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Hey Moms! You’ve got this…

January 7, 2013 by

I became a mother nine and a half years ago.

For the most part, transitioning into motherhood was a very natural thing to me. I wasn’t overly cautious or concerned about germs and allowing others to hold my baby didn’t send me into fits of anxiety. I had no problem letting my infant cry it out when he needed to sleep and I never felt guilty leaving him with a babysitter or grandparent so I could sneak away for a date with my husband.

But there was an area where I felt almost completely inept as a mother, and that was in taking care of my child alone if Lee had to travel. Thankfully he did not travel often, but when he did, I almost always asked one of the grandmothers to come stay with me because I did not think I could handle solo parenting, even for a weekend.

I had no idea, friends, how easy it was back then. No idea! My child slept for twelve hours, napped twice a day and could not argue with me. What the heck was I afraid of?!

Last October, Lee began a new job. Yes…another new job. We like to keep things exciting around here. When he began this new venture, I knew he would have to travel more and the old me – the one who thinks she is incapable of flying this ship solo – had a slight panic attack.

But you know what? I’ve got this. I have got it.

Moving from St. Louis to Florida a year and a half ago was one of the hardest things we have ever done, but as we exit the fire and fog of the year, I see so many good things that have come out of it.

Our marriage is stronger.

Our family is stronger.

We are no longer afraid of risk.

We no longer feel confined by the trappings of comfort.

We have seen and experienced God in a whole new way.

And for me, personally, I realized I’m a heckuva lot stronger than I ever gave myself credit for.

We moved to Florida and in the midst of an emotional crisis, I somehow managed to band my little family together. Homeschooling the kids for that first year here, while by far one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, allowed me to fall in love with being with them. It gave me the opportunity to flex my mommy wings and see that flying this ship isn’t so bad after all.

And while I know that putting our children back in school was the right decision, there is a big (HUGE) part of me that really, really misses homeschooling. I miss being with them every day. Yes, I like the time I have to myself, but when I put my kids back on the bus this morning, I had to swallow hard over the lump in my throat.

They make me happy

Lee’s been at his new job for three months now and I have never seen my husband so happy in work. In all the years I’ve known him, I’ve never seen his eyes light up the way they do with this job. He loves what he is doing and I love how happy he is.

But…

The travel is intense – for right now, anyway. For the next three months, Lee will likely be traveling three-five days every week. Is this ideal? No, not in the slightest, but this type of intense traveling will be temporary and so, once again, I am digging in my heels, clenching my teeth and pep talking my way through the days.

Nine years ago I couldn’t have done this – I couldn’t have handled him being gone this much.

Five years ago I couldn’t have handled this.

Three years ago I couldn’t have handled this…not emotionally. I would have been a basket case…and I probably would have gained a rather unhealthy dependancy on Nutella to get me through my days.

But God has walked us through the fire and prepared us, prepared me, for such a time as this. Do I like flying solo this often? No. Does Lee like traveling this much? No.

But I’m stronger than I give myself credit, we are happy and thriving and we are going to be just fine.

And…I have a massive jar of Nutella if the days get to be a little too overwhelming. (Yes, my dad got us another twelve pound jug of Nutella for Christmas…because he loves me.)

So Mama’s, if you’re feeling weary and tired and alone, don’t forget – you’ve got this. You can do it. You’re stronger than you think. And a spoonful of Nutella always makes things a little better.

*wink, wink*

Filed Under: Family, Kids, Lee, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

Today I rest

December 21, 2012 by

It has been a crazy hectic few weeks. On top of kids being sick, finalizing adoption paperwork, preparing for Christmas, a birthday, working, and all the other craziness of December, Lee has been traveling almost non-stop, which leaves one weary Mama.

We’ve made it. I haven’t always handled everything gracefully, but by and large it has been a lovely Christmas season. That said – I need a break.

I get this look in my eyes when I’m about to snap. It’s kind of a manic, wide-eyed, get me out of the house before I break down mentally and spend a day on the couch eating Nutella with my fingers and staring at the wall sort of look. Lee knows it well. So tonight he is sending me to a hotel at the beach.

Alone.

By myself.

…

I’m sorry, but did you hear what I said? I AM GOING TO A HOTEL ALONE!

Are you jumping up and down, clapping your hands and girl shrieking like me?

I’m taking my computer and plan on working on my book, because I haven’t had time the last couple of weeks and it’s been driving me crazy. I’m going to order room service and sit in the hot tub and be totally crazy tomorrow morning and sleep in…until, like, 8:00.

So forgive me while I head off and merrily skip through the house. There’s laundry to put away and crunchy floors to clean. There are Christmas parties to attend at school and I think it’s time I got the car washed. I have one more Christmas gift to buy and the dog needs a walk and I should probably put something in the crock pot for dinner.

I can think about doing all that with out mentally shutting down because I’M GOING TO A HOTEL BY MYSELF TONIGHT!

Amen?

And we all said amen.

(PS – Please pray hard about this situation in Russia. It’s so tenuous right now. This thing is going to go all the way up to Putin and right now nobody can really read which way he will lean. But if he signs it into effect, Russian adoptions will be effectively banned beginning January 1st. What that means for us is still a little unclear. No one is sure if he will give a twelve month clearance before shutting it all down, or if he will effectively close it down completely.

Where yesterday I felt peaceful, today I am nervous. Pray for  the situation. Pray for Putin. Pray for the hundreds of thousands of waiting orphans. Pray for our family and all the families like us who are so close. Thank you!)  

Filed Under: Adoption, Florida, Lee, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

Speechless

December 19, 2012 by

I haven’t had the heart to write this week. Between Christmas, birthday, a traveling husband, the flu, the tragedy in Connecticut and some adoption drama, I have felt a bit boggled and crazed.

I walk from room to room in my house with a very clear purpose in mind and by the time I reach the bedroom, I have forgotten why I went there. My brain is scattered and I can’t remember the most minor of details. The pantry is nearly bare and the fridge is empty of all but a few leftovers that have been in there for…well, for too long.

In the midst of all this chaos, I am trying to sit still – to breathe. I’m trying to keep perspective. I’m trying to spend more time on my knees and less time listening to all the noise.

Every day this week, I’ve put my kids on a school bus and sent them to a place that should be safe, but instead has become a warzone. Yes, our school is secure. But so was Sandy Hook. Yes, it probably won’t happen here. But it wasn’t probable there, either.

I got a sweet email from Sloan’s teacher this week assuring us that she loved our children and would do anything to protect them. I sobbed as a read that because she shouldn’t have to feel that way. Teachers shouldn’t have to think about how they will protect their children if a gunman comes in.

Teachers shouldn’t have to think about taking a bullet for a child.

The shouldn’t have to! But they do have to. I shouldn’t have to worry about my children being safe in school, but I do have to. My children shouldn’t have to walk into a building armed by policeman and doors locked tight.

That’s prison. It shouldn’t be school.

I think we’ve all lost a little innocence this week. Or maybe we were never as safe as we thought?

These things have served as a distraction along with the fact that Congress passed the Magnitsky Bill this week. I don’t really understand that bill, but from what I am reading I understand why Russia feels outraged. And Russia’s retaliation is to threaten to shut down adoptions.

Will it happen? Who knows. This is political bantering at its finest. Unfortunately, the collateral in all this back and forth are the children lying in orphanages.

Right now I am not panicked by the thought of adoptions closing down. I feel a peace. I truly believe that if God wants us to adopt a little girl, He will bring us a little girl. If He doesn’t, I will wait expectantly for what He does want to do with us. I don’t believe our family is complete yet and that is where I find this comfort.

But while I feel a peace, I am also in constant prayer over this. It is on my mind at all times. I’ve never felt more out of control as a parent and I have to cling to the One who I believe is in complete control. I have to focus on Him because if I don’t, then a blanket of grief and fear begin to close in and I feel like I’m going to suffocate.

I’m not a person prone to fear or doubt. I count it as a blessing that God has knit a unique measure of peace inside me that has always given me the ability to trust, to believe and to not wallow in the fear of the unknown. But this week has shaken me a bit. This week I’ve had to keep things simple. I’ve had to sit and think and ponder. I’ve had to focus on Christ as Lord and let everything else fade away.

Truly He taught us to love one another

His law is love and His gospel is peace

Chains will He break, for the slave is our brother

And in His Name all oppression shall cease.

Sweet hymns of hope in grateful chorus raise we

Let all within us praise His Holy Name

Christ is the Lord

Oh Praise His Name forever

His power and glory

Ever more shall reign

Filed Under: Adoption, Adoption, faith, Family, Life, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , , , , , ,

Delightfully Five

December 16, 2012 by

If I could describe this kid in one word, it would be DELIGHT. Parenting him is a delight. He is a delight. Loving him is a delight. Last night, I kissed the four year old goodbye.

Today, I welcomed a five year old.

Dear God, I love this kid.

Humor me as I walk you down memory lane…

 

2007

 

 

2008

 

Side note: I’m sorry I ever dressed you like this. It was wrong, but sweet heavens it makes for awesome pictures…

 

 2009

 

 

2010

 

 

2011

 

 

2012

 

Ah! That smile! And those freckles!

 

Happy Birthday to the most delightful 5 year old I know!

(Now please, for the love of all things holy, stop growing. Just stop. Enough. Stay right here…)

Filed Under: Kids, Landon, Motherhood

I weep for them

December 14, 2012 by

I tuck them in tonight and the hugs are just a little longer, just a little tighter and just a little sweeter. Hot breath against my cheek as I breathe in deep. That one smells like vanilla yogurt, her snack of choice. The tall one smells like Dimetap, the result of a flu bug that’s taken hold.

And the little one.

The baby.

The one who turns five in less than 48 hours.

He smells like the outdoors. Dirt and sweat and bundled energy mingle and swim and it’s him that brings the knot in my gut – it’s his giggle in my ear that brings a wave of nausea. He will be in kindergarten next year. He is 42 pounds of innocence and youth. He is them. They were him.

And in a single breath, they were gone.

I wander to my bedroom and step into the closet. Gifts are shoved behind the door, waiting to be wrapped and tucked beneath the tree. Gifts that I poured over as I determined what would be the one thing that would make his eyes sparkle. I look at the gifts and I weep.

I weep for the mothers who are looking at the unwrapped gifts tonight. The gifts that will never be opened. The gifts that will remain untouched. The sparkle that will never appear again.

I weep for them.

Motherhood is a sacred kinship. It is a sisterhood unlike any other. We are different, each one of us, but when we are mothers, we are the same. We breathe our babies deep. We rock them at night and memorize the crease beneathe the chin, the freckle on the center of the nose, the cowlick on top of the head.

We trace their lips and kiss their fluttering eyes.

We sing and rock and we know each sound. We know the serious cry, the offended cry, the hurt cry and the frightened cry. We put barbeque on this plate, ketchup on that one and hot sauce on the last one because we know. When they’re knit inside our wombs, they are knit directly to our souls.

It’s motherhood.

And when the sounds stop, we all weep because we feel it cut deep inside – so deep we can’t even breathe. The smells don’t fade and their voices echo in our hearts. Tonight, I listened harder, watched closer and committed it all to memory. I felt it in the depths and when the room grew quiet and the breathing of the three who hold my heart grew steady, the pain in my heart cut like a knife.

Tonight I weep for them. The mamas and the babies. The quiet that will never cease. The hearts torn wide open and laid bare. I weep for them.

And as the tears pool hot in the corners of my eyes, I whisper a prayer.

Sweet Jesus be near.

There’s no sense to be made of this. There is no policy to be set. There is no explanation that will quell the silence and the pain that floats and storms inside the quiet.

The quiet.

The quiet.

There are only tears and prayers as together we weep.

I know them. They are me and I am them.

And tonight I weep.

Filed Under: Motherhood Tagged With: , , ,

Adoption Update: Month Six

December 10, 2012 by

It’s been six months since we began this adoption journey. Shaky hands placing a thin sheet of paper into a crisp white envelope were what started us on this path. We told no one as we took this tiny, yet enormous, step forward. A step of faith. We had waited for the burning bush long enough – it was time to take action.

It’s been a roller coaster ride ever since.

I love reading the status updates and blog posts of my expectant friends. It reminds me of the exciting days when we were expecting a child. I would scour books and marvel at the fact that the child inside me was now as big as an apricot, a walnut, an orange, a pineapple, a small elephant (Sloan…that kid was huge!). I love the anticipation of pregnancy and the posts of growing bellys, gender reveals and approaching due dates leaves me happy with memory.

It dawned on me recently that part of what makes this adoption process so difficult is it feels so…lonely. I don’t have a cute, growing belly to dress. I don’t have weekly markers that point to the impending arrival. Whereas in pregnancy, most mothers can breathe easy after that twelve week mark passes, adoption always feels a bit tenuous.

I keep waiting for the floor to drop, for something to happen to end this journey. I think part of the reason that I feel this way is because I’m not celebrating the milestones – the little moments that mean we’re getting closer.

So here are a few little moments:

 

– Our paperwork is nearly done. We submitted the first round to our agency for review and were only missing a few documents. Unfortunately, one of them is going to take about six weeks to complete, so we’re in a bit of a holding pattern, but there are things we can be doing to keep moving the process forward so that when the paper comes, we’ll be set.

– We are almost $10,000 into the process. For awhile it felt like we were going nowhere with the funds, then BOOM! We had the next payment. We still have a long way to go, but I’m in awe of how far we’ve come.

Would you like to be part of that process with us? We could still use your help. I have ideas for some other fundraisers that I will kick off in the new year, but for now we are still running our Story campaign. So far we’ve received almost $2,000 from dear friends and readers through online and personal donations. Thank you!

– It feels more real. I get a little scared to admit that, but the fact of the matter is this has shifted from being an idea to being a person. There’s a person out there waiting for us. A little girl. She’s real and she is ours. She is as real to me as any of my children were in utero.

– She has become more real to the kids as well. There isn’t a day that goes by that they don’t mention their baby sister. They are excited to meet her and I’m so proud of how they’ve embraced the idea.

There are still challenges to be met in this process, though, and we would love your prayers:

 

– We still have a lot of money to raise. A LOT of money to raise. God has been so faithful to provide and we prayerfully wait to see what He’s going to do next. But I am a terrible fundraiser. I am being stretched and pulled in this process and have learned so much already.

– The paperwork needs to be coordinated and sent to various states to be apostilled and I am so nervous that stuff will get lost in the process. We are also on a bit of a clock and with our final clearance six weeks away, this leaves me a little worried that a lot of the paperwork will need to be redone. If we don’t receive a court date within one year from the notaries, the paperwork expires.

Ack!

– There are emotional challenges to prepare for. I don’t expect that bringing an adopted toddler into our home will be all sunshine and roses. It’s going to be hard and I’m sure there will be days when I sit on the floor and cry from exhaustion and an overwhelming sense of fatigue.

Kind of like I did with every one of my kids when they were newborns and I couldn’t figure out how to manage life with all the change.

In so many ways, this adoption journey mirrors a pregnancy. But it differs in a lot of ways, too. People don’t always understand why we chose adoption. I find myself still feeling like I need to defend our decision to do this and I must constantly stop and remember that we all have a different journey in this life. Our path won’t look like your path and that is okay.

Will you pray for us? As we head into the holiday season, I find myself longing for my daughter. I want to know who she is and see the completed picture. This is the exact same way I felt when I hit about seven months pregnant with each of my children. I was just ready to be done!

The only difference was that when I was seven months pregnant, I knew I only had to wait eight more weeks. At this point, we are very likely still looking at another year.

Adoption is hard. It’s so very, very hard. I may not have the growing belly, but I very much am growing a baby. She is growing in my heart and until she’s in my arms, I fear I will feel incomplete.

Thank you for praying.

Filed Under: Adoption, Adoption, Family, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

Are we having fun, yet?

November 19, 2012 by

This post has been spotlight featured on BlogHer. I’m so glad to know other people understand and can relate to this roller coaster called parenting. If you’re stopping by from Blogher, welcome! I’m so glad you came.

“He pushed me!”

“He called me a dumb head!”

“She started it!”

“I’m not her fwiend anymore.”

Somewhere right in the middle of all that joy, I told them to sit down and smile. “Act like you’re having fun,” I commanded. But, clearly, I was not having fun. SeaWorld wasn’t turning out how I thought it would.

It’s funny how we set up these scenario’s in our heads. I’m going to take them to an amusement park where they will skip merrily from one attraction to another, braids bouncing, hats turned just slightly to the side, contented smiles plastered firmly on their faces.

The sun will shine.

A rainbow will form in the background.

Birds will sing in harmony.

It will be money well spent.

But what actually happens? They fight. They pull each other’s braids and knock hats off of heads. They whine and beg for cotton candy. They complain about tired feet (never mind the fact that they can run in the backyard for hours on end, but ask them to walk 200 yards in an amusement park and suddenly their feet are broken).

It rains.

High winds shut down rides.

A bird poops on your head.

You wish you would have used that money to go get a facial.

I’ve come to the realization in the last few years that special events as a family demand a special amount of patience and a realistic expectation. Expect tears and fights. Expect whining and complaining. But be on the lookout for the joy filled moments, too. They will be there, though in reality there may be more tears than laughter.

We set our kids up for failure when we plan these major trips to the beach, to the amusement park, to the movies, to the zoo or to any place that is going to over exert, overstimulate and over tempt them. Disney World may be the most magical place on earth, but it’s also the most overstimulating and any child that makes it through that park without some sort of melt down is probably just a robot.

It's also best to know that you will NOT look your best at an amusement park. Keep the expectations low, folks...

 So what are the expectations?

 

First, expect some whining and be prepared to deal with it. Stomping your foot and calling your child ungrateful is likely not the best response. He probably isn’t ungrateful so much as he’s overwhelmed. A thousand things to look at in every direction is basically system overload for kids. Be patient while they try to take it all in.

Expect arguing. This one gets under my skin faster than anything else. As evidenced by the above picture, when everyone is fighting I can’t even force a smile because what I really want to do is Hulk Smash Shamoo and his permanent,perpetual grin. But if I prepare myself ahead of time and prep the kids, we can usually make it through the arguments with a tiny bit of sanity.

And we might even have fun in the process.

Expect crying. Don’t get angry when they cry about being tired. They’re kids. They’re going to cry. If they’re tired, find a ride where they can sit down for a bit. Find a cafe and get a drink. Go to a show. If you’re at the beach, sit under an umbrella with a juice box and take a minute to breath in deep.

Give everyone a chance to recover. Landon cried most of the morning while we were at SeaWorld. He was tired and cranky, which made me tired and cranky. Learn from me, friends.

Don’t let this make you tired and cranky!

And don’t Hulk Smash Shamoo. Apparently that is looked down upon by some folks…

Finally, look for the joy and snap those pictures. Wait for the moments when they aren’t really aware of your watching eye and they are full on enjoying a moment. It may be brief. You may only have one or two truly joy-filled moments in a day, but capture and remember them.

And when you get home, be sure to print out those pictures of everyone’s happy, smiling faces and put them in an album. Convince your kids that the greatest thing you ever did as a family was spend the day at SeaWorld or Disney or the beach or the zoo. With any luck, all the memories of the fighting and crying and whining will fade away and you’ll be left with nothing but dreams and rainbows and harmonizing birds.

Creating memories takes hard work. Just be prepared and try to enjoy the ride.

Find the Magic

What’s your favorite family memory?

Filed Under: Family, Florida, funny stuff that happens, Grace, Kids, Motherhood Tagged With: , , ,

Audience Participation Requested

October 26, 2012 by

So here’s the deal. My goal next month is to make at least three (or four) decent, healthy meals a week for my family.

But Kelli, don’t you already make meals for your family?

You had to ask, didn’t you?

…

Yes, alright?! I make meals for my family. Every day, in fact. Well…every day that I’m not reheating a meal for my family, which if you think about it, is simply heating up a meal that I already prepared, so it’s kind of like double preparing a meal, which clearly shows double the love, right?

Who says I’m bad at math?

A typical dinnertime hour in our house usually involves me flying around the kitchen like a crazy lady, trying desperately to defrost meat or chicken and popping open cans of vegetables that I know my kids won’t eat, but I’m going to prepare anyway because a well rounded dinner plate involves vegetables. I will whip together a decent, if not all that coordinating, meal in less than thirty minutes and will plop those plates in front of wide eyed cherubs who will ultimately turn up their noses in disdain.

Unless that which I plopped in front of them happens to be chicken nuggets or Mac and Cheese, which I rarely buy because I’m fairly certain there is neither chicken nor cheese in either of those items.

But I digress…

I will watch them smother their meat in ketchup or Barbeque…or Frank’s Hot Sauce for Landon because the child was born without taste buds, and they will choke down the required number of bites before pushing their plates away and declaring how NOT hungry they are.

This is usually followed by an immediate request for a snack, which leads me to shoot flaming daggers from my eyes as I huff around the kitchen and boldly declare that no one will eat snacks before bedtime because I had to throw away so much food.

And sometimes I throw in a side of guilt by reminding them of children in Africa with no food, which is basically lifted straight from the Mother’s Guide to Driving Your Kid’s Crazy.

So all that to say…cooking isn’t my forte. It’s not that I can’t cook. It’s that I seem to be allergic to planning ahead. On Tuesday and Thursday evenings, I coach Tia’s gymnastics class, so I generally try to put something in the crock pot those days so the boys aren’t left to eat cereal for dinner, but other than that, I just tend to prepare meals on the fly, which leaves very little room for creativity and has left my children with less than adventurous pallets.

So part of my 31 Days series, was to plan out and ffeed my family a week’s worth of real meals. The kind that you plan ahead and prepare for and that require fresh ingredients and what not. Since Octobre is almost over, I’m just going to push this plan to next month. I put it off because…well, because I’m scared, quite frankly. I mean, you read what I wrote above, right?

I AM ALLERGIC TO PLANNING AHEAD!

I am writing this post in faith knowing that I will need plenty of encouragement along that way, because friends this is one thing I don’t believe I am capable of.

I need to believe in my ability to cook a decent meal for my family and to start planning said meal before 4:30 in the afternoon.

So how can you help?

I did not make this meal. My friend Wendy made this meal. I ate this meal. It was delicious.

If you have a favorite recipe, or a meal that your kids really enjoy, please leave it in the comments.

If you have a link to a pin on Pinterest with a killer recipe, leave the link. I’ll pin it to my board (if I can figure out how…I’m a Pinterest newbie) and I’ll stockpile a few good recipes from the internet to try out.

There are a few guidelines, though:

– Don’t go too easy on me. I want to try real recipes – nothing canned or boxed. I need to prove to myself and my family that I can make real food from time to time.

– No fancy ingredients. If the recipe calls for Gouda or shallots or any obscure fair that can only be found in the fresh market section of Whole Foods on Fridays and Tuesdays between 9:00 and 9:22 am, then there’s a really good chance I will never make that meal.

– Nothing that involves pasta sauce, because my children don’t like pasta sauce. Can you believe it? I birthed children who don’t like spaghetti! Or frozen pizza! Sometimes I wonder if they’re really even my children…

– Crock Pot recipes are my friends. I am fairly convinced that whoever invented the Crock Pot has been granted a special place in heaven because if I can toss all ingredients in a big pot in the morning and POOF! At 5:00 dinner is ready? Um…yes, please. Yes. Please. 

Other than those simple rules, the sky’s the limit. Lay it on me. What is your favorite dinnertime recipe? Who’s gonna help a slacking sister out?!

 

Pretty please?

Filed Under: 31 Days, Domesticity, Motherhood Tagged With: , , , ,

Major Mom Fail – I may have ruined her for life

October 17, 2012 by

A few years ago, I had this little game I’d play with the kids. For those of you who have been around here awhile, you may remember it. I would put Landon’s sock monkey in all kinds of funny and strange places and Tia and Landon were convinced he was alive. They loved waking up or coming home and seeing where the monkey would be next.

IT was a fun game!

We haven’t played the game in awhile, so last night I thought I’d pull out the old “your toys might be alive and love to move around trick.” Tia has had her American Girl dolls set up like this for days.

“The Girls” have been celebrating McKenna’s 7th birthday. Obviously. And every day, Tia would walk in her room and then immediately run out to exclaim in wonder at the fact they were still partying. “They just really love to party, Mom.”

Our American Girl dolls are party girls. Awesome…

So last night, on a whim, I decided to pull the old trick out of my hat. After Tia went to sleep, I arranged the dolls in various party positions thinking she would wake up in the morning and laugh at the fact that they must have really been having fun through the night.

 

Around 5:00 this morning, I felt her standing over me. (Why do kids go all Children of the Corn in the middle of the night?!) She was breathing heavy and when I finally opened my eyes I saw her inches from my face. I almost karate chopped her.

“Mom!” she hissed. “I woke up and my dolls were all over my room. IT’S. SO. FREAKY!”

It took me a minute to register her words and to decipher them in my sleepy state. “What?” I asked.

“Marie Claire is sitting on top of the lamp, and Kit pulled a drawer of clothes out and McKenna is on top of the table and Cecile is waving at me on the dresser. I’m too scared to go back to my room.”

I was so out of it myself that I honestly could not figure out what she was talking about, so I sent her to sleep in the trundle in Landon’s room. About thirty minutes later, I heard Tia and Landon both screaming my name across the house.

“MooooOOOOOOOOOMMMMMM!”

Tearing out of my room, I ran to them. Tia had turned every single light in the house on from our room to hers. I found her and Landon huddled under the covers.

“Why are you screaming my name?” I said, exasperated.

“We’re scared to get out of Landon’s bed in case the dolls might try to attack us.”

And then I remembered my little…um…joke.

So…I guess that backfired, huh?

For those of you interested, I will be teaching parenting classes in the near future. The first class? How to scare the crap out of your kids in one easy step.

Filed Under: Kids, Motherhood, Tia Tagged With: , , ,

The tear in my flesh

October 16, 2012 by

Jackson Pollack "Autumn Rhythm"

This mothering thing is hard. No one really tells you how hard it will be. Or maybe they try and you just can’t believe it until you live it on your own. No one tells you that your heart will be torn in two and you will go through repeated cycles of trying to figure out who you are and how to match your independent desires with your desires to serve and love your family well.

No one mentions how messy it all is – that the desires will never match up, will never fit and yet somehow it all comes together anyway, but it looks more like a Jackson Pollack painting and less like Michealanjelo.

Before we were mothers, we were all something besides…mothers. We had dreams and longings and aspirations and desires that went beyond cleaning and scrubbing and washing and drying and refereeing and surviving.

When motherhood sets upon us, those dreams don’t disappear, but they do shift. Our desire to be Mommy becomes so much stronger than any other thing we’ve ever felt and we give ourselves wholly and fully to the task and yet….there remains something else inside.

The truth is, I sometimes feel like a big failure for not accomplishing more before I became a Mom. And I fight the feeling of failure for not attaining more even after I became mother. I compare myself to others and I wonder why they seem to accomplish so much and I can barely get through  my days.

Then I remember that every journey is different.

I wish I was finished with this novel. I wish I could write it faster. I feel like I’ve failed already for taking so long. But the truth is, this is the best I can do. I cannot stay up until all hours of the night writing, because that’s not how I operate or function.

I can’t do this any faster and still do my job as Mom well. I’m learning to be okay with that.

I wish I had more time. I wish it were easier. I wish I could accomplish more in the few hours I have alone. I wish I could shirk every other duty and focus solely on the one thing I want to do the most – finish this book.

But that is not where life has me right now. Right now I don’t have the solitude needed to be a great writer. I do, however, have everything I need to be a great mother. I have all the tools and all the abilities and all the time to excel in the role that matters most.

I will finish the book. I know that I will. But it’s taking time – so much more time than I want it to. I won’t finish it in the wee hours of the mornings because I must sleep in those hours so that I can be alert to pour all my energy into my number one job. And I will save a bit of time, a bit of energy for the desires and longings that are mine and will work fervently in the little time I have to reach that goal.

But it won’t be a quick ascent. I am the tortoise in this race. I’ll reach the finish line, but only through perseverence because I’ve found that, for me, slow and steady is far more successful than fast and furious. I’m much less prone to burn outs that way.

Lisa-Jo Baker wrote a wonderful post on writing the other day. It has encouraged me so much. If you feel like you’re always a step behind, like you can’t keep up, I suggest you read “If You Wish You had an Island to Write On Alone.”  This quote by Madaleine L’Engle bounces off my soul and clangs inside my heart:

 

“I uncovered the typewriter. In my journal I recorded this moment of decision, for that’s what it was. I had to write. I had no choice in the after. I didn’t matter how small or inadequate my talent. If I never had another book published, and it was very clear to me that this was a real possibility, I still had to go on writing.”

 

Day 16: If you, like me, feel frustrated with the longings that war against once another, take heart. It will all come together, and though it may look messy and wild, in the end it will be considered a masterpiece. 

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Filed Under: 31 Days, Life, Motherhood, Novel, writing Tagged With: , , , , , ,
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