5 Steps to Being a Better Parent

I think it's funny (well, not really funny) when we get upset because our kids don't just do what we say. I get irritated when I have to remind them of the same things each day.  It should be simple right?  Do what I say.  Listen. Learn. Now go do it. But is it ever that simple? No, of course not! You know that it's not that easy only after a few hours of being a parent. You feed your newborn and a few minutes later they cry. Why are you crying?!! I just fed you! You should be content and ready for the next 2 hours, or 3 if we are lucky.  Then they get a little older and you've told them to stay in their toddler bed and all they want to do is be out of that mini bed.  If you are a mom, you know it's not an easy job. In fact, it's really difficult for so many reasons.  We all know it's hard. Even if you're not a parent, you know that it's hard. We've all seen the annoyed face of a dad holding their crying kid in a restaurant as the mom looks on with concern and embarrassment.

So what do we do with this challenging job? Do we read a few articles to get some clarity and new ideas? I think titles that include 5 bullet points are silly and here I am writing one. There are no 5 easy steps. But getting some time to reflect and think can be useful. I value thinking through the big picture of things like what I want my kids to learn and see while they are in our home. It gives me perspective in the difficult moments like how I should respond when my son throws a bike lock at our tv.  I spend time not only thinking about areas that they should grow in but also areas that I myself want to grow in so that I can be a better mom.   Here are a few areas that I am challenged by and want to continue to grow in.  There is probably nothing new here but it's always good to be reminded of how to love our kids well.

1. Accept that you're not perfect.

Anyone could watch me for less than 5 minutes and see that I'm not perfect.  Watch me in the kitchen. Bowls break. Cupboards are left open. I clean up just enough so that it looks clean (just don't look too close). When I bake I don't know what happens but there is flour everywhere. In my hair, on my shirt, on the floor, ya everywhere.  I don't know how those chefs on the cooking shows keep their space so clean. Recently after cleaning the kitchen floor I asked Mike how it looked. He didn't know that I had just cleaned it otherwise I’m sure he would have been more careful with his response which was, "It's looks dirty."  Ugh! Dirty? I just cleaned it! Keeping a kitchen floor clean is far easier than raising a child. I'm going to mess this parenting thing up-a lot. I'm going to make it about me and get angry when they don't do as I say. I'm going to be too easy on them sometimes because it's often easier to say yes than no. I'm going to rush them off to school because we are late even if it's at the expense of not connecting with them before they leave my sight. My goal mustn't be perfection. My goal is to know that I am still loved and worthy even when I mess up.  My goal is to show my kids the same. They are still loved even when they mess up.

2. Take a look at your expectations.

Some say I have too high of expectations. Well...I’ll be honest, it's my husband who says I have high expectations but he’s right. I expect too much from myself and from others. I forget about point number one-that I don’t have to be perfect. In fact, as my mind frame changes, I’m realizing that it's my imperfections that people usually connect with and are drawn to.  My kids aren't an exception.  I not only have unrealistic expectations for myself but for my children as well.  I expect my kids to get their seat belts on without a reminder from me every time we jump in the van as if they have never done this before.  If my expectations are that they will jump right in and sit down then I’m going to be exhausted and potentially angry every time we go anywhere. I'm not suggesting doing away with expectations for your kids (or yourself-sometimes need you need to put the coffee down and do a load of laundry). In fact, I think letting your kids know what is expected of them is not only helpful but thoughtful. However, I think my expectations can be altered. I can still want them and expect them to get their seat belts on but I can also expect that they won't learn things over night.  I can expect that they will need gentle reminders. I can expect that it would be helpful to come up with different games and ideas to motive them.  I can expect to love them in spite of their forgetfulness.

3. Children are complex. Study your children.

I love manuals. Why? Because they make things easier. They tell you what you should expect. Give you a list to check if something goes wrong. They explain the warranty and best of all, they give you instructions. Before I left the hospital with my newborn, they explained how to bathe him, feed him, and gave me a whole kit of formula. But they failed to give me a manual for how to raise my child. Sometimes I think we forget how complex our kids are. They are like us except they don’t know yet the rules of this world. One thing I love about being a mom is to study my kids. What makes them tick? What is their love language?. I want to know what makes them giggle and what makes them nervous.  I want to know what they typically need from me when they get worked up.  One of my children needs to be wrapped in my arms and to snuggle. Another one of my children needs to be affirmed of my love for them. And another one just needs to talk and I need to listen.  I try to stop working sometimes to really watch my kids. To really listen to them. I want to learn all about them. I even imagine sometimes what it must be like to be their height, walking around this house, with me as their mother.  There is no manual given at birth but I can take time to study each one of them to learn how to best care for each of them.

4. Stop feeling guilty. 

Maybe this isn't you but I feel guilty all the time. Here is a big one for me lately....our kids aren't in any extracurricular activities. I feel like they are missing out on something that every other kid is experiencing. It seems like everybody has their kid in some sort of sport or activity by age 4. Well, my oldest is almost 8 and umm...ya...he isn't signed up for anything yet. I hear myself and other moms say we are guilty for giving them pop tarts for breakfast or for letting them watch too much tv. We can feel guilty for not playing with them or for yelling at them or for working too much.  I think the list can be endless. It's not helpful to just say stop feeling guilty as if I can stop the feeling from coming. But I think it is worth taking some time to see where we feel guilty. And then it's helpful for me to talk with friends to help process my feelings of guilt and to get someone’s perspective.

5. Get away from your kids.

I hear this one all the time. I don't know where I hear this, but I hear it. They say, you have to take care of yourself in order to take care of your family. You take the first puff of oxygen before giving it to your kids.  This is one area my husband is amazing in. He gives me time to replenish, rejuvenate, and relax.  I need, especially as an introvert, to get time alone. That's why I love going to the gym. Watching a tv show is relaxing to me or taking a bath. Even a cup of coffee can feel like I'm taking care of myself. And one of my favorites is to go out dancing!  If I don't get breaks, then I break.  What do you need in order to feel rested? What is one step you can take to get there?  I know this can be so difficult especially when I had really little kids at home. I'd be lucky to get a few minutes to myself. But I think it’s worth getting creative so that you can get some time to yourself.

3 Seconds to Say Yes

Recently, I read one of those parenting articles posted on Facebook that was really quite touching, although I can't really remember what it was about anymore. But I remember the mother talking about how she would  get angry with her kids. She was learning to stop herself in those angry moments for 3 seconds before responding to her children and it was helping her to relate better with her kids. At least that's what I took away from the article. So I began thinking about the potential benefit of pausing for 3 seconds in other areas. So I tried it out yesterday.

Grace asked if I could go upstairs with her to help put her pjs on. She's very capable of doing this on her own. She's not only 5 years old but she's also Grace. You know what I'm talking about if you know Grace. We had finished eating dinner and I was cleaning up the kitchen. By this time of day, I'm usually exhausted because the last 3 hours have been intense and non stop...pick up fully emotional kids from school, give starving kids snack, sit and pretend the boring homework is not boring,  prepare dinner again, eat dinner while managing 3 kids, clean up. Tired.  When Grace asked me the unthinkable, which was to stop what I was doing, my automatic response would have been no! I want to finish cleaning up the kitchen so I can rest my feet and plop on the couch. Magically, I remembered that Facebook article and decided to try the 3 second rule out. For 3 seconds, I tried putting myself into Grace's head. She wanted to be with her mommy and didn't want to be alone.  What a sweet desire. I looked at her tender face, placed down the dirty dish on top of all the other dishes, dried my hands, and raced her upstairs.  

My husband is a yes man. He brought Stephen into our bed late the other night to snuggle with him (he's the closest thing to a baby we have). Stephen asked for ice cream and Mike and I looked at each other with a 'why not' expression we both understood.  So we woke up the 2 other kids at 10pm and went to the McDonald's drive thru and everyone got an ice cream sundae.  What a fun memory!

My kids ask me a thousand questions a day and it seems my automatic response can be no.  Most of the time I say no because it's a sacrifice for me. It can be harder to say yes. I don't always want to play house, or  monopoly, or paint our nails again.  I'm not at all saying I should never tell my kids no. There is great benefit and necessity to saying no at times. There is also wisdom in taking care of myself and knowing my limits so I don't become scary mom.  But when I say no, have I thought about why I'm saying no?  Am I thinking about myself or am I thinking about the precious hearts that are entrusted in my care?  In 3 seconds, I can remember that people are more important than a clean house. In 3 seconds, I can remember that I'm not the only one to consider. I would love for my kids to have memories of midnight ice cream sundaes and laying on the floor with mommy reading a book in their tent they made.  I think it will take much more than 3 seconds to get me to love my kids well... but I think it may be one good place to start.

Wait...what? I'm not perfect?

Sometimes I wish our thoughts were made visual for others to see. Of course, overall, I know this would be a terrible idea-to see all the thoughts that others are thinking about you, themselves, and others. But what I would love about this is that I think it would remind us we are all very similar. I think so many of women's thoughts would be put at ease if we knew that most other women had the same thoughts and struggles.  We can be quick to judge someone without knowing they are very much like us.  We all desire to be accepted. We all have insecurities. We all want to matter to someone. We all have pressures from society. It doesn't matter what part of the city you live in.  How much money you make. How intelligent you are. How old or young you are. We all have fundamental similarities.


I too wish my kids' thoughts were visible for me to see and understand. Many times their thoughts come out loudly and unrefined. They didn't get the memo that they are supposed to be perfect.  But because I can't read their thoughts, I'm constantly trying to interpret these outward expressions of something going on inside them. "MOM! She just hit me so I'm not going to be friends with her anymore, ever again!" So what is my little, yet full brained child trying to say to me?  Here's a guess..."Mom, when she hit me I felt sad and like she didn't care about me. I don't want to feel that way again so I'm going to tell her I don't want to be around her."   So it's my job to listen, understand, and then enter their world.  I want to enter into what it might feel like being their age and try to understand their way of seeing things, because chances are they are interpreting their world different than I would.  And after I try (try is the key word here) to help them navigate those thoughts and feelings, I tell them I don't like feeling bad either. I tell them they're not alone. We talk about what they can do with how they feel.  This is not an easy or quick task, but I believe this is one of the ways I can truly love them well.  Once I connect with them emotionally, I can usually redirect their thoughts to some logic.

I think it's easy for us to remember our kids are imperfect, probably because they constantly remind us. So why are we surprised when our husbands or friends aren't perfect? I remember a good friend of mine and I were talking a while back and after sharing some things with her she asked, "Well, you don't expect to be perfect, do you?"  I actually had to think about that for a second. Ya, I think I do. I know I'm not perfect (far from it), but I think I expect perfection. I think I'm often hard on myself and surprised or embarrassed by my mistakes (like my many grammar and spelling errors on this blog). And what can be as equally damaging is when I expect other adults around me to be perfect.

It shouldn't be a surprise that our goal is perfection, or something close to it.  It only takes a few minutes of turning on the television to see how to get a better body, remodel your home, make a delicious dinner, have the best toys for your kids. Message is delivered....be better, do better.  And although that can be suffocating, I think the original desire is good...wanting something that is whole, right, good, pure.   The problem lies when I look to myself or others to fill that desire for me.  My kids will most certainly disappointment me if my expectation is perfection, to be like their siblings, to act like the neighbor kids who seems calmer.  So my expectation, my desire, is to accept them and love them even when they aren't perfect.  To not be surprised when they throw fits and can't control their emotions.  My love for them and acceptance doesn't depend on their behavior, it depends on who they are. And they are mine.

all in a row

This is an old post I found that was in my drafts. Thought I'd go ahead and put it on here....

Mike had to work all day Saturday so it was up to me to get the kids dressed and ready to go to a pool party.  The morning started off rough but I was hoping that by the time we had to leave, all my ducks would be in a row. My ducks never got into anything that resembled a row. My row looked more like kids spreading like wild fire when they see a bubble bee. I asked one of my kids to put on their swim gear and they wouldn't do it, threw a fit instead. Really? You won't put on your swim clothes so that you are able to swim on a hot Florida day, eat cake and ice cream, and play with your friends. (You're right, how dare I make you put your swim gear on so that you have to go to a birthday party.)

Our mind is so intriguing. Even more so, our emotions.  We can ignore, accept, devour, or wallow in how we feel.  I can be thinking about something, and then be thinking about my thinking. I can assess if what I'm thinking is valid, reasonable. I can try to convince someone else that what I'm feeling is appropriate. There is so much power in what we think. In what we feel. It can affect everything.

So why did my little duckling refuse to put her swim gear on?  It obviously didn't make sense if you just look at the facts. And it was obvious she was feeling a lot of emotions.  I had to go back and think about what happened a few seconds prior to the blowout.  She was trying to tell me something and I wasn't listening because I was wrapping the birthday present. Once I realized someone was talking to me (sometimes I can zone out my kids voices) I told her that now wasn't the time to talk but to get her suit on.  I think this little duck was hurt. Her mommy wasn't listening and aware of her presence. Then when I was aware that she was talking, I told her to be quiet and get her suit on. That's when the duck fell to the floor and began quacking, loudly. 

What do I do with this moment, this situation? How do I best care for this specific duck?  (ha, maybe start by not call my children ducks)  Here is where parenting is tough for me!!! I wish I could pull out my manual for "how to parent the 'ugly' duckling," (because I would follow it well) but unfortunately there is no easy answer.  Do I make this about obedience and tell her she should run to the bathroom to put her suit on? Or do I give her a hug and tell her I'm sorry I didn't drop everything to listen to her?  Do I leave her to quack alone or do I embrace her? There is no 'right' answer. I have the freedom to think  about what's best for her at that time in that situation and do the best I can.  Each one of my ducks are unique just as each situation is new.  Each situation with my kids is like pulling out a jelly bean from the bag, you never know what you'll get.

I am amazed by how complex my kids minds and hearts are.  Goodness, I'm so complex too.  There are so many components to who we are. There are many pages to each of our stories.  I really think it is a miracle that we can have healthy (whatever healthy means) relationship with anyone at all because of this.  How can so many emotions be wrapped up in such a small little body?   My kids remind me that we are full of emotions all the time. We don't always make sense. We aren't always logical. We think, feel, respond.  And that is ok. I don't want my ducklings to always be in a quiet, straight line (well, I kinda do). I want them to squawk, lean a little to the right or left, be unique, be themselves. My goal now might be to get them in a line behind me.  But one day, I hope they make their own lines with their own little ducklings following them.  Their line may be loud, quiet, full of logic or emotions, organized or a mess...but whatever it is, they will always be my ducklings.

What happens when your babies aren't babies anymore

You know how life is always changing and sometimes we forget to take a moment to look back at what's behind us. I’m in this weird (at least it’s weird for me) transition.  For so long my life consisted of desperate prayers to sleep through the night, nursing, making baby food, nursing again, packing the diaper bag, and trying to get poop stains out of clothes. When Stephen was born, Nathan was only 3 ½ and Grace was 19 months.  My world felt very small. Get sleep, feed the babies, throw some laundry in the washer, get the babies on the same sleep schedule, survive….oh, and have somewhat of a social life in there to keep me sane. At times I was exhausted from thinking through the ‘right’ choices for my kids. Everything was new. I don’t donew and unknown very well.  Don’t get me wrong, I loved this season in my life. I miss this time in my life.  I loved having small kids! I love babies. I loved watching all their milestones and finding out what their little personalities were like. I loved getting compliments and glances of how cute they were out in public. In fact, I think I would have a few more babies (minus the pregnancy part).

But life is so different now. It’s like in Willy Wonka when they are on his boat that heads down a dark tunnel and Willy starts singing that creepy song. The boat is moving so fast, so quickly, and you’re not sure how long it’s going to last or what’s on the other side? That’s how I feel looking back at having babies. It was a little scary, yet in reality was a very short period of time, and a little creepy. Just kidding about the creepy part! I felt like this was how my life was going to be for a very long time. (like forever!)   But life is different now.  I have no children in diapers. No children in cribs. No one taking naps (except for me!). Only one is home with me during the day. Two are reading. Three are happy. Life feels so different, easier.  That time of my life when I had tinny ones at home is like a common language to all mothers.  Everyone experiences little sleep, sore bodies, helpless moments, and everybody is talking about it. I see it on Facebook or blogs.  It’s like doing battle together. Once a mom, always a mom. But I don’t find this commonality with moms as much once the kids are a little older. I don’t think it's because that commonality isn't there, but because our worlds have opened up.  Our worlds aren’t so small anymore. The creepy boat ride down Willy Wonka’s chocolate river has ended. 

I know I’m talking as if I’m that teenager who thinks they have now entered adulthood.  My oldest is only 7 (he's still my baby). None of my kids are pre-teens, graduated, or have gotten their drivers licenses.   They aren’t grown and out of the house. I’m still full-on in this parenting thing.  But this is the first time that our family has shifted out of the baby phase and into the school aged phase.  No one really talks about that. 

So what would I say to the mom that is in the boat listening to Willy Wonka sing? I’d say it does end.  There will be a day when everyone is out of diapers and they no longer want to watch Daniel Tiger’s Neighborhood (which is a great show by the way). So take heart, the season of sleepless nights and all your babies getting sick and crying will come to an end. One day your one year old will no longer yell with frustration because they know what they want but can't communicate it to you. Your two year old will stop throwing food at the table.  Cherish those little souls. Cherish and look at all the millions of blessing around you each day…The sounds your baby makes when they have a full belly, the look of comfort on their faces, the way your one year old plops down uninhibitedly on your lap. Because it does end. And you can’t go back. It’s a one way ticket. 

What a blessing and joy my kids are to me. I woke up this morning and couldn’t wait to see them. I couldn’t wait to hug them, hear their little boisterous voices, and explore life with them today. What an amazing job motherhood is, raising human beings. I want to cherish, soak in, listen, and to love them well in this new territory we are in even if it feels like a scary, fast, creepy boat ride at times.

watering

My cell phone rings. I have a friend on the other line crying. Conveniently at the same time, two of my kids start fighting. Not little fighting where I know they will move on quickly or get easily distracted. But this is an all out fight; justice must be served! I give them that look and snap my fingers, hoping that might get them to shape up. Of course that doesn’t work, so I point to the phone and then put my finger over my mouth. I’m hoping they can understand my sign language and understand that now is not the right time to fight (because there is a right time to fight?) with your sibling. I’m in the middle of something. Don’t you see my face and hand movements? I'm trying to communicate to you that you are supposed to stop acting out and start loving your brother. By this time the 3^rd child has fallen down, gotten hurt, and is now crying.  I am on the wrong side of my phone call. I am now the one ready to cry and need to phone a friend. 

I know that scenario does not put me in the running for mom of year.  I know I can handle those situations much better, and sometimes I do.  However, that is not the point of me telling you that too familiar scenario. Instead, it is to say that being a mom can be hard. It’s hard to juggle. It’s hard to juggle what your kids need, what your friends need, what your husband needs, and what you need.

Another area, I have not mastered is keeping my plants alive. I do not have a green thumb.  There is one small plant on our front porch that has miraculously bloomed this spring. I don’t even know what kind of plant it is. Anyhow, Grace watered it yesterday for the first time in over several months. As she poured the water over the plant, it quickly spilled out the bottom of the pot.  The dirt couldn’t absorb the water because it was so dry. 

That’s how I feel sometimes. I am so dry that I can’t absorb what I need to help me.  I can phone a friend and they may give me great advice, solutions, and even brainstorm with me. And sometimes that is very much needed. But other times, I can only take small dosages.  I can’t handle a long list of does and don’ts or hear what works for you and doesn’t work.  Instead,  I usually need a small drop of understanding. A small drop of genuine care. A small drop of empathy. Then my ‘soil’ can begin to soften up. It is then my hearts feels refreshed. 

There are so many choices as a mom. Where do I send them to school? What kind of diapers should I buy? Schedule or no schedule? Which soccer class do I sign them up for? I mean, you could drive yourself crazy.  And although I really do want answers for all these questions (which I know there are no right answers for these questions), what my heart really needs is to be heard. I love when I share all my jobbled up thoughts or questions with a friend or my husband, and they patiently listen. They hear me. Really hear me. They aren’t in a rush. I see the care in their eyes. They feel with me. That is sometimes all I need.

As I learn about what I need,  I love to water my kids hearts in the same way.  How can I "water" their unique hearts?  Small drops....hugs, putting down my phone to look them in the eye when they talk, getting on the floor to build a choo choo train track (again!), laugh at their not so funny chokes, apologize when I haven't  loved them well, give them boundaries and enforce them, be silly with them, smile, really 'see' them.  Watering a plant is simple (although I rarely remember to do it).  Watering a friend or child's heart is more challenging. But what sacred ground it is.

 

 

 

being human and drinking my cup of coffee

I’m occasionally asked as a guest in a home, “Do you drink coffee?” I know they are expecting a quick yes or no reply. But I feel the need to give a short essay response. Do I enjoy coffee? Totally! I really believe drinking coffee is an experience. I love how it makes me feel. It warms my hands, my throat and my heart. Coffee takes time to make and to drink; it slows me down.  It reminds me to enjoy the simple things like the smell of coffee beans and the warmth of a mug between your hands.  But I try to limit how much I drink to a few times a week.  I fear I'll have to drink a cup to get rid of a headache.  Instead, I want to keep it something special.

I wonder if my interaction with coffee is similar to how I engage with people.   Having some connection with another person is like mints to Stephen, necessary.   Just look at children.  They demand attention, care, motivation, acceptance.  They will repeat the same sentence until there is some acknowledgment that they have been heard. One of my kids was throwing a huge tantrum (yes, my kids throw tantrums)…yelling, running away from me, the whole nine yards. Thankfully we were at home where I was able to focus on him.  Once I got him in his room, I looked at him and said 3 words,” I love you”, and invited him to sit with me. When he heard those words, he settled down enough to see that I was not the enemy and came and sat in my lap.  He told me his heartache and explanation for his anger. I looked in his eyes as he spoke and really tried to put myself in his story and felt  what he was feeling right along with him.  That’s all it took.  He felt heard. He felt like he mattered.  His words meant something.  He meant something.

I see how much we need interaction and connectedness.  I don't think we ever grow out of this.   A dear friend of mine said something recently that I thought was profound and insightful. She said, “I never knew how lonely being a mom was going to be.”  I think that is the case for many of us.  We can’t sit on our kids’ laps and start asking them to care for us.  When do we find the time as caregivers to be on the recipient end of things?  I think we all know we need true, honest interactions, especially mothers. I need to feel I'm not alone. To know that my children aren't the only ones that yell at me in public, are picky eaters, pee on the floor when they had already been potty trained for 3 months, to feel like every morning is Groundhogs day, to wonder if I'm missing out on something bigger and better while staying at home changing a diaper.   So why don't we share these things with others? Maybe business or laziness…but I would be willing to bet that it’s more like my coffee.   I am afraid that if I drink too much, too fast, too often I will get hurt or have negative consequences.   Sitting down with someone not only takes time, but it takes vulnerability.  It’s a risk. Would they care about me enough to really listen and understand me? Or would they just try to fix the situation, or worse, fix me? Would they think I was weird and judge me?  Would they hear my junk and still accept me?

Sometimes I'm afraid to allow myself to feel.  This takes away from me really being in the moment and enjoying the ‘good’ times.  For some reason, I think that if I stay leveled out and don’t get really really happy or feel joy, that when something bad happens, I won’t really feel pain or disappointment (not all the time of course).  I have no control over what will happen to me-good or bad but I do think it's a way to protect myself.   And if something bad is going to happen, pain can't be avoided, even if I successfully try to level out my feelings.  The sad thing is that I may be missing out on feeling joy and happiness when I’m given those times. And often, the bad times produce the best times.

I'm starting to let myself completely feel.  What if when something wonderful happened, I could soak it in for all it’s worth. Yesterday, my little 3 year old boy asked if he could hug me because he saw a tear in my eye.  I loved accepting  his love and care for me.  It meant something to both of us.  What would happen if I stopped ignoring or masking pain by eating brownie batter and watching my favorite guilty pleasure on tv (ok, I don't think I'll ever stop doing that!). So I’m challenging myself  to really feel, whether it is positive or negative, but even more so, to share that with someone else.   To go to someone I trust and open my heart up and ask them to listen to me.

Being simply human doesn't always seem to be that simple.  It means feeling... joy, pain, risk, disappointment, sacrifice, acceptance, embrace, understanding, forgiveness.  It means being vulnerable.  What are we missing out on if we don’t allow ourselves to feel these things? What are we missing out on if we don’t share our thoughts with someone else? How does this affect our children?  We were created to be loved and to love others because the one that created us, loved and loves us.

So I say …go grab a caramel macchiato with whipped cream (and a good friend)! 

dress up

 I recently saw a TED talk and a very attractive woman came onto the stage in a fitted, black, short dress.  I immediately made opinions (yes, maybe even some judgments) about her. I wondered how well spoken she'd be, thought she was pretty, and wondered why she was wearing such a short dress for an educational talk like this.  She proceeded to talk while at the same time pulled a sweater over her head, grabbed her beautiful long dark hair into a ponytail and put on one of those wrap- around skirts that hang to the ankles. My thoughts of her immediately changed. She seemed more approachable, normal, less intimidating, and I took her more seriously.  Honestly, sharing my thoughts about the Ted woman is a little embarrassing . I guess I'm ashamed at how quickly I can make assumptions about someone based on how they look.

Here are some of my thoughts lately...why do women critique each other so harshly?   Can I appreciate someone else's beauty without making it about myself or comparing them to myself?  Can I look at a cute outfit and not envy it? Can I look at a pretty mom and assume she is nice, caring, and compassionate as well?   Can I not make assumptions about women's motives? 

When I was a little girl my mom said that I wore dresses everyday because that's all I wanted to wear. No pants or shorts for me.  I loved to twirl, prance, and enjoyed the flowiness (I know that's not a word) of the fabric.  My little Grace changes her outfit at least once a day, sometimes up to 5. That makes for a lot of laundry.  She loves how she feels in different clothes. It's a game to her; I don't believe it's her being materialistic, building her self esteem, or trying to impress anyone. Dressing up is pure joy for her.  The more I am Sarah, the more I'm wearing makeup, putting on a fun shirt and curling my hair. I haven't changed much since I was a little girl. I still like to play dress up. So the other night I put my heels on, slapped some makeup on, pulled my hair to a low side ponytail, and latched a big ol' necklace on my neck.  I actually took the necklace off later in the night because it was too heavy (probably time to donate it to Grace).  My friend and I ended up going to the Dandelion café. Ya, the name explains it enough. This was not a fine dinning experience. I wore heals and a 5 pound necklace so that I could go out and order tea and it was fun!

Staring at my clothes in the closet is more than just figuring what I'm in the mood to wear (I think it's that simple for guys).  My unspoken rule plays in my head: look nice, but not too nice.  If I'm too dressy then others might wonder why I'm trying so hard. I might get one of those comments about what I'm wearing that make me uncomfortable- a questionable compliment.   If I'm too simple I feel frumpy.  There was definitely a season that brushing my teeth and getting a shower was success.  But now that I have a teeny bit more time to get ready I like to cover up my sleepy eyes with makeup once in a while and pretend I had a good nights sleep.  If I were to dress for only me, I'd probably dress differently. I'd probably do funkier makeup sometimes and wear crazy jewelry (ha, maybe some of you already think I do!).  But when I put on an outfit, more often than not at some point I think about how I will come across or what other women might think of me. I know that if I put on my makeup and some heels, that I might get some looks.


If I spend some time getting ready, it could be because I'm materialistic, it could be because I'm finding my identity or worth in how I look, it could be I'm trying to stand out and get attention. But it doesn't have to be those things for me or for someone else. I have to take a look at my heart to search my motives.  God's creation is beautiful. I truly believe His most beautiful creation of all is women (sorry Mike).  I'm beautiful because He made me in His image, period.  So I can put on that black and white dress I've been wanting to wear for a long time (someone invite me to a wedding) and I'm beautiful. I can put on  my pajamas and I am beautiful. My worth and other women's worth isn't what they put on, it's who they are.

I want to be more like my 4 year old, Grace. She dresses for herself. She dresses to express herself.  She is uninhibited by what others think of her outfit.  She does not judge others for what they are wearing or not wearing. I wouldn't be surprised if Grace and I will be enjoying dress up for many years to come!


Here's the link to that Ted talk if you're interested.
 http://www.ted.com/talks/cameron_russell_looks_aren_t_everything_believe_me_i_m_a_model.html

What's the point...

In one sense, my job is pretty easy. I cook, clean up, play with kids, etc.  I'm not working on algorithms for some electro-optic device for a helicopter (this is what Mike does, at least I think that is what he does), or saving people's lives, or designing buildings.  Once in a great while, I wonder what is the point of what I do all day. I know it is to meet the needs of my kids, not only physically but also spiritually and emotionally as well.  I also sometimes wonder what it's like being one of my children. What is it like for them to grow up in our house? What is it like having me as a mommy?  What will they remember from their early childhood days?  I have random memories growing up like my white dresser that I shared with my sister, jumping from my bed to my sister's bed so that my feet didn't touch the floor (because we convinced ourselves that if our feet didn't touch the floor then we wouldn't be disobeying mom who said to stay in bed), and trying to ice skate on a ¼ inch sheet of ice in our back yard (ya, that usually didn't work so well).


Stephen is my caring, compassionate, verbal, carefree boy. Yesterday, he kept talking about our alarm system all morning. He was pointing at the keypad on the wall and saying something that only he understood. Next thing I know Stephen was carrying a wooden kid's chair out of the playroom into the hallway and headed for the keypad.  In the middle of me telling him he had to put the chair back in the playroom, he started to cry. This wasn't a cry that came from being told no. This was a cry for help!  My poor little 2 year old was carrying a chair bigger than he was and he didn't know how to put it down. So he was standing there crying hoping he wouldn't drop it on his feet. Of course I quickly went over to him to relieve his weary arms and to take the chair from him. I even decided to put it back in the playroom for him so that he didn't need to stress any longer.  

And then there's my long haired, spunky, gregarious little girl. Grace loves her pink Hello Kitty bike. This morning was absolutely beautiful and she asked to go on a bike ride. Yes seemed like the only obvious answer. She can hold her own pretty well when she is on a flat sidewalk and when she approaches an uprooted, uneven sidewalk she is adamant about conquering it herself. Her little bike teeters but somehow she keeps that bike moving without a hitch. She can see her front wheel and is confident she can move forward, ready to tackle anything in her way. But what she fails to see is her two little white training wheels attached to each side of the back wheel. When she turns a corner, she is not looking at those training wheels to see if they are going to hit a curb, get stuck in a hole, or graze the grass. So I chose to walk behind her while pushing Stephen in the stroller, making sure those back wheels aren't going to cause her any harm.  She was and is completely unaware that I am faithfully watching her.

My job of being a nurse, counselor, referee, bouncer, judge, teacher, and entertainer will probably go unnoticed by my kids. Watching toes and training wheels seems like a small task. This is where I can feel, at times, that my job is menial.  But when I think about the reason why I'm watching out for little toes and bodies it gives me perspective, purpose, and a goal.  I'm protecting them. I'm watching out for them. I'm loving them.  Of course I desire some sort of memorable life changing conversation or event that I have with them where they have an awakening and appreciation for how much I love them. But I'm realizing that reality is that these life altering events are not the norm.  Instead, I can show them my love small moments like these.  Small moments like choosing to get off facebook when they are trying to talk to me, or snuggling with them during movie night, or playing their (annoying) Veggie Tales music in the van.   Or painting Grace's nails, even though it usually ends up being a mess and only lasts a few days. When I kiss their boo boos. When I try to understand how they are feeling. When I sacrifice what I want for them (which I fail at often). 

So what will my kids memories be when they are older?   What do I hope they remember? I hope they know they were and are loved. Not because of what they’ve achieved or how they behaved, but because they are mine.  They would know that mommy always had their back. Whether literally (like when Grace is leaning too far on her bike) or when they need me to hear them out about why they sneaked the chocolate egg from the cupboard.  I want them to know that mommy and daddy are on their side.  I am for them. I am cheering them on. So I'm encouraged today by all the little mundane and trivial things I do.  I see they aren't meaningless, they are (hopefully) loudly communicating love to my children.

Graceland

I wish I remember what it was like being a 4 year old girl. When I look at my daughter, I think it must have been pretty great.  Mike and I always chuckle because she is in her own world. She is in Graceland.  She prances around the house with her hands on her hips for no reason that I can see other than it is fun for her.  When I'm having a typical conversation with her she is literally jumping around in circles, flapping her hands at her sides, with a huge grin on her face.  When music comes on, she shakes her little tush and then glances up at me to see if I'm enjoying her (which I am!). She will repeat the same one or two words over and over again as she's trying to formulate her ideas and get the words out.  She talks with her hands like a preacher or a politician and with her intense faces tries to communicate how important it is that she plant the apple seed so that we can have an apple tree grow in our yard. She picks leaves on our walks and gently places them into bowls that she fills with water so that a flower can grow.

I can't get enough of this girl.  She asks God for the rain to stop so that we don't get wet (and when she has done this it has always stopped within a few minutes). When something falls to the floor and it doesn't break she declares, "Thank you God for keeping that safe!" When we go for bike rides she pedals her short legs all while singing her heart out, as we pass every house around the block.  When you ask how old she is now, she says fur.  I never knew the word four could sound so cute.  She notices all sorts of details. When we pulled into the garage today she noticed that one of our flowers was closing up (probably because it's so cold outside).  She reminds me to water my herbs and then pulls a little off to "have a little snack."  She has so much spirit and emotion wrapped up in her 4 year old body.

 As each one of my children get older, I see myself enjoying and valuing their uniqueness more each day. The older they get, the more their personality develops.  I love different things about each of my kids.  And one of the many things that I love about my fur year old is that she can go to Graceland and be completely satisfied and content. She is oblivious to what is going on around her but she's completely present in her world. Like I said, what a wonderful place to be!  I hear all the time that this time goes by so fast. So I'm looking for the little things that make Grace who she is.  She makes me smile all throughout the day because of what she says or does.  I'm waiting for the day when she invites me to take a trip to Graceland. I think I will say yes!

 

the mommy scale

 
I was in a long line at Aldi's. If you've ever been there before you know the line will move quickly. Even so, it was still a bit stressful because I had my 2 kids with me and a week's worth of groceries in my cart. At this point, Grace was walking next to me because the cart was full, which means she is no longer caged and contained. While I was waiting my turn, another lane opened. I began the mad rush of turning the cart quickly to wiggle my way into the adjacent lane. A very old, hunched over man with a cane, walked in front of me and took my spot. It wasn't fair. He hadn’t been waiting in line like I had. His timing just happened to be perfect. But I wasn't upset. He was an old man. I almost felt good to let the old guy go first. He only had one bag (at Aldi's you need to bring your own bags-you're right, it's not where shopping is a pleasure). He even had trouble lifting the heavy bag full of food onto the conveyer belt. By this point I'm glad the great grandpa cut in front of me; I was feeling pretty good about myself. By the time I had checked out and was walking out of the store, he had just walked up to the handicapped spot. I told you he moved very slowly. He walked up to a convertible Ferrari. What?!!! I thought this guy must be losing his mind. He must have forgotten which car was his. I expected he would be looking for an old Cadillac with his little silver haired wife waiting to drive him home. But no, he actually had the keys for this Ferrari. How would he drive being so hunched over? How can someone who can barely walk, drive this beautiful Ferrari? And then I thought why is someone who owns a Ferrari shopping at Aldi's? Sure enough he got into that beauty and drove off like it was just another normal shopping experience. I felt a little duped. This guy wasn't oblivious to cutting me off in line and stealing my rightly due spot. It's very possible he used his hunchback and crawl of a walk to get what he wanted. It gave me a good laugh.

I love nothing more than an honest person, even more so, an honest mom. There are times that I see a mom who seems to have all her ducks in a row. Everyone is listening, she looks pretty in her skinny jeans, her house is clean, and so on. But I'm not duped like I was by the old man. As a mom myself, I put pressure on myself to be this perfect mom that I have somehow imagined in my head. Not only do I want to still look like a woman (hair brushed and maybe something cute to wear) but I want to have the perfect relationship with my kids where they respect me but also enjoy and trust me. Give me the "How to be a Perfect Mom" pamphlet and I'll follow it. And probably even more so, I want others around me to think I'm doing a pretty good job.

It is always refreshing to me when I see a mom having a difficult time. Not in some morbid way. For her sake, I hope she's ok. But for my sake, it reminds me that no one is perfect. That being a mom is really hard. I love when someone is honest and tells me what kind of struggle they are having with their kids or how they are failing or how they want to grow in a certain area. It's like it removes this unsaid unattainable bar that I have made for myself and often assume others have attained. Once some truth is said, it puts us on the same playing field.

Sometimes I wonder how or when I made this imaginary mommy scale in my head. Some of it comes from my pre-mommyhood years. Pre-mommy years, it was easy to judge or make opinions about what I will do or not do when I'm a mom. Then I had a baby and reality hit. I think that I'm a good mom if I do x,y, and z. It's also easy for me to compare my kids behavior with other kids...which is a TERRIBLE idea. But I think more than anything, it just comes from me watching other moms and making assessments about them. There is a mom at Nathan's school that is a skinny minny and always dresses so cute, hair and makeup done, plus she is genuinely so nice. It's easy and natural for me to unconsciously think she's got it all together. I compare myself to this perfect mom and then feel discouraged as I look down at my dirty baggy jeans, pony tailed hair, flip flops on my feet and then hear fighting in the back seat.

But I believe the truth is that even that perfect mommy struggles. No one likes poopy hands, being woken up at night, being told no by a 2 year old in front of their friends, and feeling like they failed again. You never get to punch out at work at the end of the day and even when you do get a mini-vaca from them you are still thinking about them. So why is my goal to be this perfect mom? What if my goal was to do the best job I can, knowing I'm going to fail at times (probably A LOT of times) and to be ok with that. If my new bar that I set in my head was to say I'm sorry to my children when I do mess up, to tell other moms when I am struggling, and I don't have to be perfect, would I survive? I think it would be mommy freedom. I don't want to be like the old man who jumped into his Ferrari. This is me...a mom who dearly loves her kids, who is always questioning what I'm doing, who is not perfect. Rather than despising that, I want to relish that. What am I teaching my kids if I have a high bar that I have to attain?  That there is a high bar for them to attain.  Instead, I want to lead by example of being honest in where I'm at...an imperfect mom who loves her kids.