Cleaning puke out of a child’s carseat is one of the grossest things I’ve ever done. If you have never done this, I doubt our friendship will grow because we will have nothing in common and I’ll always feel slightly better than you. Yes, I said it.

Every time I swear I’m going to burn it and buy a new one. But that would be a lot of fires and a huge investment. So after I carefully remove the crying puker from the seat and change their disgusting slimy clothes, I put on those fancy blue gloves and head back in to the trenches. Am I the only one who thinks even after you douse the straps in Lysol they’re still contaminated? The horrible part is, there’s no way out of it. If it were socks or even a shirt, you could just throw them away. But you have to clean the car seat.

The other day my two year old threw up in grandma’s car on her way back to our house. It was one of the best I’ve seen. And by best I mean worst.

Cleaning a car seat is not just a one time experience saved for throw up. Anyone with littles in their life knows a car seat is a collector of all things. Crumbs, boogers, hair bows, goldfish and occasionally one sock. A quick sweep of the carseats is needed almost every day.

And so it should be with our hearts. Because my heart is a collector of all things. Pride, selfishness, anger and occasionally envy. I need to check my heart often to make sure things aren’t piling up.

Psalm 139:23-24

“God, see what is in my heart.
    Know what is there.
Test me.
    Know what I’m thinking.
 See if there’s anything in my life you don’t like.
    Help me live in the way that is always right.”

In the same way I clean out a carseat, I need to be as thorough with my heart.
Whether it’s vomit or crumbs, jealousy or unforgiveness, none of it belongs. I don’t want to do it and I don’t enjoy it, but after I clean the seat the people who ride in my car are glad I did. Surrendering my tarnished heart to the Lord isn’t always a pleasant process, but after, the people who do life with me are glad I did. So am I.

I had nagged my husband to clean our fish bowl for weeks. Our Beta, Little Tiny Baby, was living in filth and it was his job to change the water. So he brought the fish bowl and net into the kitchen. When I say net I really mean an old metal strainer.

Only he decided not to use the strainer because he was afraid it would poke and injure the fish. Does anyone smell foreshadowing here? Instead, he attempted to pour the fish into a plastic cup he had placed in the sink. But the water tipped the cup and the fish landed on the drain.

Cue TOTAL PANIC from my husband.

I rushed over to found him trying to grab the fish who was now flopping on the drain. Attempt number one was unsuccessful. I told him to calm down and offered to try since my fingers were smaller and perhaps less shaky. His panic caused temporary deafness because he didn’t calm down or let me try. Attempt number two was also unsuccessful because when he grabbed the fish it slipped out of his hand and went HEAD FIRST DOWN THE DRAIN.

My husband killed our fish. He is a fish murderer and will carry guilt the rest of his life. He says I am an accessory to murder. Which is completely ridiculous because I am completely innocent.

None of you are shocked to know he immediately suggested buying a replacement fish. I suggested telling our children the fish had died (from unknown causes) and we were done with fish. If you remember a previous post, Wingin’ It, you know we have zero luck with fish. In fact, Little Tiny Baby was actually Tiny Baby #3.

We bickered for a few minutes. He insisted. I refused. Then I agreed. (Mainly to get out of bath time.)

I drove to PetSmart muttering under my breath, wondering why I let my husband talk me into such foolishness.

I left PetSmart with Little Tiny Baby #4 and a small fish tank complete with filter and a lid that lights up. Yep, I folded like a lawn chair.

I see you rolling your eyes. I hear you laughing and judging. It’s ok. In your shoes I would do the same. I’m not sure why I changed my mind. Maybe it’s because I love my kids so much I wanted to protect them from sadness. Maybe it was the persuasive fish expert who assured me “replacement fish” are very common.

Mostly it was guilt.

Even though I was not the murderer, I still felt loads of guilt. Which got me thinking…how powerful is guilt in my life?

If I’m not careful “mom guilt” changes how I view myself and how I see my children.
If I don’t volunteer at church or school, guilt makes me wonder how people see me.
If I criticize my husband or fall asleep praying, guilt makes me wonder how God sees me.
If I eat half a box of girl scout cookies, guilt makes me feel so bad I eat the other half.

Since our fish tragedy I’ve been intentional about squashing my guilty thoughts before they take root. I remind myself I am giving my best in every area of life. I’m asking God to help me let go of guilt and the decisions I make because of it. I hope you can do the same.

I also hope one day when my children read this they can forgive their father for being a fish killer.

The NICU staff warned us the twins could have delays because of such an early delivery. My ears heard them say this. But my heart and mind did not. Not until a year later.

Emmy  reached every milestone with bells and whistles. Jack was slower in reaching those milestones. Much, much slower. At first, I reasoned it was his laid back personality. He was the “less aggressive twin”. He was one of four. I told myself this was normal behavior considering all these factors.

Only it wasn’t normal. And the gap between Emmy and Jack widened. Our pediatrician recommended we call an early intervention program.

After an evaluation, he began developmental and speech therapy. Later we added occupational therapy for his sensory issues. (It’s ok if you’re not sure what “sensory issues” means. I had to google it too.)

Because of his delays, our home experienced a lengthy season of frustration. Jack was frustrated because he couldn’t communicate what he wanted or needed. We were frustrated because he would often cry and meltdown.

In a perfect world I would wrap up this story and tell you everything is fine now. That he caught up and is talking circles around us.

The truth is, the words just haven’t come yet.

His speech goal is to consistently say 10 words. While he has made notable progress in many areas, I can still count his daily words on one hand.

Jack’s silence carried over to my prayer time. I found myself unusually quiet when I went to the Lord on his behalf. Ever felt this way when you try to talk to God? Like you could count your words on one hand? I know I have.

When you try to pray but choke on tears.
When you asked God for something big, but He didn’t answer in the way you hoped. It’s really hard to pray when your mind is full of anger or disappointment.

God is patient. He knows what’s in there.
Even when the words don’t come.

Psalm 139:4
“Lord, even before I say a word, you already know it.”

There have been times in my life I have whispered to the Lord, “I don’t have any words. Can you hear what my heart is saying?” I am confident He does.

Often when Jack is frustrated or upset we hold him close and squeeze to calm him down. He will squish behind us on the couch and loves when we lean back, completely covering him behind us.

Throughout this journey I have often imagined God doing the same for me. Holding me close. Reminding me He’s with me. Letting me squish behind Him to feel protected and understood.

In the past year, Jack has learned to communicate with us. A little bit of sign language, a little bit of pointing and a whole lot of grabbing our hands and dragging us all over the house. We are happy to oblige because pointing is so much better than screaming.

His therapists all agree “it’s in there” and this gives us hope. One day the words will come for our sweet boy.

I’m believing they will come for you too.