Most of the phone chargers in our house are falling apart. The problem? Too many teenagers have twirled them around and / or carelessly yanked them out of their phones. Wires are exposed and beginning to fray. A couple of them don’t even work anymore. Strangely, frayed wiring reminds me of my latest neurological appointment.

The doctor held a metal instrument against my ankle. “Can you feel this?” It vibrated. I nodded. He moved it to my big toe. “How about this?”

“Um … no …” Did he shut the thing off? Across the room, I gave Curt a questioning look.

Is this guy messing with me?

Unfortunately, it wasn’t the doctor. It was MS.

Multiple sclerosis is a disease that breaks down the protective covering surrounding the nerves. Basically, this makes it difficult for the brain to communicate with the rest of the body. My brain sends out signals, but those messages get disrupted.

So, I have a communication problem between my brain and my body. No wonder I feel like my body is short-circuiting sometimes! MS affects different people in different ways. One of the main ways it affects me is my balance and coordination.

Before MS, I could walk across the room without giving it a thought. Now – especially if I’m tired – I have to think about my every step. Most people probably don’t even notice, but I am always concentrating on walking without tripping.  

Balance is also something I can’t take for granted. One time my doctor asked me to close my eyes and say which direction he was moving my big toe. I couldn’t tell, so I took a wild guess. I guessed wrong.

Again, it’s a communication problem. Somewhere between my brain and big toe, the message gets lost.   

Another issue I have with walking involves spasticity. When my doctor first used the term, I thought he was insulting me. (Remember junior high? “Oh, he’s such a ‘spaz.’) It’s not a flattering word. But spasticity is a real problem.

I first noticed it while walking on a cold winter day. My right leg tensed up. I couldn’t walk normally. My muscles felt stiff. Tight. Painful. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t walk without limping. Turns out, my leg was having involuntary muscle spasms. It happens – especially in cold temperatures.

On a positive note, MS has done one thing for me. It has forced me to ponder the amazing design of the human body. The incredibly creative and miraculously complex way my brain sends billions of messages to control every move I make … every breath I take … (I know. Sounds like a song from the eighties) Anyway, it is amazing the way the brain controls every part of the body – all the way down to the flicker of an eyelid.

I can’t wrap my head around it.

And so, I am reminded of all the miraculous things my body can do. Like breathing – without even thinking about it. And seeing this big ‘ol colorful world around me and smelling the fresh-cut grass and taking walks with my husband. And making and delivering beautiful babies. And smiling and laughing and reading and typing. And lifting my hands to praise God and thanking Him for all of it.

Even if I do limp a little.

I’ve always liked to shop. Not for groceries, mind you. I’m talking about clothes. Shoes. Purses. Those kinds of things. When my girls were young, I used to daydream about the four of us shopping together once they all became teenagers. It was gonna be great. I imagined the four of us, talking and laughing as we strolled through the mall. We’d check out the latest styles. Shop for shoes. Bond over pretzels.

Boy, was I delusional. Allow me to introduce my three daughters.  

First, there’s Emily. Emily likes to browse and inspect every rack when she shops. She tries everything on, then carefully weighs the pros and cons of each item.

My next daughter, Taylor, also likes to shop. But Taylor is very goal-oriented. She knows what she needs. She finds it. We buy it. There’s no need to aimlessly wander or waste her sweet time. When she tries on clothes, it’s quick and painless. “It fits. Let’s go.”

As you may guess, shopping with both of them creates quite the challenge.  

Then there’s my third girl, Madison, who hates shopping altogether. Typically, if her sisters and I are headed to the mall, she and her dad will go see a movie.

But I had a dream! Shopping ... laughing ... shoes … pretzels ...

For years, I tried to make my dream a reality. If only Emily would hurry up. Or if Taylor could be patient. Or if Madison would just visit one store in the mall besides Chick-fil-a and Cinnabon.  

Eventually, I faced the facts. If I’m going to enjoy shopping with them, I need to do it individually.  

Now I know. Before shopping with Emily, I need to rest up because it’s going to be a marathon. When going with Taylor, it’s best to stick to the plan. And Madison? Let’s just say, I’ve discovered other ways to bond with her – and thank goodness for hand-me-downs.  

Just as I’ve learned to have a flexible shopping approach with each of my girls, I’ve also learned to adjust my parenting style.

Every kid is different. Different personalities, temperaments, interests, strengths and weaknesses. It would be easier if the same parenting strategies worked for every kid. But parenting isn’t a one-size-fits-all kind of job. The goal is to figure out what floats their boat – and meet them there.  

After all these years, I’ve found only one thing they all have in common – whether it’s the girls who like to shop, or the one who really hates it. All three of them look in their closets and swear they have nothing to wear.

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The middle school years can be tough. Tough on kids – and tough on moms. Today I’m sharing a story about my soon-to-be-high-school-graduate during some of her difficult days of middle school. Hopefully this will be an encouragement to all of the middle school mamas out there. This too shall pass. I’m sure of it.  

Emily slammed the back door and flung her backpack to the floor. “I am so tired of being the shortest kid in my class.”
 
“What happened?”
 
“We picked teams for volleyball in PE today,” she said. “Like always, I was the last one picked.” 
 
Normally, I’d say something about “being a late bloomer” or maybe remind her to “be patient because everyone grows at their own rate.” Instead, I tried a lighter approach.
 
“Well, that’s what I call saving the best for last!”
 
“Seriously Mom, I can barely reach the net – let alone spike a ball over it!”    
 
“You know, it doesn’t matter how you look on the outside. It’s what’s on the inside that counts.”
 
Emily sighed. “You always say that.” She picked some pink nail polish off her finger. “I just feel, you know, like nothing special.”.
 
A week later, Emily was discouraged again. This time we were at the mall.
 
“I don’t like it.” Emily stared in the department store mirror, shaking her head.
 
“I think it looks cute,” I said, tilting my head to the side. 
 
“Mom, I’m not wearing ruffles or bows to my Christmas program.”

I couldn’t blame her. Most of her friends wore trendy clothes from the junior department, but Emily couldn’t fit into those sizes yet.
 
I glanced down at the shoes she had snatched from a display. “Oh Em, those heels look tough to walk in.”
 
“They’re fine.” She took a couple of wobbly steps. I exhaled. This girl would try anything to look taller.
 
The school year went on, Emily worked hard on her schoolwork. She was respectful to her teachers and kind to her classmates. Every now and then she still had bad days, but I did my best to encourage her. 
 
“Em, you’re a good student and a great kid.” Emily rolled her eyes but I kept talking anyway. “You just need to be the best Emily you can be. You're going to accomplish great things.”
 
I know she heard me; I just wasn’t sure she believed me. Then one day, toward the end of the school year, Emily’s principal called.
 
“I’ve got some exciting news,” she said. “Emily was chosen to receive the Illinois Principal’s Association Student Leadership Award.”
 
“Okay?” I began, “I’m actually not familiar-”
 
“It’s a program our school participates in every year. All of the students vote for one boy and one girl based on behavior, strong character, leadership skills and academics.”
 
I couldn’t help but smile. “So, Emily’s classmates picked her?”  
 
“Yes, they did. It was actually a landslide.”
 
I thanked the principal and hung up the phone. How about that? Emily’s classmates saw something in her she didn’t see in herself.  
 
Later that day Emily dashed through the back door. “Did you hear, Mom? Did my principal call?”
 
“Yes, she did,” I said. “And I am so proud of you!”   
 
Emily’s face beamed. It didn’t matter if she was the smallest kid in her class. On that day, she finally realized that her classmates looked up to her.