Hair, BlogHer TV and a Chance to Win Some Cash

Well hey there, everyone!

Remember that post I wrote yesterday about time and how it’s a gift and we don’t lawfully possess the moments of our day? That was super, wasn’t it? Just super duper.

I’m painting today. I’ve had it planned to knock out this painting project for a couple of weeks. I also have a kid who’s home from school with a fever. Guess how many times I’ve murmured “I am not the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours” this morning?

I’m choosing to respond to this unexpected hiccup with grace and in a way that is not ill-tempered. I am also employing full use of media devices such as movies and iPads for the sickie so that the Great Paint Project of 2013 can commence! Wish me luck!

While I am busy transforming my house, would you do me a favor? I’m participating in a campaign with BlogHer TV right now and you can benefit from it. BlogHer TV offers a lot of great content for women and for moms, one of which is fun, short hair tutorials. Because we may be minivan moms, but it doesn’t mean we need minivan hair.

(I’m not sure if minivan hair is a real thing, but it was a punchy little line so I included it.)

(If there were such a thing as minivan hair, though, I would say I have it right now. Flat, unwashed, unstyled, a little psychotic.)

(I’m sure your hair looks great, though. *wink*)

Anyway, this is one of the hair tutorial videos that I enjoyed. If my hair were just a scooch longer I would be all over this hair style. It’s very cute and very fun and it looks pretty easy and quick to pull off. Watch the video and at the end you will have the opportunity to enter to win one of three cash prizes.

This promotion will run for the next four weeks and each week three lucky winners will be chosen. The Grand Prize viewer will win a $250 Visa Gift Card with two other winners receiving a $100 Visa Gift Card.

For all of the details on the Prizes and Promotions, please click here. And for the Official Rules, visit this page to learn all about the promotion and how you can win up to $250.

Now, while you invest a bit of time into your winning entry, I am going to invest a little time into administering medicine and painting my house!

Happy Wednesday!

Disclaimer: I am participating in an Olay BlogHer TV campaign. I am being compensated for this post. All thought and opinions expressed are my own. For more details on the rules of the Sweeps and how to enter and win, click the above mentioned links.

Catching water in your hands

 

“Now you will have noticed that nothing throws [man] into a passion so easily as to find a tract of time which he reckoned on having at his own disposal unexpectedly taken from him…[This] angers him because he regards his time as his own and feels that it is being stolen. You must therefore zealously guard in his mind the curious assumption ‘My time is my own.’ Let him have the feeling that he starts each day as the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours.” C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

This curious assumption of time is a topic that is not unfamiliar to anyone, least of all the mother of three young children. Time is a curious mystery, fleeting and entirely elusive, yet ever constant and unchanging. Each day allots the same amount of time in which to operate, but it often feels as though time slips right through our fingers like a gush of water.

Lee first read this passage to me late one evening. We were laying in bed and I was trying to do something wildly important like read Facebook statuses and catch up on blogs. My husband, on the other hand, was trying to improve his mind by reading an actual book.

(You remember books, don’t you? They’re made of paper and bound together so that you have to physically turn each page in order to find out what happens next. Fascinating contraptions…)

As he read, he would put his arm on mine and go, “Ooohhh…listen to this.” It was cute the first time, endearing the second time, annoying the third time and so on. He was interrupting my quiet time – my time at the end of the day when I can turn my brain off and waste time without guilt. Could he not see the reverence and near holiness of my solitude?

It was at this point he read me the above passage that made me stop and think. Do I regard myself the lawful possessor of twenty-four hours? I believe that I do!

 

How has this attitude affected my life and the lives of the people around me?

 

I will confess that there are few things that irk me more than my kids waltzing in and interrupting me when I am alone. I feel immediately violated and ridiculously offended at their assumption that they can just come in and make demands of me when I am clearly having a moment to myself.

How dare you want food, water, love, attention?!

Shame on me.

“You (the demon, Wormwood, who is tasked with tempting this particular man) have here a delicate task. The assumption which you want him to go on making is so absurd that, if once it is questioned, even we cannot find a shred of argument in its defense. The man can neither make, nor retain, one moment of time; it all comes to him by pure gift; he might as well regard the sun and moon as his chattels.” C.S. Lewis, The Screwtape Letters

Time is a gift. Every moment of every day is purely a gift. None of it is mine and I have no right to claim possession of a single moment. What I do in each moment is a reflection of how grateful I am for this ever changing, moving and fleeting gift.

Does this mean I shouldn’t guard some time to be alone? Absolutely not. A healthy mother knows to teach her children the importance of granting her time alone. Time spent away from children strengthens every parent and should be taken regularly.

Time together with my husband is not to be interrupted and I guard it as jealously as I can because this is a healthy use of my time. This is using the gift I’ve been given wisely.

But when the time does get interrupted, what is my reaction? Many times, I confess it is not a holy reaction. As C.S. Lewis wrote so beautifully in this same letter from the demon Screwtape, “The more claims on life, therefore, that your patient [man] can be induced to make, the more often he will feel injured and, as a result, ill-tempered.”

So what is my reaction? Well, more times than not, it is ill-tempered and that makes me sad, because such an attitude toward life is, I believe, what makes life often feel so fleeting.

If I recognize time as a gift and do not hold firm the belief that I am the lawful possessor of my moments, I can react graciously when time is interrupted – when random hugs need to be given while I’m working on a blog post, or the phone rings when I’m working on my book – when a neighbor knocks on the door while we’re eating dinner, or my husband wants to read to me while I’m trying to shut down for the evening.

What’s more, when I regard time as a gift, I will be able to use my time to bless others. When I’m less focused on time being my own then I can help those who need my help and do so in a way that makes them feel important and not so much like they were an interruption.

If I embrace each moment as a gift, I am more likely to live for the moment, to love in the moment, to bless in the moment and maybe every once in a while, I could catch a moment in my hand and hold it for a lifetime.

A Bridge Between Here and There

Image by Keely Scott. Compassion Bloggers Tanzania, 2012

Shaun Groves wrote a post the other day that’s been rolling and spinning in my head as I’ve digested the information he shared. He gave a rather concise breakdown of how and, perhaps, why women give more generously than men and asked a simple question at the end of the post.

How do we change this?

Both Shaun’s post (which you should read) and the comments offered a lot of insight into reasons why men may be less inclined to give generously than women, particularly to charitable causes. From the actual emotional responses that women experience when viewing photos and story to the pressure men feel as the providers of their own homes, it is not necessarily surprising that men are less inclined to jump at child sponsorship after hearing a simple presentation.

Men are pragmatic and practical where women are emotional and intuitive. These two differing responses to emotion will, naturally, lead to different outcomes in giving. Men want to know the bottom line. Where is my money going and how is it going to be used practically? Women just need to see the big eyes and round cheeks of a child and we’re ready to sign the check.

But there was one piece of this puzzle that left me feeling a like perhaps there is a bridge  to be built between the pragmatism of men and the emotionalism of women. And my female friends? I really think the bridge rests on our shoulders.

Shaun writes: “According to a Pew Research study from 2008, in 43% of heterosexual couples polled the woman was the primary decision maker in four areas: what to watch on television, weekend plans, buying things for the home, managing finances. (31% of couples “evenly divide” decisions.)

…So it’s possible that a man being asked to commit $38/month to sponsor a child is unsure he has the authority to make such a commitment alone. “I need to talk to my wife first.'”

The first time I read this I had to stop and pause for a moment. And the more I thought, I wondered if perhaps this could be the very key to unlocking our men’s freedom to give more generously.

What if we let them do it? What if we as wives gave our husbands full reign and leadership over these important and necessary decisions of how, when and where to give of our time and resources?

I can hear the arguments and I see some of you cringing. “She’s gonna use the ‘S’ word, isn’t she?”

Ahem. Maaaayyyybeeee…

Submission is hard. It’s really, really hard. But, here’s the kicker, it actually produces a lot more freedom than most of us are willing to admit.

Now before you throw the typical arguments my way, let me say this – when I speak of submission, I am in no way condoning abusive or dangerous situations. If you or your children are being abused, then my advice is to get away and do it quickly. So know that the submission I am speaking of is one that applies to a healthy relationship between husband and wife that is built on mutual respect, love and communication.

Submission is often portrayed as weakness, as bowing down and being trampled on by the big, bad men. But I don’t believe that is what submission was meant to be at all.

Submission is actually powerful. It gives us the opportunity to build our men up, support them and give them the confidence to make the right decisions. I wondered when reading the above statement if, perhaps, we as wives could do a better job of building our husbands up in the area of leadership, finances and decision making within the household. What would the outcome be if we communicated to them our belief in their ability to make wise decisions? What would happen if men felt they did have the authority to make important decisions for their families?

Image by Keely Scott, Compassion Bloggers Tanzania, 2012

How might it affect a man’s desire to give generously if he believed his wife saw him as a generous giver?

 

Remember, ladies, how exciting it was for your man to pursue you when you first began dating? The outcome of the dating situation rested on his ability to properly woo you. Men thrive on that challenge. If we remove the challenge of leadership after saying “I Do,” we have full potential to leave men paralyzed in the areas of decision making.

Simply handing over the reigns of leadership in finances and decision making alone will, of course, not turn men into automatic generous givers. It doesn’t even mean that all men will automatically make wise decisions regarding finances. But perhaps it would build a bit of a bridge between desire and action when they are presented an opportunity to give.

At any rate, it will remove one more excuse for not giving.

So what are your thoughts? Ladies, do you see the potential impact you could have on your husband by giving him the reigns of decision making? And men, what do you think? What do you need from us as women to help support you in becoming men who give generously and lead confidently?

Image credits

This is another article that was presented in the comments of Shaun’s post. I thought it was a great read for me as a wife and a woman who desires to see her husband reach his full potential as the head of our home.

The Thrill of Annihilation

These three children, all of whom were born of the same two parents (as if that wasn’t obvious enough – they were clearly cut from the same mold), could not be more different from one another.

One of the unique privileges of motherhood is the ability to know another human being with a depth that is nothing short of miraculous. I remember distinctly the first time I held Sloan and looked at his face and thought, “There you are.” His face was so familier to me, I felt I had known him my entire life. It’s as though he was buried inside my soul for a lifetime and we were finally reunited.

And now, as they grow older, I am so intimately connected to them, it almost leaves me breathless. I mean, sometimes they surprise me with their ability to love one thing one day and hate it the next (socks are my nemesis), but the innate fabric of their beings are familiar and I know exactly what they struggle with and how they will succeed.

When it comes to competition, they are all very much their own individuals. Competition is woven into the fabric of our family. My husband was a collegiate basketball player – sports and competition make him feel as if the world is still spinning rightly on it’s axis.

If there were a child that I could pinpoint being most like his daddy in personality, it would be my bubbly thirdborn. He lives for sports and is ready at any moment of the day to play a game of baseball or basketball or football or anything that allows him to hold a ball in his hands.

He does not like to lose. Oh my, how he hates to lose. The thrill of the victory is what keeps him moving each day. Defeat is not readily accepted and tears are shed often. Even an innocent game of UNO can leave him desperate if victory does not come after the first round. The last time he and I played, he refused to put down his card, because he knew I was going to win.

He has yet to acknowledge my win because technically we never finished the game, therefore technically he did not lose.

The firstborn is a lot like me when it comes to sports. He doesn’t like to lose, but he doesn’t necessarily care about winning either. He’s there for the social aspect of it all. He is not overly competitive and aggression is not in his makeup. He just wants to play and talk and have a good time.

I love that about him.

And then there’s the girl. She, like her younger brother, is hyper competitive but for different reasons. While Landon loves to win for the thrill of the victory, Tia likes to win for the thrill of annihilation. She doesn’t just want to win – she wants to destroy her competition.

Case in point:

Last week, she and I were doing some ab work. She has this freaky love for all things fitness, which keeps me in decent shape, so I’m not complaining. Lee came in and watched us working and challenged Tia to a tuck up competition. Tuck ups are when you lay on your back and crunch up, pulling your knees to your shoulders.

They’re hard.

Tia did 40 tuck ups, then sat on the couch and looked at her dad. “Beat that,” she said with a grin. So he did. He did 50 tuck ups. This did not settle well with the girl who refuses to lose.

She slid to the floor and started again. “You only have to do 51 to beat Dad,” I told her but she did not acknowledge my presense, her face intensely focused on the wall in front of her. She hit 50, then 60, then 70 and she began shaking and sweating. Her arms trembled and pain washed over her face.

“You won, Tia,” Lee and I laughed. “You can stop.”

But she didn’t. She kept going to 80 then 90 then 100 and finally 101. She collapsed on the floor and laid there panting and shaking. Lee leaned over her and grinned. “So I guess you beat me, huh?” he said.

“Dad,” she gasped. “I wanted…to…crush you.”

We can only hope that this attitude will one day keep the boys at bay a little bit. Here’s to hoping she intimidates them just enough that they’ll know how hard they’d have to work to keep up…and maybe they’ll stay away.

We can dream, right?

Are there unique traits that you see in your children that leave you shaking your head in wonder?

Easter Present and Past

Because you can always use one more dose of cute. And because it’s my blog and I’m feeling sentimental and my babies are growing up and oh dear…

I’m crying again.

I do that a lot these days. It’s like my life has turned into one giant Hallmark commercial. You died those Easter eggs on your own? sob! You can read this whole book by yourself? sob! You want a little sister? sob! You don’t need my help getting dressed?

Well…that’s kind of nice, I have to admit.

Oy vey. I’m a wreck. Ignore me while you look at these photos.

Easter 2009

Easter 2010 - Landon...I just can't stand it.

Easter 2011 - Again with all the Landon....

 

Easter 2012

Easter 2013

I'm sorry, but when did this kid grow up?!?!

And then there's this one. Handsome little devil...

 

How was your Easter, friends? Do you have the same problem I do – the problem of children who seem to be growing way too fast?

It’s a problem without a solution, unfortunately.

*sigh*

Love Wins

In light of the Supreme Court’s upcoming decision on marriage equality, I’ve wondered if I should/would address the issue at all on my blog. There are enough voices clanging through the interwebs and I’m not a fan of noisy blogging.

That said, I read an article today that really speaks to how I feel about the issue at hand and I thought I’d share it here. I hope we can have respectful dialogue…if you want to have dialogue at all about the issue. Maybe you’re done dialoging. In that case, just leave a comment and tell me your favorite Easter candy.

Either way, let’s remember that above all else, love wins. Love is the thing that always, always wins. It’s also important to remember that disagreement does not indicate a lack of love. 

There is no law that says we must all agree with one another in order to love one another well.

 

This is an issue without an easy answer, as much as many people want it to seem easy. But healthy, open dialogue is always a step in the right direction. No matter what the Supreme Court decides, I pray we can all remember that love wins.

And my favorite Easter Candies are those Reece’s Peanut Butter Cups shaped like Easter Eggs.

*wink*

The Article: How Might Christians Respond To The Question of Homosexual Marriage?

On writing and grief and finishing that book

I finished my initial read through of the book last night. My first reaction? Thank God it’s not too bad. I’ve never done this whole writing a 450 page novel thing. This is my first rodeo, so I didn’t know what to expect. Couple that with the fact that it’s been almost three years since I started this draft of the book and you have a writer who’s a bit nervous.

I wrote the beginning of the book a long, long time before I wrote The End. What if it didn’t connect?

Now admittedly, there are a few gaps to be worked out and the ending needs some sharpening. I wanted to finish so badly that my fingers were literally flying over the keyboard. It took me a little over two years to write the first 150 pages of that books. It took me just shy of 9 months to write the final 300 pages.

The story finally came tumbling out.

In a lot of ways, the book writing process very much mirrors a birth process. Only, honestly, I think it’s mentally and emotionally harder to write a book than have a baby.

I am connected to this story in a way that no one else will ever really understand. The characters became real to me. I dream about them at night. I hear their voices in my head. It all sounds so strange, but it’s not unlike the connection I felt to my unborn children.

I knew them before I saw them. I dreamed of them. I was connected to them in a way no one else could be, because they were a part of me.

Parts of my story are connected to this story. I used to feel a little ashamed and embarrassed about how long it took me to write this book, but I realized in the last week as I read through it that I needed to take that time. There are parts of this story that I could not have written if I hadn’t had the experiences I had.

I needed to experience childbirth and motherhood.

I needed to experience the heartache of losing the hope of a child.

I needed to experience the darkness of depression.

Friends, the last few months have been very, very hard. I’ve tried not to overdo the drama of it all on the blog, but I have not been in a good place. I am always right on the edge of an emotional breakdown. Most of the people who see me on a regular basis know this all too well as I basically cry at the drop of a hat.

In truth, I hardly remember the month of January. It’s as though that entire month has been blocked from my subconscious. I have never felt more alone or experienced a deeper pain than I did in that month. I couldn’t eat, I was in a constant state of fatigue and I lived from moment to moment in a fog of emotional pain.

Feburary is a bit brighter, but the memory of that month is shrouded in fog. That was the month I began to process my heartache – to share it and open up about the depths of the pain I felt.

March has been a little better, but the wound is still fresh and the grief can be set off at any moment.

And in these two and a half months since grief crashed down on me, I’ve written 175 pages. The words poured out and they became cathartic and brought about healing in an almost beautiful way. I transferred my grief to my characters, people who were experiencing a darkness much deeper than my own.

I don’t know if I wrote the story well, but I do know that writing the story helped me heal.

Writing a book requires that you pour your heart out. It’s hard and long and arduous and painful, but in the end, a sort of life is birthed from the process. Your hard work produces a miracle. A piece of you is transferred to the outside and you have a tangible evidence of the labor and pain.

It is, indeed, like the birth of a baby…if you were birthing a baby while running a marathon and spinning plates on a long, tall stick. The metaphor gets convoluted – roll with it.

I’ve passed my book out to my first round of test readers. I have several people lined up waiting to read it and I’m both excited and terrified. I know it needs work, but I also believe in the potential of the story. There are edits to comb through and rewrites to prepare for. There are holes to fill and there’s probably more research to be done.

(Oh sweet mercy, how I hate research. Can I just take a brief moment to tell you how many times I wished I had been given something easier to write about? Why couldn’t I just make up my world and my people? Historical fiction?! Oy…)

But all of that is okay, because there is still room for healing in my heart. The world isn’t dark and lonely anymore, thanks to a few people who have stepped up beside me and begun walking through the grief with me, and also thanks to the process of pouring my heart out to the story that I was given.

I needed to write this story at this time – to give birth to the characters in this way. Soon I pray I will have the opportunity to introduce this book to the world, but for now I covet your prayers as I begin editing. I long to present a book of excellence – a story that brings honor not to my name, but to the God who entrusted me with these stories.

Will you pray with me?

As long as he doesn’t mutate, we’re good

Weeks ago, I looked in our bathtub and found a small lizard wandering around. I laughed because, you know…only in Florida, right?

Also, it was way better than finding a cockroach in my bed.

I briefly considered relocating the little fella, but decided against it mainly because picking those things up freaks me out. I know they can’t hurt me, but they’re wily and quick and I’m a coward so I left him there and figured Lee could deal with it later.

Only when we came back later, he wasn’t there anymore. Which disturbed me in other ways, but I pushed the thoughts of a lizard crawling in my ear or up my nose in the middle of the night deep into the recesses of my subconscious and went on with my life.

Until I noticed that he continued to show up here and there, always in the bathtub. And I finally figured it out – he lives there. Everyone, I’d like to introduce you to the newest resident of the Stuart House: Bernard (“Bernie”) Stuart – our lizard in the drain.

Yes, my bathtub is atrocious. It has been since the day we moved in. It is nasty and disgusting and I’m waiting (not so paitently) for the day when we can rip that sucker out and put in something functional.

We’ve never used our bathtub, but Bernie seems to have found a home there. He hangs out in the drain. Some nights, we even walk in to find his little head laying just outside the drain, eye closed, snoozing.

So far, we are all living peacefully together. Bernie stays in the tub and the rest of us leave him alone. It says a lot about just how disgusting our tub is that he can apparently live there comfortably. It’s like the friggin spa for lizards with all the crap that he can apparently feed on.

The only thing that gives me pause about the whole situation is my overactive imagination that has, at times, envisioned him mutating from the grossness on which he feeds. If he starts growing at an alarming rate, we’re going to have to move.

Bernie: Teenage Mutant Ninja Lizard.

It could happen…

Mom of the Year 2013 – Not Looking Good

Alternately titled:

I’m here to make you all feel better about yourselves

Photo by Avodah Images.com

We’ve had a blustery couple of weeks here in the Sunshine State. I love Florida in March simply because it’s unpredictable…but unpredictable in a good way. It can be warm and sunny one day and cold and windy the next, but by warm I mean 85 degrees and by cold I mean 55 degrees.

In case you were wondering, that is the perfect range of temperatures. It means that many days we have stretches of time where we hang out in the upper ’60’s/lower ’70’s, which I’m fairly certain is the temperature heaven will be set at. An eternity of 75 degrees.

Yes, please.

But this story isn’t about the weather. Oh, no. It is about my stellar mothering skillz. I spelled skillz with a ‘z’ so you’d really get a feel for just how much I’m rockin’ this Mommy gig.

Like any good mother, when the temperature dips below 60 degrees, I insist on pants and at minimum a light sweatshirt. This is becoming increasingly more difficult to keep up with because my kids don’t own many pants anymore since we only need them about 15 days a year.

But this post isn’t about pants, either. Well…not entirely.

It was a cold morning a few weeks ago, so I grabbed a pair of sweat pants out of Landon’s drawer. He is my child who hates wearing pants…and shoes…and underwear. He likes freedom. You can’t fault a kid for it, right?

We put on his pants and a t-shirt, then did all our morning activities. I had to actually get myself ready that morning as I was meeting a friend after I dropped Landon off, so it was a little more hectic than usual. We finally hopped in the car and drove quickly to his preschool.

Just as I pulled into the preschool parking lot, Landon pipes up from the back. “Oh no! Mommy! My pants!” I pull in and park and turn around to see what the problem is and almost choke on my own spit.

The crotch of his pants was caked in dried Nutella. It was half an inch thick and ran from the middle of his crotch down to the middle of his thighs. Dark, dry chocolate.

Now, after I got over lamenting what was an apparent waste of perfectly good Nutella, I asked Landon how on Earth that happened…and when.

“‘Member the other day when you gave me Nutella on bread and I accidentally sat on it?” He asked. No son. I DO NOT REMEMBER THIS!

“Well why were your pants in your drawer, then?” I asked.

“You told me to clean my room,” came his answer. “I just was putting everything where it goes like you said.”

People, this kid. This child of mine. Between his round face, his freckles and his love of snuggles, I’m pretty sure he will get anything out of me that he wants. Ever. I can’t get mad at him. Plus, he had a point. I did tell him to put everything where it goes.

Clearly I need to be more specific about where dirty clothes go.

I jumped out of the car and searched frantically to see if I by chance had a spare pair of pants or shorts anywhere inside. I had a half-empty bag of Cheezits, four single socks (of course), three pairs of shoes, a tennis ball and what I think may have been a ham sandwich at some point, but no pants.

School was about to start and I had to meet my friend, so I walked Landon in and told him to sit on his knees, not sit cross legged. As long as he kept his legs together no one would see. But as I left, I knew I couldn’t leave him in those pants all day. All it would take was one forgotten Criss Cross Apple Sauce and I had visions of him forever labeled as Poopy Pants Landon.

Because Nutella looks delicious on bread, but dried and crusted on a pair of grey sweatpants is a whole different story.

Thankfully, mercifully, Lee was in town that day and on his way home from having his oil changed. I called him and tried to be all cool and casual. “Hey Babe. So, can you swing by Target and buy Landon a pair of pants…and then drop them off at school?”

Lee: “Do I want to ask?”

Me: “Probably not.”

And THAT, my friends, is the day I lost my place in line as Mom of the Year. I think I solidified my low ranking this week when I got a text at 6:55 from Sloan’s baseball coach asking if we were going to make it to the 7:00 game.

See? Skillz.

 

Bearing with one another

There is a lot of talk these days about social media, technology and the effect that it will have on our children. They are the first generation to grow up under a microscope and with the world at their fingertips, it’s a legimite dialogue. How do we keep our children engaged in real life? How do we teach them to utilize technology to their favor and not to their disadvantage?

How do we show them that the world is real and yet still give them all the tools of expansion that technology provides?

It’s a constant battle and our children will have to learn to navigate life in a way that most of us who grew up without the internet, blogging and smart phones never even had to consider. But I think there’s something that we’ve missed and there is a dialogue that has been brought up less frequently that needs to be considered.

We are the first generation of mothers who are letting our lives play out online. 

 

This is an entirely new world for us, just as it is for our children and we are navigating motherhood under a microscope in ways that no generation before has ever done. Yes, it is mostly by our choice, but even those who abstain from documenting the day to day are affected by this world of online motherhood.

We’re all learning how to walk this journey together, but I wonder what kind of example we’re setting for the young mothers coming up behind us, not to mention for our own daughters who are watching and learning. This thought alone has given me a lot of pause in recent months. It’s why I’ve blogged less and held my cards a little closer to my chest.

I’ve been trying to figure out how to blend this technology with motherhood in a way that is healthy not only for me, but for those who are watching and learning. I didn’t have an example of how to do this – I am the example.

As mothers, and women, our natural instinct seems to always gravitate toward judgement – judgement of ourselves and of those who do things differently. This tendency is not new to our generation, of course. This ability to judge others, both negatively and positively, is part of the make-up of womanhood. Blame it on estrogen, I guess, but we are prone to gossip and judgement and that is a fact that cannot be denied.

Before us, these tendencies were confined to the playground or water coolers or the sideliens of the soccer games – whereever mothers congregated in packs, there was always the opportunity to share a tidbit, to vent a frustration, to share insecurities. Mothers lived out their offenses on a much smaller scale.

But now, these grievances are aired in such a public way that it leaves me concerned. I worry about what the young ones behind us are seeing and I wonder how my contribution to the noise might be affecting their perception of others and of the world around them.

The problem is, we are all different and different things will rub us all the wrong way. It must be very confusing for first time moms to figure out what should upset them and what shouldn’t. This viral post tells them to get their eyes off the iPhone, while that one tells them it’s okay. This Facebook post tells them to be upset when someone urges them to enjoy every moment with their kids because it goes by fast, but that Facebook post tells them it’s true! It does go by fast! You should enjoy the little moments.

This post says be upset if someone asks you if you are going to try for a boy/girl, if you are going to breastfeed, if you are going to homeschool or public school or private school and on and on the list could go. Every post written has a different one that contradicts it. The older generation must now walk on pins and needles lest they upset us young moms with our fast fingers, constantly ready to tell the world how offended we are.

It’s noisy, isn’t it? And I’ve contributed to the noise in my own way. But more and more I’m learning to just accept people for who they are. I’ve found that 99.9% of the time, people don’t mean to be offensive so I’m working on giving the benefit of the doubt and moving on knowing that my way won’t be the same as her way and that is okay! 

Can I, perhaps, offer a bit of encouragement to us all? Let us not be so easily offended. Let us not feel the need to publicly correct every stranger who says something that rubs us the wrong way. Let us try harder to give one another the benefit of the doubt.

What if we spent less time getting offended by others and more time simply loving one another? How would that look online? If a woman at the grocery store comments on our number of children, or asks if we “know what causes that” *wink, wink* what if we just smiled, thanked her for her interest in our family and moved on…without sharing it online? What if we bore with one another patiently, knowing that sometimes people say things that bother us not to be offensive, but simply because we are all different and are affected by different things?

I don’t know how good I am at this business of bearing with one another, but I’m learning. Even writing this post, I wonder if I’m helping the problem or perpetuating it. But my heart is to encourage myself, and all of us, to think before we type.

Because we’re being watched and we are the first to walk on this particular path of motherhood. Let’s show the generations to come how to do it well.