Hi everyone!

On a recent family vacation I had the opportunity to try something new. (And completely out of my comfort zone.) Whitewater rafting. In the end, I realized that battling those rapids is very much like motherhood! 

This week I'm sharing my post, "Top Five Ways Motherhood is Like Whitewater Rafting" from the Quad City Moms Blog. I'd love for you to check it out.

http://bit.ly/1vELwEg
 
Let me know if you can relate! 

Have a great week,

Sheri

“My shoes are tight and they’re getting worn out.”

I vaguely remember Madison telling me this one morning before school. But honestly, I didn't give it much thought. The school year was almost over. Her typical summertime footwear consisted of flip flops and softball cleats. Why buy new shoes at the end of the year?

So a couple of weeks ago I was packing for our trip to Colorado. I dug out Maddie’s shoes and gave them a quick glance, assessing their condition. Yep, they were worn, but they’d be okay. I tossed them in a suitcase and didn't see them again until the day we went for a long walk. 

“Mom, my toes hurt. These shoes are tight and rocks keep poking me.” 

“Surely they’re not that bad,” I said. Girls can be so dramatic. I leaned over for a closer look. And that’s when I realized her toes were squished and practically sticking out. That girl needed new shoes! 

You know the saying, “Don’t judge someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes”? Well that came to mind as I thought about the pain Maddie had endured!

Speaking of pain - and walking in someone’s shoes, I've been thinking about that saying ever since I heard the sad news about Robin Williams last week.

“Don’t judge someone until you've walked a mile in their shoes.”

It’s good advice, but realistically, it's impossible. After all, we've all had different experiences. There's really no way to know exactly what someone else is going through. 

Take Robin Williams, for example. On the outside, he looked great. He seemed happy. Confident. Successful. But on the inside, he battled the pain of addictions, depression and the early stages of Parkinson’s disease.

When someone asks me, “How are you doing,” my quick and simple response is usually “fine.” But I remember one day when a friend asked me that question – and I decided to tell her the truth. I wasn't fine. My life looked good on the outside, but on the inside I was falling apart. 

Like with Madison's shoes, it wasn't until my friend stopped to take a closer look could she see I was falling apart. And I'm so glad she did. She took time to listen - and her support helped me through a tough time. She also gave me a great reminder.  

Maybe we can’t walk in someone else’s shoes, but if they're facing a difficult situation, we can certainly walk beside them.  

We've had an ongoing dilemma in our family for years. Our girls would love to have a cat; but unfortunately, Curt is allergic. It might be different if he just got the sniffles, but he is extremely allergic. I’m talking throat-swells-up-can’t-breathe kind of allergic.

Over the years I’ve tried making up for this shortcoming in our home. We’d visit pet stores and animal shelters. We’d play with barn cats at Grandma’s house. But at the end of the day, the problem still remained. My girls wanted their own cat. A cat at our house. Then one summer, without warning, we got one. 

“Look Mom, there’s a kitty!” Madison’s eyes widened. She pointed toward the lot next door. An orange cat crouched down, spying on us through the grass. Madison jumped up.  

“Wait a minute,” I held my finger to my lips. “We don’t want to scare him.”

“Hey, kitty-kitty.” I inched toward him. Big green eyes stared back at me. “It’s okay, kitty.” The cat straightened and meowed back. Slowly I reached toward him.

From that moment I knew he was friendly. His body arched as I slid my hand across his back. I scooped him up and carried him to the girls. He purred every step of the way.

“I’ll get him a piece of ham,” Taylor said, running toward the house. “Don’t let him go!”

Obviously the cat didn’t care to go anywhere. He seemed quite content with all the attention. For the rest of the evening the girls took turns petting and playing with him. They even named him Toby.

“Now don’t get too attached,” I said, knowing it was too late. “I’m sure he belongs to someone.” I sighed as I thought about the sad reality. We’d probably never see this cat again.

But as the summer continued, Toby stopped by quite regularly. The girls never knew when he’d make an appearance, but his visits always brightened their day. Sometimes during a lazy afternoon a girl would burst through the door and announce, “Toby is here!” Then everyone would drop what they’d been doing to feed him, pet him and celebrate his arrival.  

Weeks passed and we began to wonder about this cat. Who did he belong to? Where did he come from? We asked neighbors, but no one had answers. One day we questioned the lady next door as she worked in her yard.

“Not our cat,” she said, pulling off her gloves, “but we’ve seen him around.” She squatted down and scratched under Toby’s chin. “He likes to sleep on our deck.”

Toby rubbed against her leg as the lady rattled on. “I worry about him with winter coming. I thought about taking him to a shelter.”

I swallowed hard. Of course I didn’t want Toby left out in the cold, but I also didn't want him to go to a shelter. Then we’d definitely never see him again. The lady shifted her gaze to a house down the street.   

“I heard Dave was thinking about adopting him,” she said. “Maybe I’ll see what he’s decided.”

I relaxed a bit. “Would you mind letting me know? I’m kind of curious about that cat.” I gave her my number and turned to walk away.

“By the way,” I yelled over my shoulder, “if you talk to Dave, tell him my girls have already named the cat." I couldn't help but smile. "Tell him his name is Toby.” 

Later that night she sent us a text message. I nearly fell off my chair as I read it out loud.

“Dave says Toby is a girl – and he’s named her Lucy.”

“What?” Madison’s eyes blinked rapidly. “Toby is a girl?” My entire family looked at me and burst out laughing.

Heat crept across my cheeks. “Well, I guess I never really ...” I cleared my throat, “verified that Toby was a boy.” My response only prompted more laughter. Finally, I shrugged my shoulders and joined them.

A few days later I noticed Madison sitting on the front steps with Toby. I sat down next to her. She looked at me with a thoughtful expression.  

“Toby – I mean Lucy – likes it when I scratch under his – I mean her - chin.” Madison released a heavy sigh. “I still can’t get used to Toby being a girl.” 

“I know.” I said. “I still think of her as a boy.”

Toby purred and moved both paws back and forth in constant motion. Madison looked at me with a sad expression. “I don’t want Toby – I mean Lucy – to go to a shelter.” 

“Me either,” I said. “But it would be nice for him – I mean her - to find a good home, don’t you think?” 

Madison looked down and nodded. “I just wish I could still see him – I mean her.”

That night the neighbor lady sent another text. This time, her message lifted all of our spirits. Curt read it out loud. 

"Saw the girls playing with the cat today and thought they might get a kick out of this. Dave took the cat to the vet. The vet said the cat is actually a boy after all. Dave is adopting him - and he’s naming him Toby.”

“I knew it!’ I said, pumping a fist. It was great news – not only because I was right – but because Toby would stay in the neighborhood.

Toby still visits fairly regularly, and when he does, he still brightens our day. After all, we like to think of Toby as our cat. It just so happens he lives next door. 

Hi everyone!

This week our family left the cornfields of Illinois and traveled to the mountains of Colorado! We are having a blast. As you can see, we went horseback riding today. (Tomorrow is whitewater rafting!)

I've decided to take this week off from blogging so I could focus on my family. As usual, they are keeping me busy! Thanks for stopping by, and I'll see you next week!

Sheri