lived through as I held a tiny person fighting against love, filled with grief and memories of trauma by the hands of those that should have protected her, afraid to trust, afraid to move, feeling helpless against the world, so much so that her entire world of safety could only be found in the very back corner of her closet. I never imagined that motherhood would happen for me, but when I look into the eyes of my tiny foster child, I could never imagine a life without her little hand sliding into mine, or her whispers in my ears, or her tiny fingers working so hard to trust and discover the world around her.

Life was easier in the visions I had of my five and ten year plans, and there definitely wasn't a little silly girl running around, but when I say the choices I made to let go of the hurt in my own world, to open my eyes to the pain around me, and to join forces to help make this world a better place, I said yes to Christ -- and yes to a tiny girl needing a home, and most importantly, a family.

Ignoring the children starving in my own backyard was so easy when I never went outside. Turning my back on third world countries was easy when an entire world and thousands of miles of sea separated us. Ignoring the hurting, the poor, and the needy, was easy when I walked back into my privileged world and my access to health care, therapy, and services was just a phone call away.

Ignoring the foster children of this world was easy until I brought this child inside and saw that the world within her eyes was far too heavy for her to carry alone... and while my only goal was to help her grow and thrive, I realized that my value and my worth and my voice and my life only made sense the day I became a mother. Everything I wanted, everything I worked for, everything I believed in, everything I thought was vanity.

And in the process of my own growth as a person, my faith was found. Knowing love the way I do as a mother has only strengthened the love I feel for my God, for the way Christ selflessly laid down his life for me, without question, without judgement, without fear. While there is nothing I can do about this tiny girl's first two years of life, I know there is absolutely nothing that would stand in the way of me, her foster mama, laying down my life for her future.

This child is messy & wild - absolutely breathtaking - a beautiful soul filled with fire, and love, and life, and heart. She is so perfectly rounded, difficult to control, and fiery from within and while I pray one day she learns to wrangle all these emotions, her fire by far is my most favorite.

Change happens when you hold a tiny suffering hand, extend love, and say no more. And, in this process, I have found me. And I have found the value within the moment, within the people, within the good in the world around me.

And together, we have found happy. 

Here it is, God. I trust You.

My little girl brought me a tiny flower that she had planted earlier this summer when we first moved into our new home. She brought it to me while I was still in bed on Saturday morning, so excited, so proud, so happy, exclaiming, "Look, mommy, look, my flowers grow up!" 

In her tiny little mind, she had just won the lottery, became the ultimate chef, and had just created a masterpiece from her own hands-- she has spent so much time over the last 5 months, she has loved, and sacrificed, and begged, and willed this tiny flower to life-- and on Saturday, she handed it to me and said, "Keep it safe."

She had brought it to me, given it to me, and entrusted me to keep it safe, care for it, and to help it continue to grow. She excitedly proclaimed not by her words but with her gesture, "I made this, here it is, I trust you to keep it safe. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever created, here it is, I trust you!"

Most of you know by now that I am the owner of Tiger Bounce, a children's entertainment center in the heart of Columbia, Missouri. I am a business owner, which often times overshadows all the other roles of my life, and up until the last few months, I proudly and loudly proclaimed this. I was proud of my facility, I would defend it and my decisions with all I had, and I would fiercely give it my all to keep business booming, and to keep the doors open. 

I still am proud of my facility. I still love my facility. I still get up every single day excited and happy to do the job I do, with the people I adore, and in this community that captured my heart as a college student. I absolutely love Tiger Bounce. I have worked, bled, sweated, and cried to make my job work. I have sacrificed a ton--my time, my energy, my family, my mental health, my life--to make it work. I have held on tightly to Tiger Bounce, gripping it with all that I have, refusing to let it slip, controlling every move, perfecting every turn, and I have stood in awe as Tiger Bounce has done well from a business stand point. I have lived comfortably and have wanted for nothing. 

I have tossed & turned though -- day in & day out. I have been exhausted though, unable to turn off the stress & worry & fear.  I have stood in the parking lot looking in and have been overcome with the constant reminder that if I fail, I fail families and children and dedicated & loyal employees, and I fail in the center of this town I love in front of everyone who said I would never make it. The fear of failing is most days incredibly scary for me--terrifying even-- that it leaves me wobbly, my brain altered, and my future blurry. 

I have prayed for peace. 
I have prayed for hope. 
I have prayed for change. 
I have prayed, I have heard, and I have ignored. 

How do I wake up every day and walk into the fight, determined to keep Tiger Bounce open? God. 
How do I make it work, willingly making sacrifices, to make this business succeed? God. 
How do I keep going even when I am exhausted & tired & defeated? God. 
How do I keep moving my feet & going forward? God. 

Long before I said "Yes," to Tiger Bounce, I said "Yes," to my savior, my creator, my father, my God. I said "Yes, God, I will serve You." I said, "Yes, God, I will live for You." I said, "Yes, God, wherever you say go, I will go." I said, "Yes, God, whatever you ask of me, I will do." I said, "Yes, God, I will live my life to bring You glory, to make Your name known, & to put You first." I said, "Yes, God, yes!"

Since then, I have stumbled. I have fallen. I have made mistakes, walked away from my faith, depended on myself, forgotten the truth of the Bible, and have made foolish choices while proclaiming truth from my mouth. I have sinned, daily. I have slept in on Sunday mornings, proudly boasted of my accomplishments, lied about God's presence in my life, and have put more work into Tiger Bounce than I have my relationship with Christ. But, I know one truth. I know who my God is, I know His forgiveness, and I know who lives in me, and I know who is standing in front of me calling me to step out in faith, who is calling me to trust in Him alone. 

God has been laying it on my heart and on my life to stop trying so hard. He has been speaking truth into my life and every prayer for peace has been answered with, "Child, give it to me." And as a child who holds on tightly to their blanket, I kept saying, "Mine, Mine, Mine, let me have it!" I have told the God of this world that I have it all under control, when in reality, He did. I have told the God of my life that he can be the God of my life, but not the God of my business, but in reality, He was already both. I have told the God of my future, my past, and my present, I want this more than I want you, but He stood faithful waiting for me. 

And I have struggled. I have been ripped open raw. I have cried, I have stumbled, I have failed. My mental health has been broken. My happiness has shrunk. I have become someone I don't even recognize, chasing the next high, the next event, the next month's revenue. I have held on so tightly to this dream, making Tiger Bounce work, that I have failed. I have stressed and hurt and cried. Just as a child who screams, "Mine, Mine, Mine," I have kept an arm's length between me and God afraid He would take my dream away from me--afraid that me giving up even a little control would make me stumble and fall--afraid that it would break me and Tiger Bounce and this perfect world that I worked for. I was afraid the bottom would fall out. I was afraid the world would see that I was a nobody, a failure, a wreck. I was afraid that God couldn't do as good of a job as I could and that He would take my business away from me. I was afraid to trust Him. 

And I have debated over the last two years who I am, who God is, and His plans for me. And I have reluctantly struggled to give ALL to him. I have struggled to give credit to Him. I have struggled to make His name known. I have struggled to lay down my life, unpack the baggage, and hand over my plans in exchange for His. 

But today, that ends. 

Before Tiger Bounce was mine, it was already His. He had plans for me, for Tiger Bounce, for my future LONG before I ever walked in the door as a mere college student looking for extra cash. It's always been His. God has orchestrated this beautiful masterpiece, has held onto the brush the entire time, sheltering me, providing for me, shielding me, protecting me, loving me, guiding me, and breathing life into my lungs even while I refused to look up and thank Him. He is, He has been, and He always will be the greatest painter, the greatest creator, and the only savior I will bow down to. He is the only one I would trust my life with, my business with, my future with, my tiny girl's life with, and everything else I dream of. 

He is the only one I can trust. 

Tiger Bounce is not my savior. It is not my answer to happiness. It is not anything, because He is Everything. God is my everything. And today, tomorrow, and every day after, I need to put Him first and I need to put Tiger Bounce second. 

Today, I lay it all down. I give it to Him, what has always been His, except now I say, "More of You, Less of me, God." I say, "God, here is my platform, here is my people, here is my following, help me God, help me reach them for You." 

I say today, "To Live is Christ." And I mean it. 

Help me, God, help me become everything you have created me to be, everything you created Tiger Bounce to be, and help me become the good in this world, the light to the lost, and the hope in this failing world. Help me use Tiger Bounce to reach people with the hope that can ONLY be found in You. Help me, take it from me, and make it Yours. 

Just as my girl brought me her flower that she cared for, and grew, and loved. I give you the business, I bring you everything I have, and I say proudly, just as excitedly, and just as hopeful, "Look God, look! I made this, here it is, I trust you to keep it safe. This is the most beautiful thing I have ever created, here it is, I trust you!" 

Breathe new life into me. Breathe new life into Tiger Bounce. Let us both bloom and become and shine light into this broken world. I trust You. I can't do it alone anymore. I give it to You. I unpack it all at the cross, and with tears streaming down my face, I just want to make You proud, and say "Yes," over and over and over again. 

Here it is, God. I trust You. 

Go play.

Yesterday was really hard, as in I wasn't sure I would ever recover, hard. I was exhausted, overwhelmed, and just ready to give up on parenting, business, life. It was too much, so I laid in bed and I cried out to God, crying for peace, begging for relief. 

I try every single day to provide some kind of "fun" for my kid... but I work a ton of hours, often even coming home with lists and lists of things to complete that I hardly rarely find the time to get on the floor and play legos every single night before I tuck my kid into bed. I do make it a priority to always put her to bed, read books, talk about our day, and kiss her goodnight. And I try, almost every day, to put something fun in her life, whether with a new activity, bike ride around the block, a few jumps on the trampoline, or even just a moment to eat a pretend dinner together that she cooked for me on her pretend kitchen. Often times, it's a pot filled with a piece of plastic bread, ketchup bottle, orange, tomato, cookie, and a spoon. It's nothing even close to a meal, or even close to appetizing, but she beams with pride as we "eat" it all and rub our bellies saying "I'm all full!" I eat everything she gives me though, and I top it off with a big drink from a tiny little teacup.

 I don't ever know if it's enough... but I want her to know that time, not things, are how you show love.

But, I own a business. Before I became a parent, suddenly & overnight, I already was the sole owner of a 10,000 square foot children's entertainment facility... so naively, I thought, "I already see hundreds of kids a week, whats one more?" See, the difference is... this one, this one is mine and at the end of the day, when we turn off the lights and go home, she comes with me, pulling on my shirt, tripping over my shoes, spilling my drink, and talking a hundred miles a minute. But I have the privilege of loving her, and seeing her grow, and change, and become everything she wants to be, because this one comes home with me. She's the last one I see every night and the first one to climb in my bed, pull off the covers, and cuddle with me each morning. So while I say my business is my life, I mean it, but this tiny girl is my priority, my heart, and my entire world. So juggling the two, often leaves me stretched thin and slightly (or entirely) overwhelmed. 

My place does see over 3,000 kids a month. I am in charge of managing 20 employees, all with chaotic schedules, needs, and skills. On top of that, these 3,000 kids, all have families who have parents who have questions, concerns, or just want to chat. I have bills to pay, huge books to balance, emails to answer, parties to book, and kids to play with. The most important part for me is the kids -- the kids need me to play with them, give high fives, shoot goals, climb through tunnels, and put on skates for a lap around the floor. The kids make the emails worth it, the long days, the mess, the reviews, the bills, they make it worth it. 

My business needs me a lot. And truthfully, I like being needed, and I like being wanted, and I like answering emails, managing our social media accounts, and doing everything that it takes to keep this place open. But while Tiger Bounce needs me, so does my kid. She needs to see me invest in her, spend time with her, love her, cook for her, walk with her, and everything else that parents do for their kids. She needs me to pick her up from school, teach her how to skate, teach her how to bake, and cook, and buy groceries. And sometimes, she even needs to see me close the computer, turn off the phone, and give her my undivided attention. No Tiger Bounce, just her. 

I want her to see that a hard work ethic is important, but I don't want her to see that work is everything. Because it isn't. 

And yesterday, I couldn't do either. I couldn't be a good parent and I couldn't be a good boss. My head was swirling, I was exhausted, emotionally drained, and tired. I cried for hours, curled up in my bed, covers to my chin, and just prayed for peace. Nothing happened. Nothing changed. Nothing was different than the day before, except my body and my mind gave out. I could not get it together to be a parent or even a business owner. I napped on and off all day, completely exhausted, unsure of what to do or how I was going to get better. It had to be anxiety. It had to be depression. It had to be something wrong with my brain.

I prayed for relief. I prayed for guidance. I prayed for peace. I prayed for a breakthrough. I prayed hard, and long, and until there was no words left and it was just my heart crying out. 

And God answered. 

You can be both a parent and a business owner. 

But not today.  

You can be both. 

But not today. 

And just as clearly as I believe God died for me on a cross to save my soul from an eternity of Hell, I believe God said, "go play."

So I did. 

I played on the floor of my 3 year olds room and played dress up. I held her dolls, changed their clothes, gave them bottles, pushed a car around a race track, and played legos on her bedroom floor... and each time my three year old giggled and jumped up and down, I could feel my heart coming back to life. I could feel my brain relaxing, the stress fading, the fear dying, and just overwhelming grace falling on me. I could literally feel the weight of all the yesterdays before being lifted and the hand of God on my life, and I knew without a doubt, this was my purpose, and this was exactly where He wanted me in life. 

I am exactly where God wants me, regardless of what anyone wants to say, or any person wants to state on Google reviews, even when the days are hard, the problems are big, and the chaos is too much. God is there and God sees and God has a plan for my life. I just needed to slow down, give the troubles and the hurt and the pain to Him, stop trying so hard to please everyone, and I just needed to go play, because God has a plan. I may not be needed, but I am wanted by God, and He is just as real to me as any employee or any kid, just as real as any person next to me, or just as real as the tiny girl playing dress up in the mirror, and He wants me. 

He is my savior. He is the one, who rushes in, who holds me as I cry under my covers, who pushes me out of bed, and who forces me to get up, get dressed, and be the parent and boss I was forever destined to be. He is the perfect parent, the perfect father, the perfect boss, the perfect encourager, and the only one who can show me what love really means and what really matters. His love is enough to pull me out of bed, reminding me of my worth, and to keep me moving forward.

This little girl is my purpose. This business is my purpose. This community is my purpose. And I am exactly where God wants me.

Hate, Controversy & Tiger Bounce

I cried for two hours at my job today, in the bathroom, alone. Sobbed. I couldn’t get it together so I sat on the floor and cried— in case you’d like me to say that again, I cried on the bathroom floor, the nasty, gross, horrifying bathroom floors of the public bathroom in my children’s entertainment center because I just couldn't keep it together. I don’t exactly know what I was crying about, but I do know that today, the stress won. The anxiety won. The hurt won. The fear won. Everything BUT ME won and I cried. Hard. For 2 hours. Sobbed and cried and pulled my knees to my chest, and let it out and I BAWLED.

Then I got up off the floor, wiped my face, and I went to work. I forced myself to get up and do it— do a job that I love and worked for and have shed tears and sweat and blood over, and have lost friends and relationships and opportunities for--Willingly. I have willingly sacrificed life to make Tiger Bounce work, and it has been (besides motherhood) one of the single most rewarding jobs.

But it has been the hardest and some days, it has been the darkest.

Today I honestly asked myself if it was worth it, the first time in nearly two years, I asked myself the very real question about my life, my job, my happiness, my mental health— and I didn’t have a solid answer that met what I was looking for.

Am I happy?
Am I making a difference? 
Is this job worth it, worth all the stress, time away from my kid, away from my family & friends? Is it worth losing my sleep over, staying up late, struggling to keep up, being tired all the time, unhappy, anxious, and dragging? Is it worth it?

Without answers to those questions, I cried. And I cried a lot.

I think when it comes to business, people don’t care about the people behind the brand or owners or anything that goes into it. They tend to be selfish, have certain expectations, and when they’re desires aren’t met, they become cruel. And I think, as a business owner, that reality is the single worst responsibility that comes with my job.

See... what happened is... I made a mistake. 

I made a mistake and while I can admit that I was absolutely wrong and insensitive to the world around me (by complete ignorance, not purposeful), I believe people have an inherent right to REACT to whatever I do, and they have a right to be angry and to demand change, more inclusion, more sensitivity, more empathy... but people don't have the right to be cruel.

I remember this moment years ago, when I felt so scared, that the only thing that seemed to comfort my mind and body was to physically hide in my closet. I was scared, and cold, and angry, and more than anything, I wanted to shrink myself down, hide underneath the weight of the trauma, and run from the world. I was so afraid, so alone, and so unsure of who I was that there was nothing in my body that could even attempt to fight the battle for me. Still, as an adult I often times don't think about the exhaustion that comes with reality and life until it is facing me and I am looking for that tiny nook to climb into, where I can pull my legs to my chest, curl up, and hide from the outside world. 

Lately, it feels as if there is no other place for me. My only comfort exists in the back of my closet, where no sound can get through, and the only thing I can see is just inches from my face, in the complete dark. The outside world feels just too big sometimes. I carry this weight every day, where I try to be superhuman, to hide the fact that sometimes my mental health is deteriorating, that my worries and fears are hijacking my sleep and holding me hostage, captivating my thoughts, people are so cruel and not even slightly understanding and all of this is just sending me in a downward spiral that I feel I cannot escape. This anxiety lately is so real, so paralyzing, so toxic, so harmful that even the thought of getting out of bed is something I cannot even entertain. 

In my privilege white world, I made a mistake. I created two events, just weeks a part, and spent hours designing, planning, hiring, and creating these events. I also spent hours in conversation with boards of people over their creation and within hours of them going live, I was the center of a controversy that I didn’t even know existed. Two nights were created — a girls night & a boys night, and to be honest, I never knew simple terms of “girls” and “boys” to be offensive, non inclusive, or hateful. I was called sexist. I was called a bigot, a threat, negligent, prejudice, hateful, and cruel. I was called the mean girl, a bully, and my name was drug around as if I had instigated the murder of a top national elite. I've had people tell me they will never come back to my business, will not support me any longer, and we've lost nearly a dozen followers. And while I don't want to sound as if my ignorance is an excuse, my anger for the whole situation is directed more at myself. How could I be so dumb to not even allow this to cross my mind? Is my white privileged world so separated from reality, even with a masters in social work, that I couldn't even predict this would happen?

For nearly a week, I have reread every comment, share, and post. I have searched through messages, I have answered every single concern, and I have apologized more than I can even count... and it has done nothing. Then I was contacted by the news and media over the backlash, and quite frankly, I don't even know how to get ahead of it anymore. I don't even know how to respond anymore. 

And then today happened... 

My kid mumbled a simple sentence and I cried-- full out sobbed on the bathroom door, hiding behind a locked door and a world that hated me. She asked me in the most sweetest way, and said, “Mommy, why does you not like gay peoples." My kid doesn’t know what gay means. My kid doesn’t know anything, about anything to do with gender or sexuality or orientation or a damn event or anything else or even my thoughts on the matter. She’s three years old and only knows what someone told her and apparently her friends at school told her that her mommy hates gay people and gay people can't come to Tiger Bounce... and all she wants to know is if gay people can actually come play with her.

I don’t hate gay people.
I don't even hate anyone.
I don’t hate transgender people.
I don’t hate girls.
I don’t hate boys.
And I know absolutely nothing about gender.
Clearly.
And for that I am sorry. 
I am sorry that my privilege and my lifestyle has kept me shielded from the pains of other people, who do not feel included, and feel ignored, left out, angry, alone... but none of this was done intentionally. I don't hate gay people. 

I made a mistake. I planned an event that excluded children who don’t identify with certain genders, I made parents irate and angry and sad, and instead of talking to me, I was attacked on every platform, including in my 3 year olds classroom... and today, it was just too much and I cried. Everything else won, and I cried.

I’m just a human. I make mistakes. Horrible ones, insensitive ones, and ones I wish I could undue and change.

But instead of explaining myself to adults about the entire event and the situation that has unfolded this week, I get to have a conversation with my three year old about hate, about people that are different than us, and about quite frankly, shit that just doesn’t concern her. 

And today, I’m just broken and sad and angry. 

"She has ice in her heart..."

The last two years of my life have been a journey. 

My career as a social worker ended with a closed door in September 2017, following a long and exhausting battle uphill that I no longer had the energy to fight. With that, new opportunities were born and before I could blink, I was running a business with 10,000 square feet, 12 employees, and hundreds of weekly customers. I was busy, but happy, grateful. 

In the summer of 2018, just six months into business ownership, I sat across from my doctor and talked openly for the first time about anxiety and depression and past traumas and future worries, and started seriously working hard to understand my mental health and what was best for me. 

In late 2018, my life changed. For the first time in forever, I understood the joy and hope that came along with dreams and goals and planning for the future. I saw my potential, understood what I was capable of, and saw the fruits of hard work, love, sweat, tears, and prayers. I was happy, truly happy, and I let down my guard. 

The walls came falling down shortly after. 

This year, 2019, started with disappointment after disappointment. People walked all over me, the business I built, the brand I was creating, lied, stole, cheated, hurt, and attempted to destroy everything I worked for. This continued, and blindly I trusted, hoping good intentions would shine through and the plan I believed God had would come to light.

And then I answered a call that changed the rest of my life. At the end of January, little tiny girl moved in, and nothing else mattered except her. When you have a child, even with all the chaos, the entire world becomes smaller and happier and my entire focus on life, and the future, and business, and everything else changed as the tiny little girl came into every picture and every dream. 

Then the world was shattered, again, my world. I opened my eyes and I saw the destruction that had been going on for months, right behind me. I saw the chaos that was created. I saw the red flags, the little things that became big things, the hurt stacking up inside me, the brokenness, the lies, the failed relationships, empty promises, and all the anger. 

When you trust someone with your life, with the secrets that still sting in your eyes, with the business you have poured your soul into, with the child you love more than anything in this world, and with every other aspect of your life, only to turn around and have everything trampled upon without even a second thought. It hurts. It felt so deep that pain just didn't seem to acurately explain the hurt. It was and is absolutely excruciating-- emotional pain so intense that I wondered how I could be so blind, so stupid, so manipulated. 

It hurt. It really, really hurt. 

For months, I lost my footing. I became rooted in this anger and hurt and misery. My heart was so angry. My mind was so angry. My entire being was just so angry. 

How could people that I trusted, would have died for, been so hateful and hurtful?

But I had my little tiny girl, who kept me strong, kept me laughing, kept me going. My best friend, who stood at my side ready to fight any battle that I was too tired to continue, kept believing in me and who reminded me of my worth when I questioned it each and every time. My family, my precious family, held me up when I couldn't find my way. I still had a business that was growing, kids were happy, still laughing in the background, new relationships were built, great employees rose up, more dependable, dedicated, forgiving. We grew from a staff of 10 to 12, to 18, 19, 20, to 25. Before I could even blink, the summer of 2019 was ending and August was here. 

August rushed in as if it had always been here. 

August ran in. August has truly just made me tired. Business was pouring in, kids trying to soak in the last few days of summer before school resumed, rainy days, school starting again, employees going back to crazy class schedules and fall sports. August. 

After the chaos of back to school settled down, I snuggled up next to my three year old and watched Frozen, after a long night of work. Frozen is an absolute favorite in our home these days. I watched, and quoted as I have seen this movie at least weekly for the past month, with nothing else on my mind, not working, not texting, just watching. We got to the part after Elsa had accidentally hit Anna in the heart with her ice magic, and Kristoff rushed her to his family (of troll/rock works of art, seriously if you've seen the movie, these little guys are definitely my personal favorite), and the head troll guy says, "She's got ice in her heart..." 

Oh, Frozen. You are way too good to me. Besides the animations that are over the top and amazing, absolutely stunning, your subtle lessons of life often times leave me staring blankly with tears in my eyes, as no matter what I'm going through, this movie shows me something I often times try to avoid. 

Frozen has taught me a lot of things throughout the years. It's taught me how important the relationship between me and my family (especially those sisters of mine) is. It's taught me about love, but more importantly that I don't need a man to save me. I am capable, and just fine, living my life without a "man" around. It's taught me to let things go, to keep moving forward, and to stop running when things get hard. It's taught me that it's okay to accept help, to lean on others, and at the end of the day, always go running towards the people who just make you feel loved. Those are the ones that matter, always. 

And this August, it taught me that ice was in my heart and that the ice was killing me. 

It was killing my dreams, my family, the relationship I was creating and building, the little tiny girl I was raising, the business I was growing, the future I was designing. It was killing my legacy.

It was killing me. 

I found myself sitting in church that next Sunday, the first time I had managed to roll out of bed and make it there in at least 3-4 months. The sermon was all about letting go and forgiving the things people have done to us, who have hurt us, who have damaged us, in order to become the people we were meant to be. 

And so many people tell me that God isn't real... How else can one explain the ways in which it hit me so hard and so deeply and speak to me in exactly the way I needed, in both a simple movie released nearly 7 years ago and a church sermon, with the same exact message, days a part? I truly believe only those things are orchestrated by God, not coincidentally.  

At church, and in that moment, in that intimate moment between me and my savior, I realized the anger inside me was destroying me and even though I had put space and time between me and that hurt, it was still making my heart turn to ice. I couldn't be the person I was created to be and hold onto the weight that was holding me back, keeping me stuck, leaving me questioning my worth, and unsure of who I was and the life I was living. I couldn't do it any longer. 

I had to let it go, and that made me so angry, and was quite possibly the hardest thing I ever have had to do, and it continues to be hard, as it has been a daily choice this entire month of learning to live without the anger, free from the thoughts and hurt and chaos and destruction it has brought as I have relearned how to love and trust and heal. But the more progress I make, the more I physically feel my heart thawing, healing, restoring, becoming new, the more I realize that this has absolutely been the greatest thing I have ever chosen to do. 

I feel lighter than I have all year, more motivated, happier, healthier both physically and emotionally, and kinder, less frustrated and angry. I feel like I connect better with my little tiny girl, see her more, enjoy her more, love her deeper. I feel more involved, more connected, more motivated, at Tiger Bounce. As the hate moves out, more love and happy move in, and I feel closer to the "me" that I always knew was in there. I see the goals clearer, the future coming back into the picture, the picture has came back into focus, the hope has sharpened, the faith has returned, the happy has moved in and taken root. 

The happy returned. 

The weight was lifted. 

And new was born. Most excitingly, the new. 

On August 19th, official plans to expand Tiger Bounce were signed and completed. Tiger Bounce is growing, the business I thought would possibly never recover from the damage done earlier this year, will be growing by nearly 2,000 square feet. And we are so excited. And as I signed those papers, I realized that as I heal, Tiger Bounce heals, and that there are so many more chapters to write for the both of us, happier chapters, bigger chapters, greater chapters. 

And just as Joseph in the Bible said to his brothers who sold him into slavery, "What you intended for evil against me, God used for good." And we are so, so, so excited for the future, the good the rest of this year will bring... and just as Elsa said, we're saying the same thing too.

"I'm never going back, the past is in the past!" 

The ice has thawed. The anger is gone. New is here. 

But tomorrow is another day...

I often have days where the only thing that brings me comfort is the sanctuary of my room and the security of my bed. There's days that leave me fragile, and weak, and feeling out of control. Days that make me want to throw in the towel, give up, and move away to a remote little beach and live simply.

But each new morning, I get up, I shower the day before away, and I start over. I'm building a future, a legacy, and trying to do everything I can to make my little part of this world a better, safer, happier place.

But often, I fail.

As a business owner, I juggle the daily struggles of my personal life, of dating, of single motherhood, of family, friends, and commitments, of mental health, and everything in between, with the very real commitment to Tiger Bounce, to the children's entertainment facility where I am solely responsible for twenty-two staff members, hundreds of families, the children's safety and security, inventory, bills, events, programming, and everything else that comes along with maintaining and growing a business. I barely make it to bed before my eyes close, but every single day, I am so thankful, I am so appreciative, and so entirely blessed to live the life I do with my tiny girl following behind me.

I am in love with my life.

But often, the trials and struggles and the juggling act, fall and take over. My commitment doesn't change because of rough weeks or tough choices or slow days. I will always be thankful, and appreciative, and blessed, I will always strive to make Tiger Bounce better, to make my employees happier, to make more sales, to meet the needs to my customers and bring smiles to tiny faces... but this week, overly exhausted has climbed to the top of my list.

I am in love with my life, but I am exhausted.

After long conversations with staff members, after sitting up in my bed praying to a God that I hope is still listening, and trying, creating, and implementing new plans to make Tiger Bounce better... tough choices still had to be made and staff members that I adored had to move on.

That's the part of the job that I would pay any amount of money to not ever have to decide.

I struggle. I struggle maintaining Tiger Bounce, I struggle with the balance of loving this staff, having high expectations, wanting the best for them, pushing them to do more, work harder, create new healthy habits, and develop into the very best self they can be. I struggle with that, because there are just days where I can't say "Please, go do your job," one more time. I can't keep saying, "Please, clean this," or "Please, get off your phone," or "Please, please, please stop making me be this boss I don't want to be."

It just gets exhausting.

I often become the bad guy. I become the one who is too hard on them, too strict, too toxic, too tough. I warn, I give hundreds of chances, I show them over and over and over, and I try my hardest to understand the limitations that employees have. I understand bad days, missed shifts, prior engagements, poor work habits, and everything else... but there comes a point, when I have to make the choice that Tiger Bounce needs and let go.

Those are always the saddest days for me.

As a person, I hate being taken advantage of. I hate when my kindness is portrayed as a weakness that is manipulated and driven down. I hate when I am pushed to the point when my empathy and understanding and reason are gone. I hate when I have to become a boss without emotion, without understanding, without feelings... in order for them to just get it. 

Often times though, they don't get it until I am sitting across from them face to face and saying, "We're done here."

Those are the days I hate more than anything else in life and sends me home exhausted, yearning for the moment when I can climb into bed, turn off my phone, and pull the covers over my head and go to sleep.

But each new morning, I get up, I shower the day before away, and I start over. I'm building a future, a legacy, and trying to do everything I can to make my little part of this world a better, safer, happier place.

And that's all I can do. All I want to do. All I strive for.

But I'll love anyways...

I often hear a soft little voice coming from upstairs around 7 or 8 in the morning. She wakes up singing, "twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are?" every single morning, even when she's angry and tired. I wake up in a rush, crabby, tired, and preoccupied to even hold a conversation. 

Am I enough for her?

I have been awaken from a sound sleep by tiny hands on my cheeks, with a little face whispering, "are you awake, mommy?" I find myself filled with guilt, why was she awake before me, why did I not hear her, why was I not there when she opened her eyes? Who cares if it's 2 AM, I should have known she needed me. 

Am I who she needs?

There's moments when I say something so profound, that I become so inwardly proud of myself for the way I worded things in a way a child can understand, only to be met with a "But why, mommy?" that sends me back into a world of doubt.

Am I enough for her?

I watch in wonder as a tiny little person dances and runs and shouts and plays just minutes before bedtime while my feet drag up the steps and my body collapses into my bed at the end of the day. 

Am I who she needs?

I listen on the other side of her bedroom door as she serves her dolls tea and cookies. Somedays I sit beside her dolls and am served the same pretend tea. But sometimes, the sometimes I wish to never admit, I sit on the other side of the door, exhausted and in need of a break. 

Am I enough for her?

I watch her and stare in wonder as she lays on the bed next to the puppy and drifts off to sleep while petting her nose. Her goodness is unmatchable and makes me question my own. 

Am I who she needs?

I watched in shock as she figured out how to open a bottle of apple juice in just under 3 seconds that I struggled with for nearly 20 minutes. 

Am I enough for her?

I have watched her learn to brush her own teeth, wash her own hair, and buckle herself into her carseat. I have listened as she proclaims in a voice higher than my ears can handle "I did it, mommy, I did it!"

Am I who she needs?

I have seen masterpieces drawn on my walls, stickers permanently adhered to the side of my brand new car, and every time I think a tantrum cannot possibly get any louder, she proves me wrong. 

Am I enough for her?

I have watched her regress in behaviors, only to excel days later, as if she has always known and mastered all the skills that come with being 3 years old. 

Am I who she needs?

I have prayed and cried and given my soul away to help her learn her ABC's and how to count to 10. I have dragged her week after week to speech and celebrated each new sound she learns, only to forget to practice her words with her at the end of the day before bedtime each and every night. 

Am I enough for her?
I just don't know.

Foster care is hard.

Today marks 120 days of life together and we celebrated with a picnic on the living room floor, ice cream and cookies, way too many cartoons, and letters to each other. She colors me pictures, while I write my 3 year old letters that she will never read. I do this every now and then when I find my heart overwhelmed and filled with doubt. 

Am I enough for you?
I really, truly, just don't know. But I will continue loving you anyways. I pray and trust and hope that you never remember the days that I do. I hope you don't remember the day you moved in with me. I hope you don't remember today, even though it was a fun one where we laughed and got ice cream on our noses. I hope you don't remember day 30, day 60, day 90, or any of the days in between. I hope you don't remember the late nights, the shrieks you screamed as you relived nightmares, or the times when your feelings just became so big that you had no other option than to melt down. I hope you don't remember one of our first days together when I had no idea how to comfort you so we stayed awake all night crying together. I hope you don't remember fear or hurt or abandonment. I just hope you remember how much you are loved, and how much of my heart you occupy. I hope you remember that I would have fought off bullets and swam across oceans to make you happy and to see you safe, and have your little body healthy. I hope you remember the times when I let you stay up late, the nights I gave you extra cuddles, or the times I said yes to chocolate milk before bed. I hope you remember the day we yelled and screamed and smiled when you learned to skate all by yourself, completely unassisted. I hope you remember the day you ran into my room, jumped on my bed, and sang "Happy birthday to me!" seven months before your actual day. I hope you remember the love behind every thing I do for you. 
I hope above everything else, all you remember is that you are loved and that you have always been home. 

If I haven't said it before, foster care is hard. 
It is just so hard. 

It is hard loving with your entire heart, knowing there's a very real possibility that this little person calling you mama might go back to her first home or another home or anywhere else and she may forget all about you, while you know your life would never be the same. It is hard for me to live every day under the weight of guilt that I have been given the gift of this child, while the mother who gave birth to her struggles somewhere unknown. It is hard for me to not be angry. It is hard for me to not wonder, to not question, to not resent her first mother, wondering why I am picking up the pieces she broke and putting the time and effort and love into her flesh and blood, while she does nothing. It is hard for me to think past tomorrow. It is hard for me to think about her future, or mine, knowing it's all up in the air right now. Everything is uncertain, except the depth of my love for a child that is not my own, who calls me mommy... and because of that love, I question, "Am I who she needs? Am I enough for her? Am I what is best for her?" But I love anyways. 

I worry about this tiny girl who will one day become a teenager and a woman and maybe one day, a mother. Will she know love? Will she feel love? Will she look back on her childhood and say, "I was loved." Will she raise her kids to know security and happiness and safety and love? Will her children be okay? Will she be okay, today or tomorrow, or in a week or a year or ever?

Will her family, the one now, me, her, the future, will we all be okay?
I just don't know.
But I'll love anyways...

She calls me mommy!

I know there have been so many questions and words being spread around the last month or so, and I have tried to come up with words that would summarize the last 30 days of my life, or something that would give it justice and would put all the questions to ease... but I tend to come up short every time I try. Please don't think I was intentionally trying to keep anyone in the dark. That was never my intention. I just struggled to keep privacy for her, settle in to a routine, and figure out exactly how life was going to work, first, before I let everyone in on the last 30 days. 

I answered a phone call in the beginning of January and before I could even think or ask a ton of questions, a tiny little familiar face was plopped down in the middle of my life who immediately started calling me “mommy” on day 1. Day 1. 

Life changed quickly after that. 

It's been 30 days. 

Thirty days of laughter, changes, love, discipline, healing, and hope. Thirty days of learning how to live life together. Me, a 27 year old, single, hot mess of a girl, who still eats cereal for dinner and Her, a 3-year old, innocent victim of trauma, who still shows love in every twinkle in her eye, foster child. 

My schedule of doing whatever I wanted whenever I wanted turned into appointments and visits with doctors, therapists, family members, social workers, and caseworkers. My nightly ritual of watching TV until I fell asleep while multitasking to finish work turned into reading “three little bears” and kissing a little sweaty forehead multiple times after chasing her back to bed. I started shopping for bandaids, fruit snacks, and sippy cups. I started listening to Disney radio, learned the lyrics to “baby shark,” and memorized the little tickle spot on the back of her leg that would send her into a little ball of giggles. 

It’s been 30 days.

I have laughed harder than I imagined... mostly while trying to find the balance between redirecting bad behavior and explaining that my job is to make sure she is safe and that she grows up understanding right from wrong, all while the 27 year old child inside of me finds everything she does absolutely hilarious. I have found my “mom” voice that tells her I mean business... only to laugh in her face while I explain why it is not okay to take an older man’s cane and run away. 

I have redirected her as she pinches the cheeks of a toddler friend at daycare and says, "Oh, she so cute!" while this small friend is sent into a whirl wind of anger and pain. 

I have watched her repeat every inappropriate thing I say when I think she isn't paying attention, watched her intentionally do the opposite of what I say with a grin on her face, and have listened as she teaches the dogs to be nice. 

I have listened as I have told her to stop doing a certain behavior, only to have it met with her saying, "No talk, mommy. No talk." I have choked back laughter and forced a smile away as she watches me brush the knots out of my hair as she says, "Be strong, mommy!" I have listened to her greet me nearly every morning by saying, "Where's your smile, mommy? There it is!"

It’s been 30 days.

I have seen hope flourish under the most difficult situations. I have seen hope change the entire world for this child, who trusts easier than she did 30 days ago, who talks more, who thinks clearer, who throws tantrums more, and who embodies healing after nearly a lifetime of trauma. 

Hope has this way of changing everything, and while I have spent a lifetime knowing this phrase, for the first time in my life, I have seen it. Never in my life did I ever think I would have tears of joy and my heart would burst wide open over a tantrum. But it does. It does every single time because she finally feels safe to let it all go and show vulnerability in a world that is completely out of her control. She feels safe to express how she really feels. She feels safe to be three years old. Finally. 

It’s been 30 days.

My friends have become “aunts,” in ways I could never express gratitude for, my parents added another “grandchild,” and my employees, have without hesitation, stepped up to the plate and carried the slack I couldn’t, they have all watched over and have volunteered without asking to play for endless hours with a little girl that considers Tiger Bounce her stomping grounds and her own personal buffet. My employees are her family and she adores each and every one of them, just like I adore them. She prays for my best friend every night and asks for her kitty cat, and at least once every night, she climbs out of bed to ask for reassurance that she’ll see my best friend and her cat soon. She asks daily for my friends little girl, who has become her best playmate and biggest cheerleader.

This is her village. My community has become hers. My supports are now hers. My family is now hers. She knows love from the people who love me, for how ever long she needs. 

It’s been 30 days.  

I spent half the day that first day trying to help her say “Tedi,” while showing her a stuffed teddy bear and doing everything in my power to get her to say my name. I tucked her into bed, read 10 books that night, made 4 trips to the bathroom with her so she didn’t wet the bed, and then finally after she was under the covers and falling asleep, she sat up, put her arms around my neck, and she said “night mommy,” before rolling over and closing her eyes. 

I was never Tedi to her. I was her mommy from the first day she fell asleep in my home.

I went in the next morning, at the crack of dawn and the earliest I’ve ever been awake in a decade (9 AM), and I sat in her therapists office and said, “She called me “mommy,” and it’s not even been 24 hours yet. What did I do wrong?”

She sat across from me. She explained foster care. She explained 3 year old brains. She explained my role. She explained my job. She explained, in the simplest terms, that right now, in her brain and in her life full of unknowns, I was the “known.” I was the caregiver. I was the one she felt safe with. I was the one she trusted. I was the one, when needed, she knew would respond. I was never Tedi to her, the hot mess of a girl who eats cereal for dinner and forgets to put on pants before answering the door. I was never “Tedi,” but rather “mommy” from day 1, because 3- year olds struggle with everything around them, they don't know much, and they get confused easily, but they all know they should have a caregiver. 

It’s been 30 days. 

Thirty days of upholding promises, of learning, of making mistakes, of advocating for her wellbeing, of sleepless nights of worry, of lots and lots of kid shows with cartoons that all look the same, of redirecting, of reading the same book over and over and over again, of finding hope in small moments, of watching the toddler & the puppy create a bond that is out of this world, of figuring out each other and of living life together. 

I left the therapist’s office just barely 24 hours after she first walked in my home, fully understanding for the first time the weight of the absolute heartbreak it is for another woman’s child to call me, “mommy,” and the privilege it is to keep her safe, and happy, and healthy for as long as she needs. 

All wrapped up, foster care is a desperate need, a devastating reality for way too many children, and a second chance for hundreds of families. 

This is her second chance. 

For me, I vowed that day, that I would uphold the commitment I made to this child when I answered that call, for as long as the state allows, so that she never truly knows an identity as a “foster child,” and is able to know and have a family, to feel care and love, and to finally see hope. For as long as she needs, whether a week or a month or a year or forever, I am this little precious girl’s "mommy," and I will never stop advocating for her, her biological family, and her future.

And the awe of that will forever bring tears to my eyes. 

This little girl is worth it.