The Sweetest Mother's Day Gift!
I was talking with a friend recently. One who is a great mama. Her babies are healthy and clothed and fed and loved. And lovely. She is married and totally in love. And this mama was talking about staying home. About how she doesn’t love it. Not at all. About how she never has. It’s been a constant struggle. But how she feels like she’s sort of stuck in it.
And I remembered. I remembered feeling that after number one. And then, after number two. And then again, after number three.
I remember that I always questioned if I was supposed to feel so conflicted if indeed, I was making the right choice. I wondered if I was doing my babes a disservice by being home with them if I wasn’t absolutely truly, madly, deeply in love with the situation.
But everyone told me I was supposed to love it. Everyone would say, you’re so lucky or it’s such a luxury. And deep down, I would resent those statements. I know that doesn’t make sense. And some moms will think, “ummmm really?” But it didn’t feel that way to me when I was missing making an income, being social and “using my brain” at work {and yes, I know very much that SAHMs use their brains}. It didn’t feel that way when I was exhausted at the end of every day. It didn’t feel that way when every moment, I held in anxiety that I wasn’t the very type of mother they needed me to be.
And then, cancer happened in my life. And now, after cancer, I find myself pretty content with staying home. Maybe it’s because of a perspective shift. Or maybe it’s because I believe that the right very flexible arrangement will come my way when it’s time. Maybe because I realized through treatment that I have no desire to spend even 25 hrs a week in an office at this stage. At their stages. And yes, I realize, what a “luxury” it is to have that option.
Also, after having a life changing diagnosis… A period of time with my life, flashing before my eyes… I determined that the times I’ve felt happiest as a mom — where I’ve felt the most secure with myself — is decisions made have been for me, for my kids, for our family. Not because it was the popular thing. Or the easiest thing. Or because of someone else’s opinion. I was being the mom I wanted to be. The mom that I believed my kids needed me to be. The mom that I needed me to be.
Let me assure you of one thing that I know for certain: life is too damn short, mama. It’s too short to mom someone else’s way. To make everyone else miserable while making your existence completely invisible. To take your feelings out of the equation. Just because you think it’s what sounds best for your kids.
It is hard. Motherhood is. If you dispute that, 100%, well, then we will just have to agree to disagree. Because I believe it is hard. But motherhood is also beautiful. Messy. Full of joy. Hilarious. Comforting. Challenging. Life-affirming. Spiritual. Loud. Monotonous. Infuriating. Freaking incredible. And a lifestyle and humanstyle I am so amazed I get to live.
But it’s full of choices. Choices on birthing. Feeding. Diapering. Sleeping. Pacifying. Swaddling. Circumcisions. And that is just in the first week of the parenting gig. Then you have discipline. Screen time. Chores. Responsibility. Religion. Sex discussions. Sports. Activities. Driving. Drinking. School or no school. Organic or conventional. Staying home or not. One kid or five.
Sheesh. Just thinking about it all makes my head spin.
And then, thinking of what everyone else thinks about it all. Jeeeeeezaloo. That’s. Exhausting.
So let’s try to not. Let’s try to not hafta consider what everyone else thinks of what they think our parenting choices look like from a distance. Let’s try to start. To start being the moms we want to be for our own family. Making the decisions that we make with our spouses because of our vision for our life together. The decisions we make based on the personalities and strengths of each child we have. And recognizing that the things, sometimes, that make mama or daddy happy or content, are what make our children great. And make them “our people.” Little extensions of us. Children, I believe, are sent to us to make our lives better… more spontaneous… more whimsical… more fragile. Not broken… or scary… or like watching the sand slip through an hourglass… hopeful for the next day and then the next but never feeling unstuck.
So hear this, mama who feels like she’s stuck at home. Mama who feels like she’s getting pressure to wean her two year old. Mama who feels like the co-sleeping she loves so much has to be a secret. Mama who feels like the Hostess Powdered donuts she gives her two-year-old every morning must never be seen. Mama who wants her kid to have screen time every day so she has sanity. Mama who wants to pop a beer every day at her desk before she goes home to her kiddos. Mama who wants her twelve-year-old to mow the lawn and clean the house. Mama who wants to give her daughter a talk about abstinence or the pill. Mama who feels like there’s pressure for your child to look a certain way. Mama who wants to teach your kiddo about Jesus. Mama who wants to talk to your kids about Love being Love. Mama who feels like she can’t wait for high school to end. Mama who feels like she will crumble when it does. Mama who feels like she is alone. Mama who has become a grandma. And is trying to navigate motherhood, in a whole new way.
To all the mamas… Any and all of you questioning yourselves as mothers because you are playing the game of comparing your ways to others’… To my dear, sweet mama friend who is feeling stuck. And unhappy. You can mom your own way. Got it? You can mom your way. You can. And slowly, once you get the hang of it, you will start to feel free. Content. And proud of the mother you are. Because you will stop judging yourself by the mother you aren’t. You will start loving mothering. You will find the joy. And you will stop feeling stuck.
You can mom your own way. And maybe, you ought to start, today.
httpv://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sd2TnFj66qo
As we were decorating the tree last Christmas, my son dug to the bottom of a box and pulled out a Snoopy ornament. He set it off to the side quickly and continued his rifling. But I noticed the faint crack along the red jukebox that Snoopy stood beside. In an instant, I was standing back in the kitchen of our first home watching my son wander in to ask, in the cutest toddler voice, if he could “pwess” the button on the ornament to play the music. With gleeful excitement, he pressed too hard. The ornament slipped from his...
My hands were trembling as I reached for the pregnancy test developing on the bathroom counter. It had been three months since we lost our second pregnancy to miscarriage, and I was cautiously optimistic that this was our month. My heart tried to leap out of my chest when I saw the two lines. Our rainbow baby had been conceived. Let me preface the rest of this story by saying I knew my pregnancy wouldn’t be magical. My pregnancy with my son, who was 22 months old at the time, hadn’t been, and the short weeks leading up to my...
I’m Learning To Feel Like I Belong In a Room Because I Want Her To Know She Always Does
In: Living, Motherhood
It took me 39 years to like myself. I mean really, honestly look in the mirror and say, “You go, girl.” I understand the concept of progress, not perfection, but the idea of always working on myself became a tiring and unrelenting objective. Here I was shrinking that waist, smoothing my skin, studying hard, working way too late, and often burning the candle at both ends to yield results that were still less than the ideal. It’s all well and good to be a doer who sets reasonable and sometimes unreasonable goals, but throughout my teens and into my early...
T-minus 44 days until a new beginning- Math has never been my strong suit or my favorite subject, but it will be about 19 years spent rising and trying to shine in our house. Nineteen years of prepping one, two, or all three of our sons to get up and ready for school. Nineteen years of making breakfast. Nineteen years of making lunches. For those of you in the thick of it right now, you know exactly what I mean. I think my husband Steve and I have it down to a science now. If we had to do it...
During my oldest daughter’s freshman year of college, I started being haunted by a recurring dream of an old-fashioned suitcase—one of those hard-sided ones that’s as big as they come. In the dream, when I open the suitcase, it’s overflowing with clothing, shoes, and all kinds of stuff that belongs to me and each of my three daughters. Everything in the suitcase is all jumbled together. Nobody else in the dream is worried about sorting through everything, but I am totally stressed about it. To top it all off, I have to deal with this suitcase while preparing for a...
I am a proper mom. Not fancy, not prim—practical. I am dressed for the time of day, always. That is simply who I am. Except for this morning. This morning I was in a towel, bracing the bathroom counter, writhing in pain, and trying not to scream loud enough to disturb the neighbors. I had seen a specialist just the day before. He’d said I needed six weeks to heal before they could do further exploration. What he hadn’t said—what I hadn’t understood—was how much the healing itself would hurt. My 23-year-old daughter, Aislyn, found me like that. Panicked. Half-dressed....
With four kids at three different schools, our days are full. Between sports practices, music lessons, clubs, rehearsals, games, meets, and playdates, it feels like we’re constantly heading somewhere. I love that my children are involved in activities, but occasionally, it’s nice to have some downtime. When I get a text or email that a practice has been canceled, it’s usually a huge relief. Last week, after-school sports were cancelled due to heavy rain. When I picked up my youngest son from school, I told him we’d be going straight home for the rest of the afternoon. He looked surprised....
I have a confession: Yesterday I let my 11-year-old play with fire. Like literally. We live in the country, there is still wet snow on the ground, and he’s done it with his dad at least 20 times. But yesterday was the fifth consecutive day of no school, and probably the twentieth consecutive day of him asking to have a small fire without dad. Part of me did it out of laziness. Part of me did it out of selfishness. And part of me did it out of nostalgia. Here’s the thing—when I was 11, I was already babysitting (like...
“Ahhh!” My underwater scream garbled in my snorkel tube as the manta ray’s cavernous mouth swept a hand’s distance from my face. My fingers tightened around the surfboard until my knuckles ached. My arms trembled. I jerked my head side to side, searching for my daughters, Mia and Megan. Recent college graduates, they had joined me on one last mother-daughter vacation before launching their adult lives. They floated easily on the vibrant Hawaiian water, relaxed, trusting. I wanted to borrow their calm. Earlier, our guide had explained that the LED lights built into the surfboard attracted plankton the way college...
My pastor frequently speaks of “kid pain” and acknowledges there’s nothing like it. I can testify to that. After nine months of uncertainty and unexplained issues following the birth of our now 4-year-old daughter, Harlow, we finally received her diagnosis of Pyruvate Dehydrogenase Complex Deficiency (PDCD), a life-limiting mitochondrial disease with no cure and no FDA-approved treatments. It was heartbreaking. In moments like these, a parent can fall into complete desperation. You go through a range of emotions almost too fast to name: fear for your child’s life; anxiousness about how much time you’ll get with them; overwhelming grief. And...
