what our summer daily schedule looks like
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This way, we can all enjoy each other, maintain a routine, and have sweet family time... and have some screens too, if they're earned.
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who wants to join me in dishing out more grace and less judgment to other moms?
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Grace. We're all hungry for it. So let's serve it up to each other, shall we?
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a little therapy, a little ballet
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Hi, I'm Shannon, and I'm addicted to Zulily.
When this Whitney Brother's Shape Mirror Wall was available for $129 on the site a month or so ago, I knew it would be perfect for the little girls' room! (It's also available on Amazon for a higher price.) Patu loves her ballet class, and Zoe loves mirrors, plus it would be helpful for physical therapy, so the combination...
Perfection.
The only downside? No pilot hole or fasteners were included to attach it to the wall, only a note recommending that you find someone qualified to safely and properly secure it in place. My solution?
Lee to the rescue!
The little girls "helped" by holding his tools when not in use.
And then? They delighted in his finished work!
*No explanation for the stray screw, hanger, helmet, play bouquet, or other odds and ends on the floor. Welcome to the Dingle casa, where anything goes!
{Disclaimer: I did not receive anything - product samples or any other incentive -
for this post. I just really like this product. Also, I know the pictures aren't the best... but sometimes life isn't polished, professional-looking, or pretty, so no apologies.}
how I say "you will not win" to harsh brokenness
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You know I like to write about the beauty we find in the midst of brokenness. But sometimes
it just feels like brokenness.
Not beauty.
Not yet.
That's where I was yesterday. A "you should probably take her to an eye doctor" comment at our last pediatrician's visit turned into a day of unexpected grief at the optometrist yesterday. After the first part of the exam, I knew we were bound for glasses. As a mom, I felt like I should have known something was amiss. But, nope. Nothing.
At that point, many social media friends shared their own stories about not knowing - sometimes until a much later age - about their children's vision issues until they had gotten bad. Those stories made sense. They provided some comfort - solidarity! - as others offered their "I can relate" tales.
Except as the day wore on, I realized that they couldn't. The same comments that had been comforting felt hard and taunting, even though I know they were never intended like that. But for almost all of those dear friends, their children got glasses, and then all was well.
That's not the prognosis for Zoe. She has bilateral stimulus deprivation amblyopia caused by structural deformities in a few crucial places in both eyes. She is very nearsighted due to retina damage in both eyes, caused by an illness her mother had during pregnancy. Additionally, she has myopic astigmatism of both eyes, which also means she has very little depth perception. Because of all this, she has significantly underdevelopment neural pathways for visual processing, so even once her glasses arrive, her brain might not know what to do with the clearer visual input at first.
So the plan? Wear glasses during all waking hours for the next three months and then return to the doctor in June to determine how much the corrective lenses are helping her gain visual functioning and whether or not additional interventions might be helpful.
While we are hopeful that her vision will improve, we also like to prepare with what research says. Things like this,
(I think that picture should have probably come with a cuteness overload warning, huh?)
I'm not going to lie, y'all. The adorable factor of our Zoe in spectacles wasn't enough to touch the heartsickness of such unexpected news.
Let me be clear:
I was mourning for Zoe, not about her. Never about her. She is perfect, but the world is broken. Yesterday, it felt a little more broken than usual.
So after I put the girls down for their rest time, I sat at our dining room table and the dam broke. I can't remember the last time I sobbed like that, and then... the skies opened and poured down, and it felt like God was saying, "my heart is hurting over this brokenness too." Whether that theology is right or not, in that moment my raw heart found rest in our Creator, as my tears and his rain flowed freely.
And then I woke up this morning ready to figure out what's next. I like to do. I like to fix. I like to solve. And? While we're formulating a plan, this situation doesn't really lend itself to all that.
But I realized that while I can't kiss this brokenness and make it all better, I needed to do something. As I begged God to tell me what something I could do, I realized that my way of flipping the bird at the world's brokenness could be to alleviate some of it somewhere else. My friend Chris and the rest of the team at Help One Now is doing just that around the world, so we donated $189 - the same amount we paid for Zoe's glasses - to their brokenness-fighting work.
No, supporting Help One Now doesn't make our latest challenge any easier, but it's my way of saying YOU WILL NOT WIN to this harsh brokenness. I can't restore her sight, but I can take action toward restorative work elsewhere.
So can I be so bold as to say go and do likewise? No, you don't have to give to Help One Now or anywhere else (but if you can? why not?), but do whatever something you can do - an encouraging text, a meal for someone just because, a smile to a stranger who needs one, whatever.
Because the brokenness doesn't win. We know it won't. Even when it feels like it reigns for a time, I truly believe God is the champion.
Of Zoe's story.
Of my story.
Of your story.
He wins.
it just feels like brokenness.
Not beauty.
Not yet.
That's where I was yesterday. A "you should probably take her to an eye doctor" comment at our last pediatrician's visit turned into a day of unexpected grief at the optometrist yesterday. After the first part of the exam, I knew we were bound for glasses. As a mom, I felt like I should have known something was amiss. But, nope. Nothing.
At that point, many social media friends shared their own stories about not knowing - sometimes until a much later age - about their children's vision issues until they had gotten bad. Those stories made sense. They provided some comfort - solidarity! - as others offered their "I can relate" tales.
Except as the day wore on, I realized that they couldn't. The same comments that had been comforting felt hard and taunting, even though I know they were never intended like that. But for almost all of those dear friends, their children got glasses, and then all was well.
That's not the prognosis for Zoe. She has bilateral stimulus deprivation amblyopia caused by structural deformities in a few crucial places in both eyes. She is very nearsighted due to retina damage in both eyes, caused by an illness her mother had during pregnancy. Additionally, she has myopic astigmatism of both eyes, which also means she has very little depth perception. Because of all this, she has significantly underdevelopment neural pathways for visual processing, so even once her glasses arrive, her brain might not know what to do with the clearer visual input at first.
So the plan? Wear glasses during all waking hours for the next three months and then return to the doctor in June to determine how much the corrective lenses are helping her gain visual functioning and whether or not additional interventions might be helpful.
While we are hopeful that her vision will improve, we also like to prepare with what research says. Things like this,
Stimulus deprivation amblyopia is the most severe amblyogenic case. The loss of vision is usually severe and responds badly to treatment.In other words, we'll do what we can, but we also have to be fully prepared that her visual impairments aren't going to go away with a pair of glasses, not on this side of heaven.
(I think that picture should have probably come with a cuteness overload warning, huh?)
I'm not going to lie, y'all. The adorable factor of our Zoe in spectacles wasn't enough to touch the heartsickness of such unexpected news.
Let me be clear:
I was mourning for Zoe, not about her. Never about her. She is perfect, but the world is broken. Yesterday, it felt a little more broken than usual.
So after I put the girls down for their rest time, I sat at our dining room table and the dam broke. I can't remember the last time I sobbed like that, and then... the skies opened and poured down, and it felt like God was saying, "my heart is hurting over this brokenness too." Whether that theology is right or not, in that moment my raw heart found rest in our Creator, as my tears and his rain flowed freely.
And then I woke up this morning ready to figure out what's next. I like to do. I like to fix. I like to solve. And? While we're formulating a plan, this situation doesn't really lend itself to all that.
But I realized that while I can't kiss this brokenness and make it all better, I needed to do something. As I begged God to tell me what something I could do, I realized that my way of flipping the bird at the world's brokenness could be to alleviate some of it somewhere else. My friend Chris and the rest of the team at Help One Now is doing just that around the world, so we donated $189 - the same amount we paid for Zoe's glasses - to their brokenness-fighting work.
No, supporting Help One Now doesn't make our latest challenge any easier, but it's my way of saying YOU WILL NOT WIN to this harsh brokenness. I can't restore her sight, but I can take action toward restorative work elsewhere.
So can I be so bold as to say go and do likewise? No, you don't have to give to Help One Now or anywhere else (but if you can? why not?), but do whatever something you can do - an encouraging text, a meal for someone just because, a smile to a stranger who needs one, whatever.
Because the brokenness doesn't win. We know it won't. Even when it feels like it reigns for a time, I truly believe God is the champion.
Of Zoe's story.
Of my story.
Of your story.
He wins.