The Mama I’m Not

I am writing this blog from the quiet of my couch on Mother’s Day. Quiet is such a luxury right now as we are officially two months into the COVID-19 quarantine. Honestly, it’s so rare these days that I don’t really know what to do when it happens. Do I read my book? Do I clean the house? Do I take a nap? Do I literally just sit and listen to the quiet? My family, like so many others, has spent the last couple of months at home, together, and while I love being “together,” I’m also ready to…..er…..not be together quite so much. If I’ve learned anything during this strange time it’s that absence truly does make the heart grow fonder.

And yet, when I think back to the moments of my life that defined me and shaped me the most – it wasn’t usually moments when things were going really well. It was times when I was pushed beyond what I thought I could handle. Motherhood is filled with those moments – the first few months where you’re not sure if you’ll survive another day without sleep; the first time your kid gets badly hurt or really sick and you have to make decisions about what to do; when you have to make a decision about childcare. It’s why motherhood is such a defining experience – we constantly face challenges that force us to examine who we are and also, sometimes, who we’re not.

When this whole pandemic started, I did what every sane mother did. I grasped at any stray comfort from normal life that I could find – one of which is social media. The idea of a mandated “stay at home” order felt very isolating and I needed to know how others were handling this uncharted time. Instead of comfort, what I found was a bombardment of “ideas” and “ways to make this time more engaging for your child.” People were posting pictures of their children making nature preserves out of shoeboxes. Church was sending home videos for the kids to watch. Ellie’s school was emailing lesson plans and Zoom meetings. The neighborhood community center encouraged us to decorate our doors and hide teddy bears in the windows. Commercials on T.V. sent messages of hope – that we’re all in this together and that we should feel so privileged to have this special time at home with our families.

I’m going to stop for a second and say that the effort and motivation behind all of this is pure and beautiful and I feel incredibly thankful for friends who have reached out and for a community who wants to make this fun. But it very quickly felt suffocating. I began to feel “lesser than” because my reality didn’t look at all like those pictures. With two working parents and two children under the age of 5, my days were literally a success if everyone was fed, clothed, and living by the end of the day. About two weeks into this ordeal, I reached a breaking point. I honestly cannot remember the last time this happened to me. If you know me, you know that I’m a pretty chill person who doesn’t get rattled easily, but this thing sort of broke me. I started crying every day, yelling at my kids for no reason, and feeling like I was failing at my job. I needed to walk away for a minute. So, I packed a week’s worth of clothes, loaded the kids into the van, and headed to the place where I knew I could find a bit of peace – home. I spent the week watching my kids play in the open air, drinking coffee with my sister on the porch, talking to my own mama, and thinking a lot about who I am as a mom and perhaps more importantly, who I’m not.

Like many, I have this idea in my mind of what a great mom looks like. She’s put together, but doesn’t look like she tries too hard. Her art supply cabinet is perfectly organized with everything from glitter to markers that actually work. When she takes her kids to the park, she plays tag or soccer with them instead of sipping her coffee on the bench. She only feeds her kids organic and never lets them watch more than an hour of television a day. Even though I know this mom doesn’t actually exist, in my mind she does and I spend so much time and energy trying to achieve this ideal and feeling guilty when I fall short that I completely lose sight of the beautiful giftings that God has given to me.

In her beautiful masterpiece, Daring Greatly, Brene Brown says,

“Owning our story can be hard but not nearly as difficult as spending our lives running from it. Embracing our vulnerabilities is risky but not nearly as dangerous as giving up on love and belonging and joy—the experiences that make us the most vulnerable. Only when we are brave enough to explore the darkness will we discover the infinite power of our light.”

Like most people, mamas especially, I live in fear that I somehow won’t measure up or that I’ll fail my children if I don’t meet the unrealistic expectations I set for myself. I lose sight of what really matters. Children need to feel love. That’s it. They don’t need intricate art projects or fancy vacations or expensive toys. Those things are nice, but they aren’t the point. I too often forget that God knew me before He formed me and that before I was born He set me apart. I forget that He knows my children and gave them to me on purpose. And I forget that my shortfalls and weaknesses are there for a reason – so that I won’t lean on my own understanding, but would fall on my knees and ask for help from above. God does not measure me against these pictures of the perfect mother that I’ve painted in my mind, so why do I?

Today was a beautiful day, but in late afternoon, it stormed. We woke Owen up from his nap just as the storm clouds were parting and the sun began to shine. Owen wanted so badly to go outside, but I kept insisting that it was too wet and we shouldn’t. Then I thought about it – why not just let them go outside and jump in puddles? So I put them in some old clothes, threw some waterproof shoes on them and took them out to play. The pure joy in their giggles as they competed to make the biggest splash was the best Mother’s Day present I could ask for.

I’m not the kind of mama who organizes nature hikes. I’m not the kind of mama who does organized crafts with her kids or who plants avocado seeds to see what happens. I’m not always great at schedules and I can’t remember the last time Ellie let me brush her hair.

But I am the kind of mama who lets her kids jump in puddles after a rain storm.

I’m working on being okay with all the things I’m not and acknowledging that my kids don’t need a perfect mama, they just need their mama.

The Dinnertime Saga

Before I had children, I used to imagine what my family would look like. That fantasy often revolved around a table. It’s probably because so many of my favorite memories from my own childhood exist around a dinner table. I’ve always believed that some of the most meaningful moments in life take place in the simplest of circumstances –  all you really need is good food and good people. When I imagined my own family’s table, I imagined a place to unwind after a long day, kids laughing as they slurp spaghetti into their mouths, lingering for a while over dessert or a board game.

I’m going to be honest with you. This is not what my family dinner table looks like.

With a four year old and a two year old, my dinner table is usually more like a war zone. The evening usually starts with my husband trying to peel my screaming two year old off of my leg so I can pull a hot pan out of the oven. I dish everyone’s plates and finally get everyone seated when the 4 year old announces she needs to poop. I’m not kidding you guys. Every. Single. Night. At two years old, Owen is a loose canon at the table. Some nights, he eats every bite of the orange glazed salmon. Some nights, he won’t even dip the chicken finger in the ketchup. Tonight he mixed a whole container of yogurt into his casserole, refused to eat it, and announced that he was “done.” We don’t usually go to battle with him – he’s very strong-willed and it’s usually a battle that is not worth fighting. I recently listened to a podcast that talked about how before two, children eat, they don’t dine, so it’s okay if they’re not a picture of grace and dignity at the table.

When Ellie returns to the table, we say a blessing (which is my favorite part of the evening. Is there anything cuter than toddlers talking to Jesus?!) Ellie usually eats whatever fruit is on her plate and then asks if she can color. At this point, we have to make a decision. Are we going to battle her to eat? Are we going to let her be done and go play, allowing her to return in a few hours? Are we going to set her in our lap and spoon feed her? Are we going to bribe her to eat with the promise of treats?

The truth is that I often dread dinnertime. It rarely goes smoothly and after a long day, it is often where I have the least amount of patience for my children. I spend a lot of time thinking and planning for what I’m going to feed my family every week and while I truly enjoy cooking, it’s also a lot of work. It can feel disappointing and frustrating when something that I prepared special for my children is refused or when an attempt to get some real nutrients into them fails miserably. I should not really be complaining – comparatively speaking, my children are actually pretty adventurous eaters for their age. Ellie won’t eat everything I prepare, but she will try most things and she actually prefers things like bell peppers and hummus to a cheeseburger. We never know what Owen is going to eat, but the promise of some form of “dip-dip” often does the trick to get him to try and he will slurp down a green smoothie like it’s his job. The problem is getting them to actually sit at the dinner table and have a meal without all the theatrics.

I have been thinking a lot about this time of day and why it is such a source of struggle. I think that part of the problem is that I’m focused so much on the end result of what I want my family dinner table to look like and forgot that toddlers aren’t born knowing table manners. We’re going to actually have to teach them. Ughhhh. It’s the crux of parenting, right?

But an even bigger problem than my own unrealistic expectations is a lack of clarity of my meal time values. I know what I want to teach my children about food and meal times, but my actions and words around that table often don’t match what I value.

•  I want my children to regulate their own eating, but I forget that children, even more than most adults, are very good at managing their own hunger cues. The expectation that they finish their plates every night may not be a realistic or healthy goal, and yet I’m often guilty of badgering, and even bribing them to do so.
• I want my children to try new foods and flavors and yet I don’t always offer believing that they will probably be refused. The other day, Ellie asked me why Owen doesn’t have strawberries on his plate. “He doesn’t like them,” I replied. But as I thought more about that, I realized that the last few times I have given him strawberries, he did not eat them, so I stopped offering….but if I never offer strawberries to him, he may grow up believing he doesn’t like them. At these ages, I should just keep offering knowing that their tastes and moods change constantly.
• I want my children to learn moderation and have a healthy relationship with food. I want to teach them about healthy foods and nourishing their bodies, but I also want to teach them the splendor of brownie sundaes. If I’m constantly using sweets as bribes, they may come to associate them as taboo or something that has to be earned and I don’t want to set them up now for unhealthy ideas about food or their bodies.
• And finally, I want my dinner table to be a place of peace and rest and safety. I want it to be a place that my children look forward to and not a place that they dread. I know that we are planting seeds now and that if we continue to fight the good fight, we will reap fruit in the years to come.

I have been working hard over the past few months to change some of my actions to better reflect my dinner-time values. It’s so difficult to change, especially when you’ve been doing something one way for so long.

But if I want my table to be a place of solace, I need to stop making it into a battleground.

For now, our only hard and fast rule is that everyone has to sit down together at the table. There are no distractions – no coloring books, no phones, no television. We really encourage the kids to try everything on their plate – sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn’t. I’m completely open to serving things differently to my children so they will eat it. Last week, I made pulled pork, but I knew Ellie wouldn’t eat it as a sandwich, so I put hers in a taco with all her taco fixings. She gobbled it. We have stopped saying things like, “If you finish your broccoli you can have a sucker.” If Ellie is eating well, I will sit with her until she is done eating. If she’s distracted and clearly not very hungry, I’ll excuse her to go play and she can come back to finish later. Sometimes she does, sometimes she doesn’t. And if we made brownies, everyone gets a little piece. This is the hardest one for me -it is so ingrained in me that dessert needs to be earned. But sometimes we have to realize that our own ways of thinking or the way we were brought up is not necessarily how we want to raise our children and we have to rework our brains to think differently. It’s a work in progress.

I’m hopeful that one day my dinner table will look like a Norman Rockwell painting.

For now, it’s smeared with yogurt and ketchup and mayhem.

Finding Myself in the Midst of Motherhood // Resolutions for a New Year

I’m usually not much of a New Year’s resolution person. I live a life of moderation – I eat kale, but I also eat full fat dairy. I work, but I also stay home a few days a week. I watch a little TV, scroll Instagram a few times a day, and on days when my kids are particularly trying, I end my day with a glass of wine on the couch with my husband. My life feels pretty balanced most of the time. Resolutions in a traditional sense have always felt a bit extreme to me. I know myself well enough at this point to know that I’ll never stick to a diet or an exercise routine, so why set myself up to fail?

This year feels a little different. I’m not sure if it’s the fact that it’s a new decade or that my husband and I have been married nearly 10 years or if I’m just entering a new season of life, but I can feel this stirring inside that I cannot ignore. My children are almost 5 and 2 and now regularly play independently without needing my undivided attention. Ellie is getting ready to start Kindergarten and Owen will likely start preschool next year. I’m in a place where for the first time in half a decade, I have a little time for myself. The problem is that I am not really sure I can remember who I am or what brings me joy outside of being a mama.

What I’m beginning to fear is losing myself in the midst of motherhood. I don’t want to wake up one day and realize that I spent 20 years of my life packing lunches and driving kids to school and cheering on sports games and that I lost myself somewhere in the process. Motherhood is a huge part of my identity, but it is not my sole identity. And yet I’ve noticed a pattern over the last 5 years or so. When “free time” presents itself, I’m much more apt to clean the house, fold a basket of laundry, turn on the T.V. or scroll social media – none of which bring me joy. These things are anesthetizing. Motherhood is so exhausting that I often find that when I find a moment to myself, I want to numb out. This is what has been gnawing at me and where I feel a rumbling to change.

This didn’t miraculously come about with the turning of the new year – it’s something that I’ve been thinking about for a long time. I started a Bible study this year that is different than so many other Bible studies I have done. For the first time in my life, I’m beginning to prioritize and even yearn for quiet moments with God. I started a routine of getting up 30 minutes before the rest of my house to spend some time sipping coffee and talking to God. I’ve seen how making a small change to my daily routine can affect me in such a deep way and I think that’s really how it starts.

My husband is the king of hobbies. After the kids go to bed, he’ll often head outside to work on one of his antique cars or he’ll use a nap-time to refinish a piece of furniture. I often envy him – he knows exactly what brings him joy and he has found ways to still make time for those things. He’s no less active in the lives of our children or in keeping up with the house than I am and yet he has these wonderful hobbies that keep him learning and keep him busy. That’s what I feel like I’m missing.

I’ve been thinking a lot about the things that brought me joy before I had kids – and really that still bring me joy when I make time and space for them in my life. I love to cook, I love to write, I love to spend time with my friends, and I love to do yoga. Many of these things are simple and there are practical ways to incorporate them into my daily life, but to be honest, parenthood has stolen a lot of the joy I used to get from these hobbies. What I love about yoga is a dark room where I can breathe and focus and connect. That’s lost when trying to fit in a quick yoga practice in the living room during nap-time. What I love about cooking is the opportunity to be creative and experiment with new flavors. I really love to cook for other people, but unfortunately, the humans I cook for everyday often don’t appreciate “new flavors” and either have to be bribed to eat it or require a vat of ketchup. Much of my time spent with friends has become playdates where conversations are interrupted with toddler pleas for help in the bathroom or breaking up a fight over a Magna Tile. And at the end of a long day of keeping humans alive, I often feel tired, drained, and uninspired to write. I don’t say any of this to sound pessimistic or ungrateful, but I think it’s important to consider the root of what’s keeping you from the things that you love so you can actually address them. That’s where I am now.

I don’t expect to fix this overnight, but I know that if I don’t begin making small changes now, I could wake up one day and realize there’s not much “me” left. Some of these hobbies fit into some of my longer-term goals like writing a book and becoming certified to teach yoga. If I don’t start prioritizing these things now, I may never see these goals realized. I’m not just doing this for me, I’m doing it for my children. I want them to see their mom as more than mom. I want them to know that I value myself as much as I value them. And so I’m going to try to start spending less time watching T.V. and scrolling Facebook and start writing more (look for more regular blogs!). I’m going to use Christmas money on yoga classes instead of new clothes I don’t need. I’m going to start cooking new recipes every week, even if no one else will eat it (more leftovers for me, right?!). And I’m going to start prioritizing time with my friends – even if it means just a phone call after kids are in bed.

I’m going to try to find myself again.

Can you relate? What did you used to love doing before you were a parent? Has parenthood stolen some of that joy? Have you figured out strategies to bring those things back to your life? I’d love to hear from you!

 

 

Raise ‘Em Up: Equipping Children for Adulthood in the Age of Lawnmower Parenting

As an academic advisor at a large community college, I’ve noticed a strange phenomenon. More and more of my students are coming to their advising appointments with their parents. I have no problem if a student wants to bring their parents, but what’s concerning is that often when mom or dad is present, the student is not the one asking the questions or leading the appointment. Time and time again, I see parents who have done hours of research on our nursing program and have a laundry list of questions and concerns while the student sits silently beside. I honestly don’t even know if the student really wants to be a nurse or is just happy mom picked a major so she didn’t have to! As someone who believes that 18 year olds should be making their own life decisions, I try to direct as much of my advising directly to the student, but it’s difficult sometimes when the parent is the one leading the appointment. I’m left awkwardly shifting eye contact and trying to get the student to take a bit of ownership. This is not how my family did college exploration. When I enrolled for my first year of college, they drove me down for orientation and dropped me off at the door. Was I scared? Of course I was. Now as a parent myself, I can also acknowledge that my own fears and anxieties probably paled in comparison to theirs. But they did it anyway. And you know what? I figured it out. I sat down in the big auditorium where I knew no one, I went on the tour and scheduled for classes. And I’m so glad that I did. My parents knew what so many parents these days do so poorly – that their job was to raise an adult and that part of that process means slowly and surely letting go.

It is hard to be a parent these days. I’m sure this is the same sentiment my parents had while raising us and their parents had and their parents had. From the moment we find out that we are expecting a child, something inside of us changes. We are no longer simply responsible for our own outcomes, but the lives of other humans. That’s so much pressure! I’m not sure that I worry any more or less than my mom worried or her mom worried, but somehow parenting in today’s American culture feels like so much pressure. Our pastor used a term in his sermon this week that’s sort of been haunting me and making me evaluate everything I think about good parenting. He said there’s a new trend in parenting that’s replacing the dreaded “helicopter parent.”

Lawn mower parenting.

These are parents who instead of preparing their child for the road, walk in front of their children to make sure that the road is clear of all harm, obstructions, and difficulties. Essentially, a lawn mower parent tries to make life as easy and smooth as possible for their children.

Whoa.

At first, I laughed at this notion, but the more that I thought about it, the more that I realized that it’s true. This is what I’m seeing in my office day after day. Parents who have spent the last 18 or more years of their child’s life clearing the road, setting them up for success, going to bat for them, and ensuring they are safe and protected and they have no idea how to stop. Or they are measuring their own success as a parent on the successes of their children and they have no idea who they are anymore.

But what if we’re getting it wrong? What if by protecting our children from harm, we’re preventing them from learning, growing, and developing into the adults we hope they will be?

I think that the media plays a huge part in why we hover and why we are so terrified that something horrific is going to happen to our children. Never has information been so readily available to us and I think it’s harming our perceptions of the world. Statistics show that for middle/upper-middle class children, this country has never been safer. But I can spend less than 5 minutes scrolling through Facebook and see a news story that a child broke her femur at one of those Skyzone places or a post shared by a friend whose kid choked on a grape while snacking at the zoo. Then someone on the neighborhood app could post that a suspicious van was circling the neighborhood park today or that someone wasn’t going the speed limit through the school zone and almost hit a first grader. Ya’ll, in a matter of one social media visit, I’ve now added crosswalks, trampolines, and grapes that aren’t cut in half  to my list of things my children are never allowed to do by themselves. It’s no wonder this country has an anxiety problem.

Go to any playground in America and you’ll find one of two kinds of parents – the ones who are glued to their smart phones, using the playground as a distraction for their children so they can have a much needed break {don’t judge them. Sometimes mama needs a minute}. And the ones who are on their children’s tails – making certain that they are only going down, not up, the slide, not stepping in front of someone on the swings, being kind and sharing their shovel, and are adequately hydrated. This is a small example, but really represents what I see pretty much everywhere I go. And I’m not judging at all. I’m right there with them.  There are times when I’m at the park with my children and I see them encounter a conflict. I want so badly to be the parent who lets her kids figure it out {and sometimes I do}, but it’s also hard to be that parent when you’re living in a culture of other lawn mower parents. If the other child’s parent steps in, sometimes I do also, just to avoid the judgement of other moms at the park.

All of us who are in the thick of parenting are doing the best that we can with what we know. We all want the best for our children. But I think we also want our children to grow up, fall in love, find a job they love, become financially independent, and find happiness and I think that all of those things depend on a person’s ability to face some adversity and hardship and confront it with perseverance, grit, and grace. How are they going to learn those things if we spend their entire childhoods figuring it out for them? I’ll be the first to admit that I hate to see my children struggle. It’s the worst. But I also think back to my own life and what led me to where I am, and many of the most important lessons I learned were ones where I faced some hardship or criticism and I had to figure out how to get to get through it. I think this may be the root of so many of the issues society faces today – high divorce rates, dissatisfaction at work, adults living with their parents. We aren’t equipped for it.

It is my job as their mom to help them to develop independence to become self-sufficient humans. Yes, it’s easier and less messy if we always put their shoes on for them and fix their lunch and make their bed and wipe their bottom. And we can ease some of our fears and anxieties if we are always outside with them while they play or we walk with them to school everyday or put a GPS tracker on them and make them text us when they get somewhere. But preparing children to be adults is not about our comfort. It’s about equipping them with the skills to do it themselves, even if it’s hard or takes time or causes us to face some of our fears as a parent.

So how do we equip our kids for the road? I’m not completely sure. What I do know is that hovering, worrying, and solving every problem for them is not the answer. It’s going to be messy and uncomfortable and might require that I do things a little differently than what I see other moms doing. It’s going to take seeing my kids in pain sometimes, which really sucks. It’s going to mean letting my kids make mistakes and not always fixing it for them. It’s going to mean that I have to learn how to deal with my own fears and anxieties and get to a place where I don’t allow them to hold my kids back from living the life they were meant to live.

And it’s going to mean praying every single day that God would help me to get out of my own way.

Many of the themes and ideas in this article were gained by reading How to Raise an Adult by Julie Lythcott-Haims. If any of this resonates with you, I recommend that you read it. A lot was also inspired through the teachings of our church’s lead pastor Charlie McMahan. 

Behold {Being More Present}

Ellie started preschool this fall – a huge rite of passage for our first baby. It seems surreal that she’s old enough to be going to school, but she’s thriving and I’m loving a little extra free time a couple mornings a week to dote a little extra love and attention on little man. A few weeks ago, Ellie’s preschool invited all of the families to a Thanksgiving feast. The program opened with all of the kids on stage singing songs about all they are thankful for. I knew she’d been practicing these songs, but what I did not see coming was this rush of emotions seeing her up there singing a song she’d memorized with all of her sweet little friends. Ya’ll, I bawled like a baby. When they began their songs, I did what every good millennial parent does – I got my phone out, put it on video mode, and began recording. I glanced up at Ellie, over the lens of my phone and found my sweet little 3 year old beaming right at me. She was so proud and wanted to make sure I was watching her. And you know what I felt in that moment? Guilt. Here I am witnessing this beautiful little moment in time and rather than being truly present, I’m watching her sing through the lens of my video camera. After the first song, I put my phone in my pocket and I just watched her for the rest of the program. And you know what? It was so moving to just stand there and be in the moment with her, not worrying about zooming in or the video lighting or which sites I was going to post the video to later so all my friends could see.

As I looked around that room at all the parents beaming at their children behind the screens of their phones, it was like something in my mind shifted. I’m no better than any one of them – my gut is the same – I got my phone out too. But as I saw Ellie searching for my eyes, I started to ask myself “why?” Am I worried that if it’s not recorded on my phone that it won’t matter? Am I so concerned about the future that I’m missing the present?

Our church just started a wonderful sermon series called “The Beholders.” That’s a term we don’t use much these days, but the Bible uses it a lot – in fact the word behold is used more than 600 times in the King James version. The word simply means to be present. Open your eyes. Feel. Pay attention. Not only do we not use the word very often anymore, I also think we live in a time and place that’s so full of distractions that we don’t practice it very well anymore either.  To behold means you have to slow down, something so many of us struggle to do (myself included). As a mama, I know that childhood is fleeting and that every day that I have with my babies is a precious gift, but the truth is that not every moment (or even every day) feels like a blessing. Motherhood is full of lots of moments that are boring, frustrating, or even painful – especially this time of year as the weather begins to get cold, illnesses become rampant, and days can feel so long. Sometimes I don’t want to be present, I just want it to be nap time. And yet every day brings with it moments of clarity and moments to treasure. They’re not always big or life-changing, but they’re beautiful all the same and we miss them if we’re not paying attention. This morning we woke up to the first snow of the season. Owen was born in October, so while he “witnessed” snow last year, he certainly wasn’t old enough to understand it. Ellie was so excited to get out and play in it, so the first thing we did after breakfast is get bundled up and head out to the back yard. Bundling two toddlers is no simple feat – there’s snow suits, coats, hats, boots, and gloves (which they can never get on correctly). By the time they were ready, they looked like the Michelin man and I was already exhausted. Ellie cried because we couldn’t find the right hat. I had to chase Owen all over the living room just to get him dressed. By the time we got outside, I was ready to be done. But then I set Owen down in the fresh snow and he began to giggle. Ellie made a snow angel. We tried to build a snowman. And I got to watch a child learn what show is for the first time in his conscious memory. It was the perfect example of a beautiful moment stuck right in the middle of an incredibly frustrating parenting task.

As I sit here writing to you today, I’m looking at my beautiful Christmas tree. I love this time of year – especially as a mama. Each year becomes more and more magical as the kids grow. This year Ellie helped me decorate the tree (and Owen helped me “un”-decorate it). We’ll bake Christmas cookies and put milk and cookies out for Santa. And I know I’m going to want to document it all. I’ll want to remember what Ellie’s face looked like when she sees the “Elsa” bike we got her. I’ll want to remember how Owen screamed bloody murder when we sat him down on a stranger in a red suit’s lap. I’ll want to remember how it feels to hold my husband’s hand in church as we worship the newborn king. But rather than fumbling with my phone or worrying about it all being how I picture it in my mind, I’m going to try to just open my eyes, cement it in my memory, and try to remember what it really feels like to be completely present without worrying about the future.

I’m going to try to behold. I hope you’ll do the same.

From our house to yours, I wish you the very merriest Christmas.

And the angel said unto them, fear not, for behold, I bring you tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. 

10 Potty Training Tricks {I wish someone had told me}

Picture this: Our family is up in Michigan enjoying a wonderful getaway weekend. We go up every fall to visit the Henry Ford Museum and go to the annual old car festival. It’s a beautiful fall day and we’re all having a wonderful time – until we’re not. Anyone who’s a parent knows the moment. The moment when “I’m starving” and “I should have laid down for a nap hours ago” collide into a beautiful, weepy mess. At 8 1/2 months pregnant, this moment hit for Ellie and I both around the same time. I suggested that I take her back to the hotel for a few hours to sleep and then we would rejoin the group later in the evening. I took El out to the car when she promptly announces that she needs to go potty. We’d been potty training for about 3 months at this point and she was getting pretty good at making it without an accident, but we got in the habit of keeping a small child’s potty in the back of the van for just such occasions. We made it out to the van, I opened up the trunk, pulled down her pants, and set her up in her own private “throne” in the middle of the museum parking lot. Usually it’s a quick pee, wipe, dump it in the grass, and go sort of a deal….but as luck would have it, somewhere between the corndog we let her eat for lunch and the endless snacks we let her have in the car collided into a 30 minute explosive pooping session in the back of the minivan.

These are the moments that define us as parents.

What can you even do except laugh when things like this happen? The worst part? You can’t just dump human feces in the mulch like you can pee. So, I had to drive across town to the hotel with sloshing poo in the back of mycar on a beautiful 85 degree day and then try to carry it into the hotel room without anyone noticing I’m literally toting a toilet full of crap.

With a three year old and an 8 month old, I live in a world of poop. Even though the 3 year old successfully puts hers into the potty, she’s still not savvy enough to get herself clean. Sometimes it feels like all I do is wipe bottoms. I dream of the day when mine is the only bottom I’m in charge of and I no longer have to ask the question, “Do you have to go potty?” 25 times an hour or play Russian roulette with my 8 month old little boy every time I change his diaper. But today is not that day.

We started potty training Ellie right after her second birthday. She had been showing signs that she was ready for months – telling me she went to the bathroom in her diaper, watching intently when I used the bathroom, asking to sit on the potty. Truth be told, the person who wasn’t ready was me. I knew that I was going to need to set aside several days where we didn’t go anywhere and just focused on the task at hand. As a working mama, I worried that we would make progress for the couple of days I’m home with her, but then I’d have to send her to childcare and she’d regress. Plus it didn’t seem right to make potty training my child someone else’s problem. I also like to be active and go do things with my kids. The idea that I’d need to stay home for several days without going to the park or the grocery store felt overwhelming. And honestly, even after reading several books and scouring blogs, I still felt ill prepared for how best to potty train her.

In the end, I bought it all. I bought the little seat. I bought the tiny duck potty that quacks when liquid hits the bottom. I let her pick out “Elsa panties,” but also bought the plastic covers too. I got thicker “training pants.” We got Pull Ups with her favorite cartoon characters. I made a sticker chart. We filled the candy dish with M&M’s. In true Meghan fashion, we were prepared.

In the end, it really wasn’t as bad as I had imagined it in my head. We stayed home for a few days, Ellie ran around without pants on (which she loved), and slowly but surely, she learned. Did we have accidents? All the time! Even 12 months later, she still has an accident every so often. But what I discovered is that’s really the worst of it. Just like any other major childhood transition, it’s always a lot scarier and harder in your head than in reality.

If anyone would like to hash out the details of the steps we used to potty train Ellie, I’d be happy to sit over coffee and laugh about this “fun” parenting milestone. But every kid is different, so instead of boring you with the step by step process we used, I’ve compiled a list of some potty training “hacks” and tips we’ve learned along the way.

1. If you’re thinking about potty training, but are afraid to start, look at your calendar, pick a week (or weekend) where you have little planned and can stay home, and write it on the calendar. For me, this wasthe hardest step. Then hold yourself to that date.
2. Throw a tiny potty in the back of your car and just keep it there. A lot of places have restrooms readily available, but parks often do not. Even if you’re sloshing poop down a hotel hallway and hoping no one notices, you’ll be glad you have it.
3. Put a package of Post It notes in your diaper bag. Ellie didn’t have much trouble going to the bathroom in public, but often got scared of the automatic flushers if it flushed while she was sitting there. A quick post it in front of the sensor does the trick.
4. Let your child pick out some fun stickers at the store and then give them one each time they successfully use (or in the beginning, try) the potty. If you buy a tiny potty, let your child “decorate” it with the stickers rather than using a potty chart. For Ellie, this was much more fun than sticking stickers on a piece of paper and then it made the potty “hers,” so she was more excited to use it. Win-win.
5. Buy way more M&M’s than you think you’ll need. For every one your child eats, you’ll need at least 5. And while you’re at it, stock the fridge with pouches that contain prune. And wine for at the end of the day when you sit on the couch and wonder what the hell you were thinking.
6. If you buy the plastic pants to go over your kid’s underwear, buy a size smaller than they’re marked. In my experience, those things run huge. I didn’t like them at all and never actually used them, but I have friends who love them.
7. Bring spare pants, underwear, and bribes everywhere you go. Put them in the glovebox of the car too. For the first few weeks, I also brought along a hand towel. You just never know when your child is going to urinate all over the floor in the checkout line at the grocery store.
8. We bought the tiny seat that you set on the adult toilet and found it to be helpful, especially when she needed to go #2 and was going to be sitting for a while. What I didn’t love about it was finding a good place to keep it when she wasn’t using the bathroom. A friend told me that the big box hardware stores sell a child toilet seat that attaches right to your regular toilet and can be lowered or raised whenever needed. Genius.
9. If you use the tiny potty, put a coffee filter in the bottom of it when you think your child might need to go #2. Makes clean up way lesstraumatic.
10. If you’re having trouble getting your kiddo to sit on the big potty for long enough to go, give them a dry erase marker and set them backwards so they can color on the toilet lid. It buys you like an extra 45 seconds to a minute. 🙂 Or, just give them the ipad. I’m not judging.

And finally, keep a sense of humor and be patient and forgiving of both yourself and your little one. Potty training is a major milestone, but like most transitions, it seems a lot scarier than it actually is. If you read a book (or twenty) that describes a certain method, know that your child may not fit perfectly into the “plan” the author describes and that’s okay. I’m all for researching, but in the end, the author isnot the one potty training your child, you are, so use your gut and if the book says not to do something, but you think it might help, then do it! Ellie did a “poop strike” about a week into potty training. Girl held strong for 5 days before she melted into a giant ball of weeping toddler. The book said not to put diapers on them once you start potty training, but I couldn’t watch her suffer anymore, so I gave her a prune pouch and threw a diaper back on her. We all slept better that night.

In the end, know that every mama starts potty training and has “oh shit, what have I just started?” moments. It will all be okay.

God speed, mama.

You’re Gonna Miss This

I may not miss the 3 a.m. wake up calls
startling awake, convincing my aching bones to move
rocking until the weight of your sleeping body finally gives in
and I can sneak back to the warm recesses of my bed.
Milk stains the front of my nightgown,
but I’m too tired to care.
One day you’ll sleep all night
and I’ll wake rested and refreshed, thanking God for the end of this sleepless season.

But it’s okay if that’s not tonight.

Because even though Mama’s bones are tired,
I secretly love our midnight dates,
praying the sacred prayers of a mama’s heart over you while we rock.
The house is silent. Your warm head fits perfectly into the crook of my arm
and I know that the day will come too soon
when it no longer will.

So we rock because I know I’m going to miss this.

I go out for a long awaited night out with friends who I’ve missed so much.
For nine beautiful months, I took you everywhere I went
and since brining you Earthside, you’ve relied on me to meet your every need.
Being away from you for the first time feels liberating.
But then my breasts become heavy and achy
and my arms long to hold you against me.
I feel frustrated at this primal reminder that my body is your nourishment.
I long for seasons past when I did not live by a clock.

But as I scoop you into my arms and nestle you against my chest,
we both feel the relief, like coming home
and I know that the day will come too soon
when you’ll no longer need me in such a raw and consuming way.

So we nurse because I know I’m going to miss this.

I wanna help make supper! you squeal as you grab your stool.
It’s late and I’m starving and the last thing I have is patience for little fingers and rice spilled all over the floor.
You sit in the floor and chop a mushroom with a butter knife.
I stop and I watch you.
They warned me it would go so fast.
They told me not to blink.
Suddenly, you’re this incredibly witty, empathetic, curious, creative little girl
and I marvel that despite all my shortcomings and
all of the moments when I let my frustrations get the best of me,
you’re the perfect illustration of God’s love and grace.

You challenge me in unimaginable ways
always asking why
making unreasonable and illogical demands
about which cup you drink out of or what song we listen to or which book we read.
You’re never in a hurry
and you don’t care what people think as you break dance in the lobby at the bank.
Sometimes I count the minutes until bedtime.

But then you place your tiny hand inside of mine
and I remember the privilege.
The privilege of getting to make pancakes shaped like Mickey Mouse
and having dance parties in the kitchen.
The privilege of slowing down.
One day you won’t need my hand to cross the street or to tie your shoe.

So I hold on tight because I know, I’m going to miss this.

The seasons are fleeting,
childhood is but a glimpse.
Open your eyes,
Breathe them in
Memorize the shape of their body as they sleep against your chest.
Allow them to change you.
We think we have so much to teach them,
but they have so much more to teach us.
Listen.
Be present.
Don’t blink.

You’re gonna miss this.

Buying Kid’s Clothes on the Cheap: Tips and Tricks

I’m not going to lie – when we found out that Ellie was a girl, I was thrilled. This meant Barbies, hairbows, and of course, CLOTHES. Before she was even born, her closet put mine to shame. Creating a wardrobe of that measure is no cheap feat, and I quickly discovered that even though the clothes were cute and fun to buy, she grew out of them in seconds (some she never even wore) and she covered the rest in spit up and diaper blow outs. Baby clothes are fun to buy, but they are even more fun to buy when they’re cheap! As a now seasoned mom, I’ve learned that Mom to Mom consignment sales are one of the best ways to create awesome wardrobes for your children on the cheap. Here’s a few of my tips:

• Go before the sale opens. Yes, the line sometimes wraps around the building. Go stand in it. I know this sounds nuts, but all those people are going to grab all the best stuff and then make a line just as long inside to check out.
• Be prepared for an entry fee. It’s usually a dollar or two, but sometimes they offer “early bird” rates where you can pay more to get in before the crowds. Have small bills ready if possible to make getting inside a breeze.
• If you’re looking for gear or something specific, go there first. There’s 80,000 onesie pj’s, but maybe only 5 jogging strollers. If that’s what you’re looking for, head straight there.
• If you have older kids, go to their sizes first. Older kids wear stuff for longer, which means it often wears out. People also don’t have baby showers for their three year old. The selection of bigger sizes is often much less than the baby sizes meaning it gets picked over more quickly. Shop for your big kids first and then hit the baby section.
• Bring cash. Sometimes there are special lines for people who are paying with cash, so you might be able to check out quicker. If you’re using cash though, bring more than you think you’ll need or go through what you’re buying before you get to the register and add it all up. Cash can also be a great way to budget so you don’t spend more than you want.
• BYOB (Bring your own bag). This will make shopping so much easier and will free up your hands to search through racks rather than holding clothes. It also makes things easier if you’re planning to buy toys, shoes, or gear.
• Leave your children at home (if you can). If that’s not possible, DON’T bring your stroller. It might seem like the perfect solution for containing kiddos, but these sales are often tight quarters with narrow lanes and a stroller can make it difficult to get through. If you do need to bring your kiddos, wear little ones and bring snacks and toys for older ones.
• Shop fast. If you can get inside right when the sale opens, shop quickly, and then get in the check out line, you have the best probability of getting out before lunch time. If you dawdle, you can sometimes wait an hour or more to check out. If you’re only buying a handful of things, look to see if there’s a special line for people buying small quantities.
• Look for clothes your children can grow into. This is a great time to not only buy for the current season, but also for the seasons to come. Often these sales are either “summer clothes” or “winter clothes,” but there are so many staples that carry over into multiple seasons. Also, remember that because it’s used, it’s probably been washed several times, so items may have shrunk a bit.
• Check out the “other racks.” I don’t know about you, but I hate paying a ton of money for things my kids aren’t going to wear all the time – like a halloween costume or a swim suit or snow gear. Consignment sales can be great places to find things like shoes, socks, coats, swim suits, dress up clothes, and nursing gear.
• Go if you’re expecting. Even if you’re not sure the gender of your baby, these sales can be a great place to find things like nursery furniture, breast pumps, strollers, baby carriers, and so much more. They also usually have a rack or two of maternity clothes. Having a baby is not cheap, and even if you have a shower or two, these sales can help fill in the gaps or provide backups (if grandma needs a highchair or dad needs a carseat base).
• Mark your calendar for sales in advance. When you shop, the sales clerk will usually give you a flyer with dates and times for the next sale. Mark your calendar before you throw it away.

Almost all of the clothes that my children wear are either hand-me-downs or gently used items I’ve found at these consignment sales. Not only do I love a good deal, I love that I can stock my kids’ closets with cute clothes and not spend a fortune doing it. Plus, it makes it easier to swallow when the baby outgrows the super cute overalls the second time you put them on…..

Finding Your Village

Last night around 9p.m., I got a Facebook message from a dear mama friend. It was a group message asking if anyone in our “mama group” had a Zippadee Zip swaddle suit she could try. It was an S.O.S. – her son wasn’t sleeping well and consequently, neither was she. The response was astounding. Within minutes, fellow mamas were responding with suggestions for getting baby to sleep, sending prayers, and the sought after swaddle suit was hand delivered to her door less than 30 minutes after she asked. This is my village and man am I thankful for it.

I remember after Ellie was born – the grandparents had gone home and my husband had gone back to work and I was home with this tiny human who I had waited months {or really, years} to meet. Everything I had read told me that these should be the best days of my life, and yet the hours and days seemed to drag on and rather than feeling surrounded and fulfilled, I felt very lonely and isolated. Babies are incredible blessings, but they’re also incredibly needy and I hate to say it, but they’re really boring. A human can only withstand so many hours watching a child bat at a toy under a play mat. I began looking forward to going to the grocery store, just because it meant I would be around other adults. I needed friends. I needed social interaction. I needed someone to tell me that they felt these things too and that I wasn’t alone.

And so when Ellie was just 4 months old, I started taking her to our local library’s story time. I felt a little silly the first few times that we went. Most of the mamas had older kids who sang the songs and ate snacks while the librarian read. Ellie couldn’t even sit unassisted yet let alone eat a goldfish cracker. And yet it felt good to be out in public and among other mamas. One day, another mama came over and said she had seen me at other story times and started to ask about Ellie. It turned out that she had a little girl around the same age as well and she asked for my contact information. It felt like college days when the cute guy at the bar asked for your number. I went home giddy calling my husband to tell him that the most incredible thing happened at the library – I made a mom friend! He, of course, thought I was nuts, but it felt great. I had put myself out there. I tried something new. And I met someone. It’s how all the great love stories happen, right? In this case, I’m certainly not talking about romantic love, but it’s through experiences like this, where I took a risk, tried something new, that I have managed to create the most incredible mama village, and man is it full of love and support.

As an introvert, I’m not great at putting myself out there. Like most people, I hate venturing outside of my comfortable bubble. And yet when I think about it, the most valued friendships and experiences of my life have been born from moments when I took a risk, popped the bubble, and said yes to something new. And so in the name of social interaction, I began putting my neck out there and trying to meet other mamas. Making friends as an adult is actually really challenging. Long gone are the days of grade school and college when your friends didn’t have full time jobs or husbands or kids or dinner to get on the table.  If you’re an introvert like me {or even if you’re not}, walking into a new place where you know no one can be really intimidating. One awesome thing about babies though? They make great “wing men.” I found that I felt less nervous when I brought Ellie with me. Even if no one talked to me, I could still play and interact with her and no one would think I was out of place. I began taking her to the park regularly to swing, to the library for story time, and even joined a mom’s group in my community and began attending field trips and play groups. I did all of these things for the benefit of Ellie, but if we’re really being honest, more than anything, I did them for my own well being.

And what I found was so much more than I ever could have imagined.

I have found a village. A village of women who say things like “If you go into labor in the middle of the night, and you need someone to come stay with Ellie, just call me. It doesn’t matter what time it is.” And they’re not just saying that. They actually mean it. Women who ask how things are going with the new baby and you don’t have to say, “great!” Women who tell you to bring your oldest to their house for the afternoon so you can take a nap and who send you home with dinner when you pick them up. Women who you can literally ask anything – how to get rid of hemorrhoids, does this latch look good? when did you and your husband start having sex regularly again? Does my baby’s poop look normal to you?

Amazing, inspiring women. And the most beautiful part? We all mama a little differently, but none of us judges the others for how they mama. You’d think that when you combine so many different ideas about how best to parent that you’d have competition or judgement, but it’s really become more of an idea bank for “this isn’t working for us, I wonder if anyone else has any better ideas.” As a mama, it feels like an incredible blessing to have a wealth of supportive and loving women willing to share anything to help one another. We’re all doing the best we can.

Finding your village is a lot like the early days of dating. It’s a little awkward sometimes, you’re always wondering if the other person likes you as much as you like them, and you’re not sure how long you should wait to call for another “date.” But it’s worth it. Put yourself out there. Say hi to the woman pushing her son in the swing next to yours. Join a mama’s Bible study. Ask your co-worker if she wants to get coffee and chat about the hilarity of motherhood. Take a prenatal yoga class. And when you see that timid, fresh new mama standing on the edge of the room who clearly hasn’t had any social interaction in weeks, go ask if you can buy her a cup of coffee.

Because life is better lived in circles.

 

My Body is not My Own {Real Mama Talk}

1,340. That’s approximately the number of days since I found out that I was expecting Ellie. In that time, my body has been the sacred vessel for two precious lives to begin. It has stretched and strained, literally transforming before my eyes as it created space for those sweet babies to grow. It rode the painful waves of contractions, doing what nature created it to do, working to bring those babies Earthside. It has ached and screamed from the pain of torn flesh, cringed during the early days of nursing, and ached for rest at the midnight hour. It’s been the source of nourishment, providing not only calories but immunities and comfort to two babies. It has dragged itself out of the warm, deep comfort of sleep to tend to the cries of hunger, teething, illness, and night terrors. It’s rocked babies back to sleep, held them close when they get hurt. It’s a little softer now than it was 10 years ago, but the scars and the numbers on the scale are just reminders of the incredible things my body has done. And at the end of a long day, it’s still a place of comfort and rest for my sweet husband. My body is incredible. I know that it is. But it is not my own. It has not been my own for one thousand, three hundred and forty days.

And it is so

so

tired.

I have been trying to write this blog post in my brain for weeks – struggling to find ways to talk about the incredible physical demand on a mama’s body without sounding like I’m whining or ungrateful. It is truly miraculous that God created women’s bodies to be able to create, grow, and nourish life and I feel incredibly grateful to have been able to do that twice in my life. And yet, I sometimes wonder why in that grand master plan, God didn’t look at his blueprints and think, “well, if she’s going to carry the baby for 9 months and then birth it, maybe we should make dad responsible for the feeding part.” And so, rather than sugar coating it or trying to put a positive spin on it, I’m just going to say the things you’re not supposed to say and hope that it resonates with other mamas who are also in the thick of it or who have been there too-

Sometimes I’m just so tired and so weary and every bone in my body hurts. Sometimes it all just feels like too much. Some days I just long for when they are both older and don’t need me in the same raw and immediate way. And most days, by the end of the day, I just don’t want to be touched anymore. I’ve had an infant or a machine attached to me for no less than 4 hours during the day; I’ve had a toddler climbing my chest and sliding down my back as if I was her personal jungle gym; I’ve worn the baby in the carrier while I made dinner because he wouldn’t stop screaming; I’ve had my hair yanked while the almost three year old tried to pull it into a ponytail during “hairdresser” pretend play; I’ve been peed on, thrown up on, and wiped bottom after bottom. At the end of the day, my cup just feels bone dry. My body is literally a battlefield.

Beyond the physical demands of having small children, I also struggle with the job of taking care of myself and the stress and anxiety that comes with nourishing another human with your body. I worry about my milk supply and making sure I’m eating enough, drinking enough water, taking the right vitamins and supplements, and resting enough to produce what he needs everyday. Owen has some sensitivities to food that I never experienced with Ellie, so I’ve had to experiment a bit to see what he can and cannot tolerate. He seems to do a little better if I don’t eat a lot of dairy, so I’ve cut major dairy sources out of my daily diet. I also try to limit caffeine and alcohol intake (which is torturous – in what other season of life is coffee and wine MORE needed?!). I can’t complain too much as I have friends who have had to cut not only dairy, but also soy and other allergens completely from their diet while nursing. The universe just seems so unfair sometimes that you can take such good care of yourself and eat and drink all the right things while they are growing inside of you and then you finally have them and think you’re going to get to go back to eating and drinking what you want just to discover that you have even more restrictions than you had when you were pregnant.

At the end of the day, it’s about sacrifice and recognizing that life won’t always be this way. Some days it seems unfair and like it’s too much. Some days I wonder how I will survive nursing him to his first birthday or when I’ll get 8 hours of uninterrupted sleep again. I long for days when I’ll be able to go out with friends and not have to watch a clock. I dream of days when I’ll feel like myself again and finally have the time and energy to give my husband what he needs and deserves.

But then Owen falls asleep in the crook of my arm while he’s nursing or I scoop up Ellie and hold her against me and she fits perfectly against my body and I know that the sacrifice is worth it. God built me for this and I can weather this storm.

But I could also really use a massage. And an ice cream sundae.