Enjoying the Present

My dad is convinced that as you age, you romanticize your past. This explains why when my great great aunt came to live with us at the age of 94, she talked about her deceased husband as “a saint”. He joked that he wants to go first so we can have time to remember him as a saint too. He doesn’t know it, but if he died tomorrow, he’d already be remembered as one. He’s one of the most generous and thoughtful people I know. But we’ll save that for another post.

I think there is some truth to this “romanticizing your past” theory. I see it happening already. The other day I mentioned to my husband that I didn’t think our older two boys had the “terrible twos” nearly as bad as our toddler does. He laughed at me. He reminded me that, yes, in fact, they had it every bit as bad as our two year old does now. And let’s not even talk about women’s memory regarding childbirth… can anyone say “rose -colored -glasses”?

But despite our desire to look at the past positively, I do think there are certain seasons and chapters in life that are just plain great: that we can appreciate fully even when we’re in them. I feel like I’m in one now. My husband and I are blessed in so many ways. And as we approach Christmas, I’m especially mindful of the sweet ages of my boys. Their anticipation and joy is palpable. And their desire to give generously is truly touching.

(here are the older two with Grandpa... Christmas 2008)

(Look at that joy!)

Recently they spent hours in the basement secretly working on gifts for us that they brought out when we decorated the tree.

It took me a few minutes to get over the fact that my tree wouldn't look like something that belonged in a magazine....

Until I realized it couldn't be more beautiful....

I know that this chapter won’t last forever. Recently I read an article from my beloved Erma Bombeck, “Christmas Chimes”. It made me know that this time really is something to treasure and that there is plenty of romance already present.

Christmas Chimes

Everything is in readiness.

The tree is trimmed. The cards taped to the door frame. The boxes stacked in glittering disarray under the tree.

Why don’t I hear chimes?

Remember the small boy who made the chimes ring in a fictional story years ago? As the legend went, the chimes would not ring unless a gift of love was placed on the altar. Kings and men of great wealth placed untold jewels there, but year after year the church remained silent.

Then one Christmas Eve, a small child in a tattered coat made his way down the aisle, and without anyone noticing he took off his coat and placed it on the altar. The chimes rang out joyously throughout the land to mark the unselfish giving of a small boy.

I used to hear chimes.

I heard them the year one of my sons gave me a tattered piece of construction paper on which he had crayoned two hands folded in prayer and a moving message, OH COME HOLY SPIT!

I heard them the year I got a shoe box that contained two baseball cards and the gum was still with them.

I heard them the Christmas they all got together and cleaned the garage.

They’re gone, aren’t they? The years of the lace doilies fashioned into snowflakes … the hands traced in plaster of paris … the Christmas trees of pipe cleaners … the thread spools that held small candles. They’re gone.

The chubby hands that clumsily used up $2 worth of paper to wrap a cork coaster are sophisticated enough to take a number and have the gift wrapped professionally.

The childish decision of when to break the ceramic piggy bank with a hammer to spring the 59 cents is now resolved by a credit card.

The muted thump of pajama-covered feet padding down the stairs to tuck her homemade crumb scrapers beneath the tree has given way to pantyhose and fashion boots to the knee.

It’ll be a good Christmas. We’ll eat too much. Make a mess in the living room. Throw the warranties into the fire by mistake. Drive the dog crazy taping bows to his tail. Return cookies to the plate with a bite out of them. Listen to Christmas music.

But Lord … what I would give to bend low and receive a gift of toothpicks and library paste and hear the chimes just one more time!

You need to get out more...

With a baby that sleeps all morning, and a toddler that sleeps all afternoon, school pick up is the extent of my social life these days. Parent-Teacher Conferences? A night out on the town for me! The other social experience is Target. I don’t know how it is I only run into people I haven’t seen in ten years if I’m wearing sweats with no make-up and have something embarrassing in my cart like Tucks or Hemorrhoid cream. One time I ran into a guy from my past in Target when I was buying lingerie. I didn’t even have a cart; I just tried to discreetly hide it behind my back. I guess that’s why there are special stores for that.

Anyway, for being a stay-at-home-mom, I don’t actually like to stay home all the time. I am an extravert (although I might have denied that for a few years while doing ministry). I need conversation… adult conversation. Once during the longest winter of history when I hadn’t left my house in months, I was so hungry for adult conversation that I let the Kirby vacuum salesman into our 740 square foot house to try and sell me a vacuum that cost more than my car. I just needed to talk to an adult… even if it was about dirt.

With naps and nursing and a baby at the height of separation anxiety, even getting a sitter just isn’t worth it. And so the computer… blogs, facebook, and emails, has become my link to the outside world. But tonight I made an exception to policy and attended not only one Christmas party, but two. It was great to know that I still can shake hands and make small talk while balancing a glass of wine and a plate of hors d’oeurves. And it is so nice to have that much craved adult interaction. And I did come home feeling energized... which is why I'm working on my blog past 10:00 at night.

But as I was driving home, I realized that the people I most enjoy spending time with are right under my own roof. Which is a good thing since my two year old was still awake (3 hours after his bedtime) reminding me why I don’t do this very often.

Becoming My Mother

When did I become that person? You know the one with hand sanitizer in her minivan that she lathers on her children after every errand. I think it was somewhere between the emergency room visits, the middle of the night breathing treatments, and the vomit.

When did I become the person who spends $40 on laundry detergent in Costco and actually uses all 180 loads of it... in a month?

When did I become that person that falls asleep on the couch in front of the TV?

I used to need company to cook a dish that uses a 9 X 13 pan, now I wonder if it’s enough to feed us all. When did that happen?

When did I start looking in the mirror and being surprised by lines around my eyes and mouth?

When did I become that person? You know, the one who worries and starts to look ten steps down the line at the consequences? I’m not sure exactly when it happened, but I remember one day on my way to costco seeing a motorcyclist going over 90 mph zigzagging in and out of traffic on the interstate. A few years ago I would have thought “cool bike”. Now my mind spun ahead to the poor driver who hits this crazy biker and spends years in jail for involuntary manslaughter. I thought of his poor mother burying her son. I thought of all kinds of worst-case scenarios and I realized that I was thinking like a mom, and not just any mom, but my mom.

Some of the things that used to drive me the most crazy about my mother, I find myself doing. I used to roll my eyes when she'd ask my dad to turn the music down, or call us to dinner like a drill sergeant, or come up with some ridiculous catastrophe that might happen if we didn't do whatever it was she thought we should. And headaches... who gets headaches all the time? A mom... that's who... or maybe it's just our sympathetic nervous system needing some quiet. Anyway, the more time goes by, the more and more I understand my mom.

Love is demanding, and no one loves quite like a mother. So this love manifests itself in all kinds of ways from nagging to hugs, but at the heart of it, is love. And love changes us. So much so that sometimes I don't even recognize myself. But I do see my mother!

Nursing

I know many women who have been unable to breastfeed, and others who made heroic sacrifices to nurse. One friend pumped everytime her baby ate since he wouldn’t nurse. My sister nursed for an entire year while completing her residency to become a doctor…working incredibly long and crazy hours in an intense setting. I know women who have had mastitis so badly that it required surgery. But I have been blessed that nursing my babies has always been easy.

Hmm… maybe easy isn’t the right word. I do remember the first few weeks with my firstborn son being so frustrating that I wondered if pigs and cows could do this, why couldn’t an educated woman figure it out? I have had moments of sheer exhaustion and utter exasperation. There were times in the first weeks after each of my children when I knew that I would quit if it didn’t get easier. But it always did. So maybe easy isn’t the right word….but fulfilling.

I have had a real sense of awe and wonder at how my body knew just what to do to nourish my child. I’ve been amazed that my child could grow and gain weight by nursing. I've been grateful that my baby can better fight off infection with my antibodies. I’ve taken better care of myself, knowing that everything I put in my body could be passed onto my child. I’ve been completely and totally astonished by how it can relax me better than a glass of wine, and bond me to my children.

And I've gotten more comfortable with nursing, even in public. Baby #4 has been nursed at baseball fields, restaurants, pools, church, and more places than I can count. When you are trying to juggle the needs of six people, you make some compromises.

Sometimes these compromises make me feel stretched and overwhelmed. But when I’m nursing, especially if no one else is immediately demanding anything, I often feel like I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be. Although I spend large parts of my day juggling demands and occasionally feeling inadequate, when I’m nursing I feel like I’m enough. More than adequate. My baby delights in me and is satisfied.

Time flies...

It seems as though I can literally see my children growing before my eyes! Each day they not only seem bigger, but continue to master new milestones and express more of their personality. Although we have moments where time seems to drag on...the cliché that this time will go by in a “blink of an eye” seems not so cliché anymore.

Just look what seven short months will do…

(This is my baby using the truck as a bassinet)

(And here he is putting legos in and out of it!)

All of a sudden it seems he’s not a little newborn anymore, but he’s grabbing and rolling and yesterday he gave me his first kiss. They say there is nothing as sweet as love’s first kiss… it’s true.

And my toddler is talking up a storm. Everyday he has new words and phrases that surprise me and make me realize he is picking up way more than I think.

My kindergartner is learning to read and has matured so much since starting school.

And my oldest just had his eighth birthday. REALLY? 8?

I was reading a blog recently about what you would tell your pre-kid self. When my oldest was born he had colic and cried for the first four months of his life. I wish I could go back and tell that bleary-eyed, overwhelmed me with spit up on her shoulder that even though each day felt like an eternity at the time… all of a sudden he would be an eight year old with an amazing sense of humor and a big heart… that didn’t need a booster seat anymore.

(His first ride without needing a booster carseat)

An exhausting, wonderful, sweet chapter....

In honor of Thanksgiving approaching, my next several blogs will focus on things that make me happy or illicit gratitude.

I am grateful for a good night’s sleep.

I got one once. I remember it was a Saturday. Miraculously no one peed the bed, had a bad dream, spent half the night coughing, or cried incessantly because they wanted to eat at four in the morning. I woke up feeling like a new woman… you know, normal! My smiles came a little easier that day, and my patience didn’t feel so forced.
It seems in the life of a baby it is two steps forward... four steps back when it comes to sleep. Once we start making progress, something always happens: daylight savings, a cold, teething…the list seems endless. I have even had fantasies of going to a hotel just to be able to sleep for eight hours in a row.

When I start to see double or have to wear sunglasses to cover my red-eye, I remember that this is only temporary. All of my older kids eventually sleep through the night most nights. If I ever feel tempted to fast-forward through this chapter of life, I am reminded of Erma Bombeck’s, “No More Oatmeal Kisses”.

Erma Bombeck is one of my best friends. I never actually met her, but she has encouraged me and helped me appreciate the humor in many of my mothering moments. If you haven’t read any of her work, I highly recommend, “Forever Erma”. I laughed, I cried, I cherished.

No More Oatmeal Kisses

One of these days you'll shout,

"Why don't you kids grow up and act your age!"

And they will.

Or, "You guys get outside and find yourselves something

to do...and don't slam the door!"

And they won't.

You'll straighten up the boys' bedroom neat and tidy:

bumper stickers discarded, bedspread tucked and smooth,

toys displayed on their shelves. Hangers in the closet.

Animals caged. And you'll say out loud, "Now I want it

to stay this way."

And it will.

You'll prepare a perfect dinner with a salad

that hasn't been picked to death and a cake

with no finger traces in the icing and you'll say,

Now there's a meal for company."

And you'll eat it alone.

You'll say, "I want complete privacy on the phone.

No dancing around. No demolition crews. Silence!

Do you hear?"

And you'll have it.

No more plastic tablecloths stained with spaghetti.

No more bedspreads to protect the sofa from damp bottoms.

No more gates to stumble over at the top of the basement steps.

No more clothespins under the sofa.

No more playpens to arrange a room around.

No more anxious nights under a vaporizer tent.

No more sand in the sheets or Popeye movies in the bathroom.

No more iron-on patches, rubber bands for ponytails,

tight boots or wet knotted shoestrings.

Imagine. A lipstick with a point on it.

No baby-sitter for New Year's Eve.

Washing only once a week.

Seeing a steak that isn't ground.

Having your teeth cleaned without a baby on your lap.

No PTA meetings.

No car pools.

No blaring radios.

No one washing her hair at 11 o'clock at night.

Having your own roll of Scotch tape.

Think about it.

No more Christmas presents out of toothpicks and library paste.

No more sloppy oatmeal kisses.

No more tooth fairy.

No giggles in the dark.

No knees to heal, no responsibility.

Only a voice crying, "Why don't you grow up?"

and the silence echoing,

"I did."

Erma Bombeck

And so this day, I am thankful for this hectic, crazy, full, sweet chapter of life. And I'm grateful for Erma Bombeck.

Gratitude

I just finished reading “Ten Prayers God Always Says Yes To”. Anthony DeStefano mentions things like, “God, show me that you exist”. “God, make me an instrument”. And “God, get me through this suffering.” He asserts that there are certain prayers that God always answers. I have one I think he should have added: “Lord, make me grateful."

When we seek gratitude, we will find it. We have so much for which to be thankful. What are some things that make you grateful? On the top of my list are my faith and the countless ways God shows me that He is with me and in charge, my four boys who bring so much joy to my life, and my husband who really is my best friend. I’m also grateful to be near family and friends, to have an amazing school for my older boys, and for so many other things I couldn't possibly name them all.

A few less significant things that illicit gratitude:

· Finding new music that I love… the latest is Ray LaMontagne thanks to my friend Cynthia

· Chinese take-out from our favorite place

· Watching my kindergartner learn to read

· A hot cup of coffee first thing in the morning

· Watching “Little House on The Prairie” (you know, the old 70s one with Michael Landon) with my husband while drinking a glass of wine

· Cheeks so chubby that they jiggle when my toddler runs

· My sons’ proud look

· A million other little surprises that grab my heart and make it grow in love and thanks

I must admit though, while I am abundantly blessed, I often don’t feel grateful. I take 99% of my blessings for granted.

Source: flipflopsandpearlsdesign.blogspot.com via Kate on Pinterest

As we approach Thanksgiving let us pray,

“Lord make us grateful.”

Recently I read “Happy Are You Poor” by Fr. Thomas Dubay. This is not a book I could easily recommend, unless you want to feel uncomfortable, very uncomfortable. Dubay proposes a level of radical detachment that is well beyond what I’ve ever desired or even witnessed. In fact, I probably never would have chosen to read this book on my own, but it ended up in my bathroom, and so I opened it. I wondered at first if it was my husband’s attempt to get me to spend less money, but my husband doesn’t have a conniving or manipulative bone in his body, so if he wanted me to spend less, he’d tell me.

Despite the challenge that Dubay proposes, and my fears of being called to live a simpler and less materialistic life, I couldn’t put this book down. The truths he presents are uncomfortable indeed, but somehow attractive at the same time. He promises a joy and peace that this world cannot offer. Well, actually it’s not Dubay that promises this, but Christ Himself. He also promises that if we embrace this call to detatchment, we can change the world. As St. Catherine of Siena says, “If you are what you are meant to be, you will set the world on fire”.

“If we wonder why, despite the millions of us who follow Christ, the world has not long ago been converted, we need not look far for one solution. We are not perceived as men on fire. We look too much like everyone else. We appear to be compromisers, people who say that they believe in everlasting life but actually live as though this life is the only one we have.”

Ouch. Ummm.... guilty as charged. Since I stay home and my husband works for the Church, I would say we live simpler than some, but in reality we do look an awful lot like everyone else. And I’m not sure I’m ready to look “different” or to let my sons look “different”. But as Dave Ramsey says, “Normal is broke.” Normal is often also empty.

“The wealthy are bored to death in the dullness of their cocktail parties. There is a sprinkle of pleasure here and there, and it is de rigueur to put on a brave front and a superficial smile, even though one feels the gnawing emptiness in his aching heart.”

A recent video clip of two famous movie stars makes the point well:

I love this clip because it illustrates both the emptiness that even the rich and famous experience as well as our need for God, not only for His forgiveness, but also to lift us up out of the mire, or to help us stop hugging the cactus, as the case may be.

“The worldling will not face his colossal inner blah. He multiplies experiences in an unending and desperate attempt to numb his spirit. It hurts so much not to have attained the very reason for his existence, an immersion in God, that he uses things as a narcotic. The worldling pursues prestige or comfort or wealth or sexual encounters not because they basically satisfy him (if they did, once would be enough) but because they dull his inner aching. Always and eventually he is faced with his personal failure. But the sight of it is so revolting and painful, he dives once again into the aspirin sea of frantic pursuits.

The saints know better. Having tasted the best, they know how to assess the least. Having drunk at the Fountain, they spend little time with the trickles.”

I can say that I have experienced both my “colossal inner blah” as well as the deep and abiding joy that comes from God alone. I suppose that is why this book resonated with me, despite myself. I know that “things” cannot bring me joy, yet I enjoy a thousand little luxuries everyday. And while I don’t feel ready to don camelhair or fast on bread and water, I do feel like maybe God would like me to find a few of those luxuries to do without.

Dubay reminds us that many of our efforts are really distractions. Living a simple detached life

“shouts reality into the ears of anyone willing to hear. It dissipates the tinselly illusions of marketing and advertising and consumerism. It declares that elegant dining and drinking, extensive wardrobes, expensive traveling and position, prestige, and pleasure seeking are really side issues, indeed, often impediments, to the main business of life.”

And so I find myself challenged. And uncomfortable. And a little guilty. But also inspired. Maybe I can recommend this book after all. As we prepare to enter the Christmas season, we need something to counter the “tinselly illusions of marketing and advertising”. Dubay offers a vision that is radical and demanding, but also beautiful and strangely reminiscent of the simple manger where our Savior was born.

It's The Little Things...

I’m doing a little experiment on the power of positive thinking. The past few weeks at least two of my children have been up every night. I’m tired. I’m worn out. I need a break. The problem is I keep telling myself this and I feel like I’m carrying around a fifty-pound weight of dread, resentment, and negativity. So, as I was nursing the baby in the middle of the night, I resolved to remind myself how lucky and blessed I am. (Nevermind that I promised never to make public resolutions again in my very last post!)

As I lied in bed the next morning, I tried to think positively. I am blessed. Listen to those four beautiful boys.

“I have to go potty”

“Can someone get me some cereal please?”

“Mom, what did you do with my uniform shorts?”

As I’m listening to the awaiting demands in my state of exhaustion, my “positive” voice sounded superficial and fake. Like the advertisers had gotten into my head. What were they trying to sell me? Oh yeah, my life. Why should I get out of bed when I really want to stay buried under the covers? It was the baby’s coo that got me up.

Just as my toast popped, my toddler said, “I have to go potty”. I started trying to think positively … look how he’s learning… think how much we’re saving on diapers. As I brought him some clean underwear and pants he squealed with delight, “Mater!” (a character from the movie Cars for my non-parenting friends). He was so happy to get his Mater underwear that his joy was contagious and I actually felt it too. How blessed I am to be able to give my son Mater underwear! J

Apparently it just takes a little while for gratitude to wake up too! Suddenly the positive voice in my head didn't feel so fake anymore.

Hormone-induced humility

Have you ever noticed that if you make a resolution, especially publically (like on a blog let’s say) that you are extraordinarily tested? My husband was probably wondering what happened to that nice woman who wrote that last blog promising to work on being peaceful and joyful. I can tell you exactly what happened to her in one scary but short word:

PMS.

(Okay technically it’s not a word, but an acronym...work with me)

Now some women seem to resist the notion that hormones affect them much at all. They are either:

a) very lucky

or

b) not very self-aware

I however am:

c) none of the above

I am generally speaking a fairly even-keeled rational adult. I’m not especially prone to tears or yelling. However throw a few hormones (or lack thereof) into the mix and I can turn into momzilla one second and a weeping slobbering mess the next.

Apparently, during the second half of a woman’s cycle there is an ample supply of progesterone, which is sometimes called “the happy hormone”. Happy indeed. It’s like a drug. Well, in my case, it actually was a drug at times. I’ve been on progesterone shots or cream for various reasons at different times, and I can testify that this hormone really does help you feel happy.

The problem is that as your cycle comes to an end, so does the supply of happiness, I mean, progesterone. Add to this a tired baby, a potty training two-year old, and a trip to the pharmacy and you have the perfect storm. After waiting in line at the pharmacy for 10 minutes, it's finally time for us to check out, and my two year old starts yelling, "I have to go poopy." This was his second attempt at the pharmacy alone and by this point I'm mumbling under gritted teeth, "even Mother Teresa herself would be frustrated!"

Enter humility lesson number one: I was not exactly an example of peace and joy the past few days. I’m sure glad I told the world I was working on that.

Lesson number two: don’t announce how you intend to eat healthy and moderately the day that your kids are literally bringing home buckets (and buckets, and buckets, and buckets) of candy. Yes my husband even had the baby trick-or-treating so that we could have some candy. Great. Thank you, honey.

From now on my public resolutions will involve things like… I hope to live a life of ease and luxury. I hope to pursue comfort and pleasure. J

Even though it is easy to give up on making changes and resolutions, I find encouragement in one of my favorite books, “Searching for and Maintaining Peace” by Father Jacques Philippe. He says,

“The first goal of spiritual combat, that toward which our efforts must above all else be directed, is not always to obtain a victory (over our temptations, our weaknesses, etc.) rather it is to learn to maintain peace of heart under all circumstances, even in the case of defeat.”

So I guess I’m back where I started, trying to maintain a spirit of peace… PMS and all. Blessed Mother Teresa, pray for me!

Great Expectations

In “Ten Habits of Happy Mothers” Dr. Meeker encouraged the reader to do a little exercise. On a sheet of paper, write down all the expectations that you place on yourself, reasonable or unreasonable: the things that you either do or consistently feel guilty about not doing. My list included everything from spending time in prayer daily to having plucked eyebrows, shaved legs, and painted toenails.

The list was so comprehensive and ridiculous, it made me realize why I sometimes feel overwhelmed and pulled in a thousand different directions.

Dr. Meeker then suggested writing an entirely new list with the deep desires of your heart. The things you really want to do…if time, money, or competing demands were not an issue. This list looked much different. She recommends throwing away the first list. Then pick the top three from second list and give yourself permission to focus only on those for the next several months and see what happens.

Now I can’t say that I’m doing exactly that… I can’t live in a pig sty with bushy eyebrows, but I am letting a few things go and trying to keep focused on my “Big Three”.

1) Pursue holiness… fan into flame a deep desire for God

2) Maintain a peaceful and joyful spirit

3) Change my eating habits to be healthier and more moderate

If I could master putting these things first, I think many of the other more mundane tasks that life gets cluttered up with, would fall into place.

I know that giving my kids clean clothes and meals to eat is important and a way of showing my love for them. I know that my husband appreciates not having something crunch under his feet when walking on the kitchen floor, but I also know that my family is happiest if I am maintaining a spirit of peace and joy instead of running around like a chicken with my head cut off enslaved to my never-shrinking-always-growing “to do” list.

The Scripture passage of Martha and Mary has always spoken to me. I have always been a “go-getter,” a “do-er”, a Martha. And God has shown me over and over again how important it is to take time to sit at His feet. I realized recently that sometimes I tend to be a Martha around my house too. I'm constantly (often also futilely) attempting to get stuff done. But just as it is important to sit at Jesus’ feet and soak in His love and goodness, I too should sit at the feet of my children and soak in their adorable innocence and cherish this time that will go by too fast.

Secrets

I just finished reading Dr. Meg Meeker’s “Ten Habits of Happy Mothers”. It’s a good book and it reminded me of some truths that I know somewhere deep down, but sometimes forget. She reminded me to live simply, to prioritize friendship, and not to compete with those around me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about competition, especially among women. Why do we compare ourselves with others and size one another up? I think it’s more than just wanting to have the bigger fish.

I don’t think it’s about feeding our ego. Mostly I think we’re looking for some secret that we really believe other women have figured out to make life easier. When we compare ourselves with others, I think we are really crying out, “What do you know that I don’t?”

Someone recently asked me “What’s your secret?” I’m sure if she actually knew my secrets, (coffee, wine, and increasing the tv threshold for the older kids with each new baby) she wouldn’t have asked. I was kind of taken aback because, although I’m eight years into this motherhood thing, I still feel like I’m just figuring things out. Me? Have answers? Wisdom? Secrets? I can’t remember what I said (probably something to make it sound like I had my act together), but I left wondering what secrets other moms had that might be of help to me.

A few days or weeks later, I had a conversation with a friend who just had her first baby. She was asking me all sorts of questions and I briefly went back in my mind and heart to those first months (and even years) as a mother

and I realized I have learned a thing or two along the way.

I’ve learned to expect it to take a half hour from the time you say you’re going to leave to actually get out the door. I’ve learned that it’s not just the baby who needs a change of clothes in the minivan.

I’ve learned that no book or blog or friend (or gorgeous put-together supermom friend that I’m comparing myself to) can tell me how to best mother. I’ve learned to trust my gut.

I didn’t even have to refer to a book or the internet this time when my fourth baby started solids. Doesn’t that deserve a gold star or something?

I’ve learned not to be judgemental because I’ve done a lot of things I swore I never would.

(case in point... notice both the gun and the Bronco's shirt)

I’ve learned to bribe your two year old to use the potty. I’ve learned that, like all things worth doing, motherhood can be hard, messy and exhausting. But I’ve also learned that there is nothing I’d rather be doing.

Home Economics

In my last post I wrote about how I sometimes feel unsuccessful in my life as a wife and mother. I should clarify. In economics (that was my minor in college), they separate Macroeconomics from Microeconomics. Well, I think in motherhood it helps to think in terms of Macromothering and Micromothering.

I feel fairly successful in the Macromothering of life. My children are good kids. They know they are loved. They are nourished well physically, spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually. They have a safe place where both parents adore them, and they have each other.

It’s the area of Micromothering where I feel challenged. Like when I spent the last hour mopping the floor just to have my son pee all over it (while I’m on hold with the utility company). Like when my second grader has to explain to his teacher that his mom had the sprinkler set up wrong and that’s why his homework has watermarks all over it. (The day after he had to explain that his two year old brother painted with water colors all over his map.) It’s the little moments when I feel stretched and not enough and inadequate at the tasks before me. It’s when I lose my patience and “toss” the monster truck that I’ve stepped over a hundred times out of my way with a little extra force.

These are the moments when I am humbled. When I wish I was the person I’d envisioned I’d be when Keith and I first got married. You know, kind of a mix between Carolyn Ingalls from Little House on the Prairie, and Clair Huxtable. I thought I would be the epitome of patience, love, and put-togetherness.

The good news is that

“love covers a multitude of sins.”

Even though I occasionally lose it or feel like I can’t keep up, I love. And that might be the most important gift of all.

Free to Be…. Me?

I was at Church a few weeks ago and the priest was encouraging us to think of our gifts and talents. When he asked, “What are you good at?" sadly my first thought was “Ummm…. Facebook posts”. It’s not that God forgot me in the gifts and talents department, it’s just that being a stay home mom, it’s so hard to feel successful. If I have a great day being present to my kids and playing with them and teaching them important life lessons (like how to use a whoopee cushion)…then the house is a pig sty, the laundry is piled higher than Mt. Everest, and there is nothing to eat. On the other hand, if I clean the house all day, fold ten loads of laundry, and cook a nutritious gourmet dinner (okay hamburger helper), then my children are feeling neglected in between the orders I’m barking at them (Put your shoes away! Clean up the train tracks! Can someone please help the baby?!?!)

This was a very hard reality for me at first. I had felt fairly successful in my life prior to motherhood. And anything I wasn’t good at (like when I tried to play t-ball for the first time in first grade) I just quit. So here I was a new mom and I couldn’t just pick a different game.

The guilt that accompanies motherhood can be crippling. I know that guilt can be a good thing and serve a good purpose to show me when I’m off track in some way, but it also can eat away at my joy and rob me of my peace if I let it. This is where prayer can really help. God shows me which guilt is really my soul crying out for a change and which guilt is just ridiculous expectations that I’ve heaped upon myself. Often it is because I am comparing myself with some idealistic perception I have of someone else. Suzie’s house is always so immaculate. Sally is so organized. Jane works out everyday and wears a size 6.

Through prayer God helps me see what He is calling me to be. Of course I won’t feel successful if I am trying to be someone else. Especially if I’m trying to be everyone else. In the words of John Henry Newman,

“God has created me to do him some definite service; he has committed some work to me which he has not committed to another. I have my mission - I may never know it in this life, but I shall be told it in the next... I have a part in a great work; I am a link in a chain, a bond of connection between persons..."

God wants me to be myself! How freeing! If I just need to be me, I can do that! As my dad says, “know what makes you great and do it on purpose.”

The quest and challenge is to be the best version of myself that I can be. … but we’ll save that for another blog…