Greenchild creations {review + giveaway}

We received a free product for the purpose of writing this review. Our family only reviews items that we actually find valuable and are able to be 100% honest about regarding our experience. We received no monetary compensation for our opinion. Links contained in this post may direct to affiliate sites. 

We’ve talked about Jude’s size, right?

Eight months old, 40 pounds … that’s totally normal, yes?

No?

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Girls

Speaking of daughters (we were, weren’t we?), we’re back down to only one at home.

For a season.

But, still.

There’s a lot of testosterone in this house. A lot of “It’s a sword!” and “Watch me jump off this, Momma!” and “Can I get a bandaid? I slipped with the hatchet.” (Whaaaaaaaaaa?)

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Raising our Daughters

One thing we have a lot of here is boys.

Teenage boys who stay up late to debate the tenets of our electoral system. Middle boys who think not in words or images, but Legos. Preschool boys who are pretty sure that their Daddy should wear a cape at all times, he’s that cool. And baby boys, who just want to sit in their Momma’s arms and watch the world go by.

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The Scarlet D

I was 15 when my parents divorced; my mother was 38. I remember looking at her one day, shortly after the ink was dry on the papers that severed her legal ties to my father, and thinking, “She’s so old now. Her life is over,” because those are the things you think about your parents when you are in your mid-teens and haven’t yet found the wisdom that will (hopefully) make 38 your half-way point, not your end.

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The Velveteen Mother

I had been expecting it since the day we first considered adopting. Yet when it happened, my heart was still shattered.

It was a simple exchange, a random interaction in the course of an already-full  Sunday morning. Shoes being tied, crockpot being loaded into the van for the fellowship meal, change the baby’s diaper, has anyone let the dog go out before we leave?

From my bedroom window, Birdie and John Mark watched Mary Hannah pull out of the driveway with her friend, visiting from Georgia. Thoughtful, Birdie looked up at her big brother.

“How come her friend is here all alone? Where’s her mother?”

“Her mom just isn’t here,” he shrugged. “You know, like my real mom isn’t here?”

And suddenly, I could not breathe.

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The 5 Day Adoption {giveaway}

My God is so great, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.
My God is so great, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do.
The mountains are his, the rivers are his, the stars are His handiwork, too.
My God is so great, so strong and so mighty, there’s nothing my God cannot do, for you!

Already, at 8 months, Jude knows this song. His eyes brighten I begin to sing it, his body lurches forward, waiting for me to grab his hands and lead him through the motions of mimicking mountain peaks and the river’s waves. This is one of the first songs I teach my children — because I want them to believe it, more than they believe anything.

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I care more about my teen’s heart than her hair

I’ve come full circle on the issue of unnatural hair color.

Was a day (we’ll call it high school and college) when the pinnacle of cool was any hair color with which you couldn’t have been born. Blue. Pink. Purple. It was all exactly what I needed to show the world that I was different, I was angry, and I was not someone to trifle with.

Then, too, there was a day when I swore up and down that my precious babies would never. Because God’s grace, spurred on by my excellent parenting, would ensure that my offspring wouldn’t feel the need to soak their hair in dye to show the world how unique they are — they’d be content knowing that they are creations of the Most High God. And everyone knows Good Christians don’t do that.

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Dear Secular Artist

Dear Secular Artists,

Please stop singing about love. This sensation that you seem unable to divert your attentions from is not love, but simple passion and instinct-based lust. You want that man or woman, but you clearly do not love them enough to actually commit and put a ring on it. You are driven by passion, but I can tell you that even in all of your money and glamour and fans, you fight a nagging sense of hollowness and despair that nothing you do or buy or write can make disappear. This emptiness is the absence of Christ in your heart and the stress and drain of running a self-perpetuated life. Man was not made to live without God. It’s time you realized this.

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