What Happened to Mama Llama?

There are moments when I miss children's books.

Not because I want to go back to diapers or midnight feedings or stepping on LEGOs in the dark. Absolutely not.

I miss them because children's books have a remarkable confidence that love, patience, and a well-timed hug can solve almost anything.

The other day, while unpacking boxes from our move, I found myself flipping through a stack of old favorites: Llama Llama Red Pajama; I Took the Moon for a Walk; Martin's Big Words. Each one carries memories of bedtime routines, little voices asking for "just one more book," and children who fit comfortably in your lap.

It made me wonder why nobody writes sequels for parents of teenagers.

Where is Llama Llama Slams the Door-a?

Mama Llama was impossibly patient. Every page she modeled the kind of calm parenting I aspired to when my kids were small. She acknowledged feelings. She set boundaries. She never seemed rattled.

I need Mama Llama now more than ever.

Because teenagers are a completely different species.

When they're toddlers, the conflict is over whether they can have the pink cup or the blue cup. With teenagers, the disagreements suddenly involve screen time, independence, and why asking them to empty the dishwasher is apparently an assault on their constitutional rights. Also brother/sister is breathing and that fact disrupts the entire dinner table.

Mama Llama never had to say, "I'm not arguing with you over text."

Or, "That tone is doing none of us any favors."

Or my personal favorite: "I know you're using big words, but they're not actually helping your case."

Speaking of big words...

When Caleb was little, he adored Martin's Big Words, the wonderful picture book about Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. We read it so many times I practically had it memorized. I loved that it taught him that words matter—that they can build people up, challenge injustice, and change the world.

Mission accomplished. He definitely has big words now. I'm just wondering if we could redirect some of that impressive vocabulary away from preteen sass and back toward the sort of eloquence Dr. King had in mind.

Progress is...ongoing.

And then there's I Took the Moon for a Walk. Such a gentle, imaginative book about slowing down, noticing beauty, and wandering together through the night.

What would the teenage edition look like? Perhaps:"I Offered to Take the Moon for a Walk, but They Said They Were Fine, Put Their Earbuds Back In, and Asked Me to Drop Them Off Two Blocks Away."

Still beautiful, I suppose. Just...different.

Here's the thing I've been realizing lately: children's books didn't stop being true when our kids grew up. They just stopped being written for us.

The lessons are still there: Stay patient. Listen before reacting. Use kind words. Wonder together. Love without keeping score.

Those truths don't expire when your child hits middle school or high school. They just get harder to practice.

As a pastor, I think about this often. We spend so much time helping parents survive the early years, but we don't offer nearly enough encouragement for those raising teenagers. Yet this season requires every bit as much grace—maybe more.

Because teenagers are becoming. They're trying on identities, stretching boundaries, discovering who they are, and sometimes practicing that discovery on the people who love them most.

That doesn't make the eye rolls easier.

It doesn't make the sarcastic comments sting less.

But it does remind me that underneath all that growing is still the same beloved child I once read Llama Llama to before bed.

So perhaps what I really need isn't a new picture book.

I just need to remember Mama Llama: Take a deep breath. Stay calm. Love first.

And maybe—just maybe—laugh a little.

Because if parenting has taught me anything, it's that every stage eventually becomes a story you'll tell with a smile.

Even the chapters with ALL the sass.