The Rewards of Motherhood

I often write about how hard it is to be a mother.   Recently, one of my best friends warned me of the dangers.   If I keep telling everyone how hard it is, I’m going to scare all the future mamas away. 

The rewards of motherhood are difficult to explain because the job is too complex and nuanced for simple words.  So I’ll just tell the story of a yoga class I went to on Mother’s Day.

Toward the end of the class, the instructor suggested we try a headstand.  With several blank stares from my classmates and me, she reminded us that success was achieved just by trying.  We should avoid comparing ourselves to our neighbor.  We need to let go of perfection or what we think it should look like.  

Now that’s good advice for anyone, especially mamas. 

So I decided to just focus on my own effort and try my best.  I started slowly.  I wobbled and doubted myself.  I cursed through several failed attempts. 

In the midst of this struggle, I could hear my own mom clearer than ever before.  Even with doubt, you are doing it right.  At your own way, at your own speed.   You are making positive progress by taking things inch-by-inch, day-by-day, and year-by-year.  You will only get better through practice and daily failures.  

I wanted to keep trying.  I wanted to spit in the face of fear.  

My legs trembled as they slowly rose over my head.   The process felt messy, wrong, and unnatural.   But I had found a way to do my best. 

Then in those three seconds where my feet remained above my head, I remembered a story that a coworker wrote on a Card at my mother’s funeral: 

“My fondest memory of Joan is when we were in yoga class together and it was time for the headstand!  Joan went right up against the wall and let out such a shriek that people thought she fell over.  We laughed all night over it!”  - L. 

My mother physically and emotionally had done this same headstand.   She had struggled and swore and sweated the small stuff through parenting.  She was brave in the attempt. 

And that’s how I’d sum up the rewards of motherhood, and life in general.   It’s the squeal of delight in knowing that even with your world turned upside down, you can do it.   

Butterflies are free

Once again I am faced with the feelings of powerlessness in the face of tragedy.  The grief I feel for this country is too large to hold in my heart.  There is a massive problem with guns, hate, and intolerance.  

I cannot fix what has come before me, but I do have an opportunity to fix what is ahead of me.  The greatest tools of influence I hold are the two children that I shepherd.   If I can make them better, then I can make the future better.   

I believe in the butterfly effect.   This is the theory that small change in a complex system can have large effects elsewhere.   I imagine the tiny breeze created from a gentle butterfly has the cumulative effect to create strong winds thousands of miles away. 

I want to create big winds of change.  I want to cause storms of kindness.   I want to build two beautiful butterflies with strong, kind wings.  I must start with what I can control, no matter how small.

Here’s what I think we can do as individuals, parents, and leaders:

Spend wisely:  Buy experiences not things.  Spend your money on trips, not toys.  Find ways for your children to experience different cultures, different environments, and different people.   I think hate is born out of fear, and fear is hard to hold onto when you try new things.   As an added bonus, when you have less stuff to clean, organize, and sort, you have more time to enjoy, learn, and explore.

Live consciously:  I’m often surprised at how much I am teaching my children even when I’m not trying.   My daughter and son are watching me most in my daily routines.  They are watching how I behave, what I love, and the words I choose.  I’ve often found Amelia talking to herself in the mirror, pretending to be me.   I want her mirror to be a good one. 

Speak lovingly:  Be abundant with tender words.   Don’t be afraid to say, “I love you” to anyone.  I say it out loud to my husband, kids, and family.  But I also tell it to friends, coworkers, and even the occasional stranger who helps me in the checkout line.  Don’t assume others know how you feel.   It’s the easiest and cheapest way to make other people feel great about themselves.  

In these big tragedies, start small to heal.  Be your own butterfly.  

Parenting Pop Quiz

When I was pregnant, many people told me that parenting was hard.  

"Yeah, yeah," I thought.  I'm tough.  I got this.  

Turns out, parenting got me.  Or rather my ideals about proper parenting got me.   What I expected and what happens on a daily basis are wildly different.  

If you've ever wondered if you've got what it takes to be a parent, then here's a handy pop quiz.  If you can identify at least one thing wrong with each of these photos, then you are going to be a great mom or dad.  

Go ahead, you got this.  

QUESTION #1:

What's wrong here?  There are NO DOUGHNUTS in my cart!  Everyone knows that mothers of newborns are required to enjoy at least one Krispy Kreme an hour during those first weeks.  It feels a shame not to tell you this now.  Keep going.  

QUESTION #2:

What's wrong here?  Amelia is not a teenager, yet she already looks bored and annoyed with me! I can almost feel her eye rolling technique starting to form.  The only thing right about this moment is that I'm on a business trip during potty training.  

QUESTION #3:

What’s wrong here?   It’s a violation of the traditional parenting rule, “No pants, no problem.”   I mean, if he had pants, I’m sure he’d smile and agree to sit in the high chair, right? 

 

QUESTION #4:

What’s wrong here?  I only have two children, but about forty two sippie cups.  These evil cups magically multiply like bunnies.  But when I really need a clean one, I can’t find one.  Plus, none of them are actually spill proof.  Just warning you - these suckers are tricky.   

QUESTION #5:

What’s wrong here?  He’s cute, but he left too much evidence of his first ‘Five Finger Discount”.  If he’s going to steal all the salad bar food before we checkout, then at least he needs to make it less obvious.  Always remember to wipe the face and remove all pineapple from the shoe.  

 

QUESTION #6:

What’s wrong here?  There’s no whiskey in my coffee!  If you are going to have a toddler pull your hair while having a temper tantrum in public, you really should have strong liquor in your cup, or at least some cheap wine.   My bad. 

 

QUESTION #7:

What’s wrong here?  I'm unable to maintain good personal hygiene.  Good parents take a shower when their child sleeps.  My kid takes naps in the shower.   I clearly skipped the day they taught sleep and shower seperation in parenting class.   I know you can do better than me. 

 

QUESTION #8:

What’s wrong here (other than agreeing to go on a group camping trip with an infant)?  I can’t decide if it’s the proximity to wine bottles, sharp knives, bug spray, or hot coffee.  It’s probably the red bead necklace with my pink shirt.  Yup, that’s it.  My outfit totally clashes. 

 

BONUS QUESTION:

What’s wrong here?  NOTHING.  Everything is right about this picture.  Because when you survive a moment like this and live to laugh about it, then you’re going to make it in this parenting thing. 

Here’s the secret folks:  There are no right or wrong actions.  You are a good parent by just trying to be one.  There are days everything will go wrong.  There are moments everything will go right.  Everything else in between will just be funny….someday.

Leprechauns, Luck, and Loss

Earlier this week, my five-year-old daughter asked me about St. Patrick’s Day and leprechauns. I didn’t want to inadvertently start some new candy-infused tradition, so I dug into something rare with kids and holiday characters – the truth. 

“Leprechauns don’t bring you anything,” I said. 

“Nothing?!” she asked in disbelief.

“Well, sometimes they bring you luck,” I replied trying to appease her. 

She didn’t understand the concept of luck.  As I struggled to define the word, I started to think about my complicated relationship with luck through my life.

When I was younger, I thought I was really lucky.

Then when my mom got cancer, I questioned whether I was still a lucky person.  Her cancer started really small and insignificant.  Each time we thought she was cured, doctors told us there was only a small chance that it would return.  

I believed the harder I worked, the luckier I would become.  Fate was something I could control.   Yet my mom relapsed four times, despite all my research on new treatments, doctor visits, and hospital overnights.

During her illness, I was also single.  I thought I could change my luck in love by trying harder.  I participated in speed dating, online personals and set-ups from strangers.  But no magnitude of bad dates seemed to change things.  I was still single, and my mom was still dying. 

I felt pretty angry about how unlucky I felt.  I blamed God, fate, and myself.  I assumed maybe I had done something bad or wrong in life. 

But what I didn’t realize was that my struggles were not related to luck.  There were some things I could control, and some things I couldn’t.  Luck had nothing to do with it.

I was grateful to have my mom for all the years I did.  I was lucky to recognize what I wanted in a husband by learning what I didn’t want in one. 

Once I let go of my anger and expectations, I found gratitude in my struggles. 

No matter how much I try to shield Amelia, she will feel unlucky at some point in her life.  It’s my job to teach her how to find grace when she doesn’t get what she wants. 

I still believe in luck, I just don’t rely on it.  Life is full of delightful surprises and good fortune.  But when it doesn’t, I don’t blame the leprechaun at the end of the rainbow.  I look for my own gratitude somewhere in that cloud. 

Amelia trying her luck with a NCAA basketball bracket...

Run, Sarah, Run

Every morning it takes great courage for me to put my daughter on the bus, waving to her as she departs off to school.

But this is nothing compared to the courage of my friend Sarah, who stands next to me at that bus stop waving to her seven-year-old son, too.

On the surface, Colton looks just like any other eager second grader.  He’s got a goofy smile, happy outlook, and always carrying his backpack on one shoulder while leaping on the bus with youthful enthusiasm. 

But Colton also has a debilitating genetic disorder called neurofibromatosis (NF).  NF causes tumors to grow all over the nervous system and can cause blindness, deafness, learning disabilities and severe chronic pain. These tumors can also become cancerous.  There is no treatment and no cure for NF.   

One of the most difficult parts for Sarah is telling people about Colton.  Currently, Colton has a large inoperable tumor in his upper leg and other small tumors he is managing with the help of his doctors.  But otherwise, Colton looks normal and healthy right now. 

For Sarah, this is both a blessing and a curse.  The blessing is that Colton’s condition has not yet developed into visible restrictions to his daily life.  Yet the curse is that the seriousness of his condition remains hidden from friends and family. 

They say that parenting feels like your heart is walking outside of your body.   Sarah’s heart is walking around, leaping on a bus every morning, with an incurable disease that can manifest further at any moment.  NF is a progressive disease, and there isn't much more Sarah can do other than watch and wait.  It leaves her feeling fearful, powerless and without any control.

I have immense and knee buckling respect for any mama that can live this way.

Two years ago while researching NF, Sarah learned about Cupid's Undie Run, which benefits the Children's Tumor Foundation.  They discovered this fundraiser for NF research to help find treatments and a cure. Can you imagine the amount of overwhelming research she did?  She told me, “That’s just what you do when you find out your child has an illness you have never heard of before his diagnosis.”

Sarah and her husband Nick knew that fundraising for critical research that may one day help Colton was something they couldn't ignore.  They wanted to get involved - and in a big way.  It is something - the only thing - they CAN do to try to make a difference, hopefully in Colton's lifetime.

That, my friends, is courage.

I will never know exactly what Sarah is going through.  But I do know what helps: Listening.  Learning.  Caring.

So I’m listening to her, learning about NF, and caring about Sarah.   She is the unsung hero in this story. 

Here in Minneapolis on Saturday, February 13th, the temperatures will be frigid, and Sarah will be running in Cupid’s Undie run.  But I’m certain Sarah has endured more than a run in the cold. 

I can imagine her running and thinking, “Is this all you got, winter?  Do you know I am stronger?  Do you know how far I would run in the cold for Colton?” 

Bring it, Minnesota.   She’s ready to run.

P.S.  You can help by donating to Sarah’s campaign or joining a team.  Together, we can be the difference in the lives of children and help #endNF.

Not Anymore

Over the holidays, my two-year-old son surprised us with a new phrase while I was changing a particularly messy diaper.

“Don’t want wipes,” he declared.  “Not anymore.” 

No wipes?  I didn’t understand what he had against cleaning wipes.  Then I saw his red, sore bottom under that poopy mess.  He didn’t want wipes because it makes his diaper rash hurt a lot more.

I sympathized, but I had to do what I had to do.  Poor boy.

Yet, now he uses this phrase all the time.  Poor mama. 

At bedtime I hear, “Don’t want to go night-night.  Not anymore.” 

In the morning he tells me, “Don’t want socks.  Not anymore.”

When I try to put him in a sharp looking button-down shirt, “Don’t want to be handsome.  Not anymore.”

I can’t get mad at these mini-tantrums.  There are a lot of things I don’t want to do anymore, too.

Duncan will learn so many things, but the biggest lesson I hope to teach him is to manage his free will.   The journey in his life will twist and turn based on when he decides to persevere in the face of challenge and when he chooses to quit.  He will need to exercise his right to do something ‘Not Anymore’ long after he’s out of diapers and getting dressed on his own.  

But first I must set the example and quit some of my own unhelpful behaviors.  I need to stop moving so fast and slow down.  I need to stop extreme multi-tasking and rest more.   I need to quit worrying about the future and trust the journey. 

If I stop those things, then I say yes to less stress, and less regret, and more happiness. 

Yet, quitting is a new-year resolution that feels near impossible for me.  I live with unending to-do lists and ambitious dreams.  Letting go and choosing to stop doing things will be my greatest challenge of free will.  But I will persevere because I don’t want to miss these development years of my sweet Duncan.  Not anymore. 

The Holiday Card Hoax

My talented sister-in-law created holiday cards for me this year.  I sent her the digital files from a professional photo shoot, and she worked her creative magic. 

Our card this year is a portrait of joy and serenity.  We all have nice smiles, crisp outfits, and clean hair.  Here it is:

But really, it's not us.  The truth is our lives look nothing like this picture.  On a daily basis, Amelia refuses to brush her hair.  Duncan bites the other kids at school.  I’m wearing my pajama top as a bra until dinner. We're far from put together. 

I suddenly felt bad sending out these cards.  I don’t want to create the false perception that my life is easy breezy.  I don’t want my fellow moms, single friends, or distant relatives to think that we eat every meal in elegant attire and family bliss.

We all do it.  We all want to show our glory moments, even the ones that only last a split second. 

But I wondered why I would send out a picture of a life that wasn’t me.  I realized that I wasn’t doing it to impress my friends and family.  I was doing it for me; or rather for Future Me. 

I don’t want to look back on these difficult years and remember the dark and messy days.  I don’t want to remember losing my temper over hair brushing, the angry exchanges with my husband over laundry piles, or the scratchy feeling of stubble on my legs from not shaving for three weeks.

I want Future Me to remember that feeling, even for one moment, when we all showed up clean, happy, and smiling.

You will toss these cards after the holidays are over.   But I will keep this card so Future Me will look at these photos in twenty years and forget the sharp edges of the tough times.

I know my long-term memory will be kind and forgiving.  This holiday card will help me remember the cheek kisses, Duncan’s little suit coat, and Amelia’s shiny hair - and not the kids fighting over broken crayons, snot-stained dresses, or temper tantrums in the Target checkout line.

Until then, I’m sorry for the pretty photos, and I'll understand if you send me yours. 

P.S.  Future Me did not let me send this alternate holiday card: 

The Big Questions

We all have heard that being a mom or dad is not an easy job.   When I was pregnant, well meaning friends and strangers would gently rest their arm on my shoulder and sigh, “Whew, parenting is tough.” 

But no one told me what this really meant.  I assumed they were talking about a couple of sleepless nights, messy diapers, and a few extra expenses.   Yes, all these hardships occurred, but someone should have told me about the Big Questions. 

The Big Questions are the ones that can't be solved with naps or diaper genies.  They are the ever present worries born from fear and guilt, such as, ‘What’s best for my children?  Should I stay at home or work full time?  How much television is too much?  Is it safe to hire babysitters from the internet?  Am I too lenient or too strict?  What if I’m not really enjoying this?  Did I really just lose my temper?   Most days I just struggle with the most basic, yet profound, Big Question: 'Am I a good or bad mom?'.  

Each time I ask myself this question, I have to believe I'm on the right side of the answer.  It's a daily leap of faith to claim I'm a good mom, even on my bad days.   

But I'm learning this may not even be a fair question.  Being good or bad is not easy to measure, nor static in the ever changing role of a parent.  I just try to do the best I can.  It starts with trusting that my love for my children, even when I may not like them, is enough.  It's about having confidence in my instincts to make the right choices, however difficult.  And it's most definitely laughing at those parenting moments so bizarre that I wonder if I'm just getting pranked, like this one:

I should just learn to be more like them.  They don't seem to be worried about good or bad or anything.  They are not asking questions of themselves (clearly!).  And they probably think I'm a pretty good mom. 

Children know more than we think.  Maybe they do have all the answers.

The Turtle Brigade

One of the things that drives me crazy about my five year old daughter is that she’s really slow.  Not slow in mind, but slow in action.  She finds exceptionally clever ways to delay routine tasks like putting on shoes or getting in the car.  You’ll often find me standing at the front door frustrated and shouting, “You’re making us the Turtle Brigade again!” 

One of the deepest sources of my sadness is the inability to ask mom about her years of heavy parenting.  Since I can’t ask her, I usually turn to the stories about mom that other people wrote on index cards at her funeral for wisdom.   I recently flipped through The Cards and found this from a friend: 

“I have many memories from high school at her house waiting for Erica as she finished getting ready to go out.  I never minded – because these were the times I got to have ‘heart-to-hearts’ with Mrs. Neubert.  She always spoke to us as if we were adults and she was one of the kids at the same time.   When it was finally time to leave I always had the un-teenager thought, “I wish Erica’s mom were coming out with us.”   The funny thing is I can vividly remember these chats, but I couldn’t begin to tell you about any of the things we did afterwards.” – R.

Damn it.  Not only did I create the Turtle Brigade, I am the founding member.  Well played, fate. Well played, mom.   

So my lessons are clear:

1.  If you’ve ever waited for me, I’m sorry.  
2. My children are just holding up a mirror.  When I get frustrated with them, I’m really getting frustrated with myself.  
3. The spaces of waiting time are often disguised as the best parts of the conversation.

I just need to be patient.  In about ten years, I get to be that cool mom who almost gets asked to tag along with the teens. 

The Tallest Man in the World?

At Mom’s funeral, we asked guests to write down their favorite memory of her.  These index cards are my favorite source of information about the different sides of mom I didn’t get to know.  To me, she was a brilliant mom.  But to others, she was a co-worker, manager, neighbor, friend, or aunt.  "The Cards" teach me a little about how to be a better human and a better parent.

Many of the stories people shared were not necessarily about what she did, but how she made them feel.   And they typically include stories I’d never heard before, such as this one:

““How could I ever forget going to see the Tallest Man in the World when I was all of about five years old. How unfortunate that he had broken his leg and couldn’t stand up. All we ever saw was the hat on his head. And yet, it’s still one of the most vivid memories of my childhood!” – S. ”

I have no idea what happened this day, other than a special outing between an aunt and her five year old nephew.  Going to see the tallest man in the world who couldn’t stand up sounds very suspicious.  I don’t know if they were at a cheap travelling circus or if she was making a trip to the hospital emergency room seem less scary. 

But this teaches me three things about parenting and personal connections:

1.     I want to lead a life where people write memorable stories about how special I made them feel. 

2.     You can make up fake superlatives about tall people if you are in need of a quick fun event.

3.     You never know when you are making a moment.