No Mercy, Kids! No. Mercy.

Zac’s been home sick a few days. I was so over hearing “I’m bored!” “There’s nothing to do!” “I don’t want to be sick anymore!”

I decided to be a great mom, like a super great mom. We turned on some National Geographic Show about polar bears brutally eating innocent little baby seal, ate pizza and played cards. When playing games with my kids, my rule is: No Mercy. (Well okay, maybe a little.) But the one thing I will NOT do is let my kids win.

Sounds mean, doesn’t it?

We were playing Skip Bo and Zac only had one card left in his pile, I had four. He was so arrogant, just knowing he was going to win. But then mom AND

Boom

 

But the thing is, Zac doesn’t lose well:

skip bo

 

He was so mad, he threw the cards everywhere and stomped his way upstairs.  I sat and patiently waited for him to come back down and pick them all up. It took a good 20 minutes or so before he worked through his tragic loss and picked up the cards.   I thanked him and we moved on.

I just don’t “get” the everyone deserves a trophy, where we don’t take score, and all kids are winners. Life doesn’t work that way. Life is way harsh and mean. Losing well is a necessity in life. We spend way more time on this earth losing, than winning. If our kids can lose well, even at a game, then they will be more prepared to deal with the real losses, the ones that actually matter.

What do you think? Do you let your kid win at games? Comment below.

Let’s Chat!!

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Ferguson, Garner and Cop Killings through the Eyes of a Bi-Racial Family

racism

 

I sat on the couch breathless as the Grand Jury results were released on CNN. There would be no indictment of Officer Darren Wilson in the tragic death of Michael Brown.  Brown’s death was tragic because it was unnecessary, no matter where we place fault. And the tragedy continued as small business-owner’s had their life and livelihood burned down, stores were ravaged and an entire community was completely ruined.

I watched until I couldn’t watch anymore.

We talked about it, for days. We muddled through the events, the quick shift in the tide of the Nation and how our world needs, well let’s be real, it needs Jesus. But we didn’t just talk about it from a middle-class, churched, Suburban America perspective. We talked about it from the perspective of black, Hispanic, white, mixed and law enforcement—because our family is all of those things.

I am white.

My husband is black—his background is in law enforcement, he is currently a forensic investigator with a Masters in Criminal Justice.

My two (step)daughters are black.

My son and daughter are half Hispanic, half white.

My youngest son is half black and half white.

We are a blended, bi-racial family.

We have learned that the world is very jaded and racism is alive and breeding right here, down your street, in your family, at your church. It is based on ignorance, and lack of respect for the whole of humanity.

We have heard comments like:

“What is it like to have a black step dad?”

“Wow, your kids look really Mexican.”

“Your mom is white? That’s not your mom!”

“How is that your last name, you don’t even look Hispanic at all?”

When my husband and I started dating, I was on the receiving end of racism for the first time in my life. I married a black man, and the black community has not always welcomed me.

Recently my son texted me this photo found on the wall in his high school, where the demographic is predominately Hispanic:

 

taft racism

 

When we walk into a restaurant, we get glances and blatant stares. People don’t know what to make of us.  My kids have fun with it. I was at Walmart with all five of them, and they convinced everyone I was their adoptive mom, who rescued them from the foster system. I walked out of that store a saint that day.

 

But I am their mom, 3 of the 5 came out of my womb. My husband is their dad—biologically 3 of the 5. We don’t see our race, our color, or origin. We are family. I don’t think about my husband being black, and don’t look at my kids as Mexican or Hispanic. They are just my kids. We don’t have to “work hard” at not seeing the color of our eyes or skin or hair as a definition of who we are.

So when these things happen—these racially charged issues, these murders, these injustices—we are forced to reconcile who we are individually and as a whole—and re-examine our worldview.

My husband’s perspective is unique. He has been a patrol officer, in dangerous situations with all races. He is military combat trained, he is highly educated, and considering law for his future. But he is also black, and has been on the receiving end of profiling of police officers, where respect and courtesy only come to him AFTER the police officer finds out he too is in law enforcement. Being a former officer, and a current investigator he also has great respect for law, and the reality of consequences for our actions.

I grew up in a predominately white family, although my step-dad is Hispanic and my younger brother is white and Hispanic. I lived a somewhat sheltered life, and my grandparents, who were influential in raising me, grew up in segregated Texas. They were loving and accepting of all people, yet traces of their childhood remained.

My son and daughter are also mixed with Hispanic and white.  They are influenced by both races, and are exposed to their Hispanic culture, yet don’t see themselves as anything but simply, people.

My (step)daughters grew up in a predominately black community. They went to an all black private school, and attended an all black church. As they have grown up, they have embraced the diversity of our world, and love people just because they are people.

Then there is the youngest: Half black, half white, with 2 black sisters, and a Hispanic brother and sister. He gets lots of questions, and I’m grateful that he has yet to experience any overt racism.

But as we sit and watch CNN and read the tweets—and we hear of police officers being murdered, it all hits us, because we are all of those things. We aren’t just the white cop who was the shooter, or the black teenager who was shot—we are both. We aren’t just the people angry at the injustice of the world or just the police officer who got killed leaving his family behind, we are both.

We can’t pick a side, because there is no side to pick.

I remember dreading time on the playground during recess when teams got picked to play soccer. That was the worst feeling, not knowing if you were even going to get picked at all. But it didn’t really matter as long as you got to play.

Somehow, our society believes that we have to pick a team, but by picking a team, we are leaving out the most important thing—the privilege of humanity. We watch the racial divide growing, and are stunned at the growing fire of racism because we know it’s possible…It is possible to look beyond stereotypes.

It is possible to look at a person’s actions apart from their skin color.

It is possible to embrace humanity.

It is possible to take responsibility for who you are, without blame.

It is possible to co-exist.

It is possibly to live in harmony.

It is possible to simply love.

I don’t have any other solution but this:

We must learn to love, in an unconditional way, with deep humility and passionate servanthood. We must teach our kids, and every other kid we are in contact with, ever in our entire life, that people are human—not black or white or Hispanic or Asian or … We must push our kids out of their comfort zones—we must push them into situations where they are forced to see the world through a multi-colored lens. (I know too many kids who live in middle-class bubbles whose parents won’t make the effort to expand their perspective on the world. Not just from a race perspective, but from a socio-economic one as well). We must take responsibility for our own thoughts, ideas, and the conclusions we jump to because it’s the way we have always thought.

We must challenge ourselves to walk through Samaria, and talk to those we wouldn’t normally talk to, regardless of how they dress, or what type of education they have or what they have done in their past. We can’t change this generation, but we can change the next!

But we can’t do that alone.

Until we admit that we need help, until we humble ourselves, and admit that we need the power of Jesus to flow into us and then out of us, we will remain the same—living in the impossible.

It is only in Christ that all things are possible.

I’m grateful for my possible— for my bi-racial, blended family. I believe, even in our imperfections and failures, we are a picture of the power of the love of Christ!

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I NEED YOUR STORY

No reason for me being MIA on my blog, except for my laziness, and internal battles, and pizza eating. I’m working on something very cool, something God put on my heart to write years ago, but for some reason now is when it makes sense.

It’s Big.

So Big.

And so important.

And it is so much of not just my story, but of me.

But it wouldn’t be really me if it didn’t include YOU. People make me who I am. Your lives and struggles challenge me, encourage me and change me.

I want you to be a part of this project.

father daughter

Here is the deal:

If you

1. Grew up a majority of your life without your biological father,

2. would be willing to answer a few questions about your life

3. would be willing to possibly have part or all of your story published as told by me, but would remain completely anonymous —

then send me an email at tiffany@tiffanycrawford.org.

You will be contacted BEFORE using your story in anyway to give full permission.  If at anytime you wish to back out, then I will honor you completely. And any information will be kept completely confidential until we agree that your info can be used (anonymously).

I want to know your story.  I want your voice to be heard. I want the world to be impacted by YOU.

EMAIL ME TODAY. tiffanycrawford.org

and SHARE THIS SO THE WORD CAN GET OUT!

I’m so excited at what God is going to do!

Love God and His Peeps,

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10 Things To Teach Your Daughter

I pain at the thought of my daughter leaving for college, but it’s happening. In less than a year, she will be off in the world, the cold, harsh world. I keep telling myself that the first year is my test. My LSAT, my SAT, my GMAT. It will be the time to see if I did my job well as a parent. I am suspecting I got lots of things right, but I still have nine months or so to ‘cram’. I know I”ve taught her character, and empathy and love. But I have a laundry list of things I need to make sure she knows before she leaves.

1. FINANCES: I need her to know how to budget, how to save and how to balance her account. This is is something I was never taught and it still bites me in the butt!

2. CHURCH: go to church even if you don’t feel like it. It’s a priority. Church will make sense even if th wrld doesn’t.

3. IRONING: I watched my grandmother iron all my Poppy’s shirts for the week. I was never really taught, but I watched. My mom was a working mom and everything was sent off to the cleaners (which to this day is my preference! Thanks mom!!) But she needs to know how to iron, the cleaners isn’t always in the budget–which I will teach her first, remember?

4. COOK: I want to teach her to cook (5) full meals from memory. Anyone can follow a recipe. But cooking from memory is when you really learn–and make mistakes.

5. GROCERY SHOPPING: My daughter can shop for clothes like a master. In fact, rarely do I shop without her because she’s so Boss at it. But grocery shopping is a whole other bag of tricks. It seems easy and logical, but really it’s not. To be able to shop on a budget and your food be able to last you as long as you need it is an art! Trust me, I’m the Master at this!!!

6. MEDICATION: I was in my 30’s before I knew the real difference between Motrin and Tylenol. I want her to know what she is putting in her body and side effects.

7. DOCTOR VISITS: I want her to be able to communicate effectively with her doctor without me around. I don’t want her to shy away from the intimidation of doctors. I want her to take control of her health and fight until she gets answers.

8. CAR MAINTENANCE: I want her to know basic mechanics and how things work. She needs to know what a raditor does, how to fill the wiper fluid and what to do if her blinker goes out–especially that there is no such thing as Blinker Fluid — but that’s a story for another time.

9. TOOLS: I want her to know the difference between a hammer and screwdriver, a wrench and pliers. She doesn’t ever have to use them if she doesn’t need to, but I think she needs to know what they are.

10. DRAINS: How to unclog a drain. With our long hair and constant showers, our drains are about to get all backed up. It is necessary for a woman to know how to pour some DRANO down the sink!!

Luckily she is amazing at housework (it’s her OCD) and knows how to sew on a button. She is committed to learning to sew on a machine and knows how to set goals and accomplish them. I am certain she can teach me a thing or two, or three.

I don’t want her to go into this world unprepared. I want her to be empowered with the knowledge of simple things. What am I missing? What are important practical things you are teaching your daughter?

COMMENT AND SHARE WITH ME! I don’t want to screw this up!

 

LG|LP

Raising a Kid with a Peanut Allergy

All it took was these words, “It could cause death”

I seriously wanted to punch the doctor in the face. My child was sitting right there, terror in his eyes. I did everything I could to stay calm for me, and for him. It wasn’t easy.

We talked about what it meant for us on the drive home. Later that night I chattered incessantly to my husband about all the life changes for our family, all because of

PEANUTS!

My son has a peanut allergy. And grass and trees, and almonds, mustard, peas, sesame, cats, and a partridge in a pear tree.

At first, I took it all with a grain of salt. He had peanut butter before, I was queen of peanut butter sandwiches. He would be fine. Then I started seeing all these stories in the news. This girl died after eating something she’s eaten before, after two Epi-pen inections, and a doctor for a dad. Then this other guy died. He had a peanut allergy his whole life. He ate a cookie! Bam! 22 years old, dead.

I decided it was time to take Zac’s peanut allergy seriously. He had to start carrying a small backpack with his Epi-pens, and he wears a medical bracelet. These are minor inconveniences. So is not being able to eat at Chik-Fil-A or Logan’s (yummm!). I have to read labels of every snack, food and drink. It has become a way of life.

The absolute hardest part of Zac having a peanut allergy is the constant state of fear that my child lives in. If you have ever met Zac, you can attest that he is a child who loves life. He is 5’4 at 9 years old, can slam dunk on an 8 foot goal. He loves to skateboard, and can consume his 120 lbs in chocolate if you would let him, if it’s not made in a factory where other products with peanuts are manufactured.

Every restaurant, every food, he wonders, “Is this going to hurt me?”

Every football game, he has to steer clear of anyone who eats peanuts, or throws shells on the floor.

Every celebration at school, when kids bring cupcakes for the class, Zac gets nothing. He sits and watches.

Every family gathering, he asks, “Are you sure mom?” “Did you check?”

Every day, my child wonders if he is going to die.

That may sound dramatic, but no, it’s just his reality.

We do our best to be cautious without over reacting.

But he’s nine.

And it’s heartbreaking to watch him, and to be so out of control, and to bury my own fears of what a small little peanut could do to my child.

Peanuts are what we call my son’s cryptonite. I pray daily that his Superman, supernatural spirit in Christ will sustain him all the days of his life.

Does your kid have a peanut allergy? What has it done to your life? Share with me!