the wisdom of my lady

when looking for wisdom and insight into parenting, does one really need to look further than the dowager countess of grantham? granted she is character in the fictional world of “downton abbey”. i think, however, this might actually work in her favor. when normal people, you know people who know and love you and who actually exist, give you advice, one doesn’t tend to value it nearly as much as one ought. but dress a woman in period costume, give her a upper class british accent and plunk her down in the midst of manor house glamor and suddenly we are hanging on her every word.

on the topic of parenthood, violet crawley of “downton abbey” delivers some zingers. a personal favorite of late is this one: “one forgets about parenthood. the on and on-ness of it.” a rather obvious fact, that parenthood is an ongoing, years in the making process but in the midst of it, i can forget the forest for the trees. there is always so much in the immediate that demands my attention that i can forget to see the years of parenting i have before me.

in the diaper changing, breastfeeding, sleep-deprived haze of the past, the years ahead seemed remote, a glimmer in the distant future. a place where everyone could tie their own shoes and wipe their own behinds seemed as likely as flying cars and people living on the moon. but now here i am, living in the glimmering independence of self-shoe tying and behind wiping and i see how far this road really goes. life long commitments are like that.either you die soon after making them, hardly ideal, or they last a really long time.

long ago, i accepted that there was no arrival point in marriage, no place to which you “arrived” as a couple, no place where it there were no longer struggles or where compromise was no longer required. there was no happily ever after. there was happiness but it wasn’t a natural bi-product of being married. it required a lot of self-sacrifice and hard-work.

i  have finally realized the same is true of parenthood. i knew about the work and sacrifice part but i associated much of that with the physical demands of younger children. now that my kids are older, i see us moving into a new phase, one that requires a great deal of work but of a different nature. it’s relational work. figuring out what makes each one of them tick, how to make them feel love, how best to communicate constructive criticism without dashing little egos. taking time to teach them the things they need to know and throwing a little bonding time in the midst of life lessons. it’s helping little hands make dough instead of doing it myself or watching action adventure movies instead of romantic comedies. cheering from the sidelines and chauffeuring from here to there and back again.

i think i was waiting for the place where parenting started to get easy, where it was natural and effortless. but as her ladyship says it doesn’t get easier. it goes on and on. and that’s a good thing. we get the amazing privilege of investing in our children for decades. we get to watch them grow and to connect in ways that aren’t possible when they are young. it’s a bit scary as the stakes seem so much higher. their mistakes are no longer solved with a magic eraser and a timeout. but it’s thrilling at the same time. to quote my lady one last time “it’s so encouraging to see the future unfurl. as long as you remember it will bear no resemblance to the past.”

how to love your teenager

if you had told me back in my days of diapers and sippie cups that having a teenager could be just as demanding as having a newborn, i would have laughed you back into last week. but i am here to say people, walking someone through puberty is no joke.

now before you recently post-partumed ladies get your knickers all in a twist, let me say that while my shoe-tying, bottom-wiping, nap-time days are behind me, they are not so far in the distant past that i don’t remember the energy-draining, tear-inspiring, hair-pulling madness of infants and toddlers. the demands of early motherhood have no rival. navy seals should be required to serve a tour of duty searching for pacifiers and listening to “wheels on the bus” a million times a day.

while young children may be an undeveloped weapon of war, as the mother of a thirteen year old who seems to grow an inch every time i turn around, there are other demands, emotional and mental, that weren’t nearly as complex back when barney was cool. isn’t it just like kids to go and change their list of demands just about the time we feel capable of meeting them? just as i celebrated the end of pack and plays and diaper bags, i get blindsided by new needs i didn’t see coming.

through years of interrupted sleep and endlessly monotonous days, a part of me retreated deep inside. it’s like a  part of my emotional, intellectual self was hibernating. sure, i laughed and cried with my babies. i answered their questions about the nature of space and humanity, but i also shut off a place in my head that was reserved for coffee dates with the hubby or girls’ night chatter.

i wasn’t aware of just how far i had retreated into myself until my maturing kids started to invade that space. they are no longer satisfied with superficial conversation or half-listening head nods. i took them all to the children’s museum, ready to lose myself in a book for a few hours while they discovered the wonders of dinosaurs and soil erosion. instead, my oldest sat beside me the whole time and had the audacity to wish to speak to me! can you believe his cheeky nerve? i found myself irritated at the intrusion and have to confess, i repelled his attempts at conversation with more annoyance than tact.

it has taken me a good part of the summer to realize what is going on and to start to do something about it. it’s like being woken up from a deep sleep and taking a few minutes to orient yourself. now that i am finally waking up to this new phase of parenting, i am actually starting to enjoy myself. i am shaking off the bed covers of my brain and starting to share more of myself with these emerging people known as my children. after years of feeling lonely and isolated by my role as a stay-at-home mom, i am enjoying our new found companionship. i have a feeling, like their time as infants and toddlers, this won’t last forever and is best treasured while it lasts. thank goodness their personal maintenance skills are lagging behind their conversational skills. once they conquer the kitchen and the laundry room, i will be totally obsolete.

the birds and the bees

as far as i can tell, and i have the owner’s manual to back me up on this, one of my most important jobs as a mom is to embarrass my children as often as possible. with my daughter, this isn’t too hard to do. wear my hair the wrong way or apply the ole “spit to the face” trick and houston, we have lift off.

boys, on the other hand, are different. need i even say it? i could fart naked in the street and they would hardly bat an eyelash. it might even raise me in their esteem. incorrect grammar, pajamas in the grocery store, shameless nose picking-nothing shocks this hardened threesome. nothing that is except talking about anything remotely related to the topic of sex.

now mind  you, it doesn’t have to be actually talking about the act itself. it can be about anything that might be somehow, ever so tenuously connected. talking about sex’s third cousin once removed is enough to send them, hands to ears, running for cover.

like so many superheroes before me, i try to use my powers for good and not evil but sometimes the temptation is just too great. it sneaks up and whispers seductively in my ear “go on. you know you want to.” and before i can stop myself, i blurt out “hey boys! boob!” it is like some specialized version of tourettes which is sad because i am sure my boys would much prefer i yell out a string of obscenities.

truly, i don’t do this just for my own amusement. as a parent, i feel a strong tension between wanting my children to see their sexuality as something precious and sacred but also something of which one need not be ashamed. my periodic outbursts are my awkward attempt to assure them that there is nothing dirty in the nature of sex itself. if their mom can talk about it (they refuse to come to terms with the fact that their mom might actually do “it”), then it must be healthy, right? like all those fruits and strange vegetables i am constantly trying to get them to eat.

as our nation’s views of sexuality shift and change, i want to be there to help guide my kids. i don’t want to just have “the talk” and be done with it but rather continue the conversation as they grow and mature. who knows, maybe one day i will be the one blushing and running from the room. then i can hang up my superhero costume, knowing my job here is done. until then…”hey boys! boob!”

mother’s day top ten list: part two

…as i was saying

number five: there are no monsters under your bed. as a parent, i find monster fears challenging on two levels. first of all, i feel sad and helpless, watching my youngster, who is obviously terrified, attempt to go upstairs on her own. nothing i say or do can convince her that i would never knowingly place her in harm’s way. secondly, though, i feel frustrated. “don’t you trust me? don’t you think i know what i am talking about?” how often do i stand before God, lip quivering, accusatory glare blazing? what monsters do i imagine He has placed in my path when in reality i have nothing to fear?

number four: try to keep things in perspective. my favorite part of getting older is the gift of perspective. the little things seem, well, littler. my kids can be having “the best day ever” and five minutes later, all the good is forgot and the day is “ruined.” i may be older and wiser but not too much so. i have to constantly remind myself to look beyond the immediate and see the pattern of provision and salvation God has woven into His plan for my life. He is weaving for me “the best life ever” if i will just trust Him.

number three: be grateful for what you have. i am amazed at the endlessly unsatisfiable nature of my children. no sooner have i loaded the dishwasher from lunch and they are already asking what is for dinner. if we go to the movies, now we need popcorn and drinks and don’t forget the ice cream on the way home. i wish i were any better with my Heavenly Father but so often He has no sooner answered one prayer then i have the next request ready and waiting. if only i could learn to be content with what He has given already.

number two: two wrongs don’t make a right. do i really need to give an example? the vicious cycle of retribution among children speaks for itself. the hatfield and macoy feud must have been started by kids. and yet, within myself is a capacity for grudge holding and self-justification that makes them look like UN peacekeepers. if only i would trust God as the ultimate Judge and remember with great humility how it is that i will be found innocent before His throne.

number one: Jesus loves me this I know. the foundational truth through which all other truths flow. i should be a disney princess, frolicking through the forest while small animals trail behind me as i sing of my Savior. He hasn’t delivered me from a dragon or evil stepmother. He has delivered me from the gates of Hell. and more besides, because He has delivered me from myself. from the dragon and evil in my own heart.

this mother’s day may we all humbly praise God for the blessings He has granted. let us remember Jesus weeping over jerusalem, longing to gather His people under His wing like a mother hen. Lord, may i be found under Your protection always.

mother’s day top ten list: part one

mother day’s often leaves me reflecting on all the ways i am failing as the assigned maternal figure in my kids lives, praying desperate prayers for God to fill in my incredibly large gaps. not to mention begging that He give them limited memories of their childhood which focus on the times i let them eat on the couch or cuddled them affectionately after a particularly nasty encounter with the driveway pavement. i don’t know if it makes it better or worse when the kids hand over their precious homemade gifts and cards. should i  weep with joy at the thought that i might not be doing as badly as i think i am or weep with sorrow that they don’t know any better.

this past weekend, i was asked to speak at a mother’s day brunch. free food, a bunch of like-minded moms and i manage to avoid saturday morning chores? i am in. of course, i wanted to give the ladies something to justify sharing their breakfast casserole and pastries with me so i decided to go with a top ten list. top ten truths i tell my kids. top ten truths i ought to be telling myself too. so here is the first half of my list with the second half soon to follow. hopefully they will help next time i decide to kick myself when i am down and hopefully they will help you as well.

number ten: just do your best. when the crayon refuses to stay within the lines or the math problem will not yield to logic, i try to remind my kids to take a breath and push on. they may not make the best picture or ace algebra but sometimes “good enough” is good enough. and when i feel like the universe will explode if i don’t make dinner on time or always answer with my patient voice, i need to remember to just do my best. God loves the universe (not to mention my kids and me) enough to not place the fate of all mankind in my hands.

number nine: be content in the now and don’t wish away the stage you are in. “when i grow up…” is an often uttered phrase in our household and one that i wish i could erase forever. i want to shake them and say “life is a blink. you will only have this year, this day, this moment once. savor it.” i want to shake them and then go back to thinking “when i grow up…” here and now, i have a purpose. it is all i am promised and i wish i savored more of the now. oh well, maybe when i grow up.

number eight: life isn’t about you. each day, at the same time, i get a sick feeling in my stomach. no, it isn’t because i ate too many oreos (my oreo eating time varies from day to day). it is chore time. i call out in the cheerfullest of voices “chore time!” and then brace for impact. the response is usually something like “noooooooo!” this is where i go into my “if we all work together, it will go by so quickly” speech which translates “you aren’t sticking me with all this mess to clean up by myself, kiddo.” in the same way my kids dread chore time, i too dread that inner voice calling me to do my part. “nooooo!” my selfish heart calls. Lord, give me the grace to answer your call in my cheerfullest voice.

number seven: don’t complain about responsibilities you have chosen to take on. closely related to number eight, this one refers to complaints regarding volunteered for responsibilities (such as guinea pigs and lizards) as opposed to responsibilities you were assigned (such as cleaning the toilet or taking out the recycling ). while i roll my eyes in disgust at my children’s lack of gratitude for their pets and other sundry work-requiring privileges , i really should be giving my forehead a big smack. how often do i complain about “the burdens” i am carrying, the burdens i called blessings when i asked for them. may i daily give thanks for these blessings and ask for the grace to carry them.

number six: let he who is without sin cast the first stone. one of my favorite familiar ironies is the accusations which often fly around the dinner table immediately following prayer time. “so and so had his eyes open while we were praying!” everyone knows that God is unable to hear our prayers unless everyone’s eyes are tightly closed. putting that fact aside, assuming that God has not granted you transparent eyelids, your eyes were in fact open as well. how often are my eyes scoping out others rather than looking inward, or better yet upward? grant me eyes that see only You, God.

to be continued…

I’ve Got the Joy, Joy, Joy, Joy…

We are a family who loves to ask questions. Ever since our kids stumbled upon the magic of “why”, we have been asking and answering questions. Sometimes we use questions as a way to prolong our time around the table. To keep little bottoms in their chairs for just a few minutes longer. The other night the question was “What fruit of the Spirit does each member of the family most often exhibit?” Most of us garnered mixed reviews but when it came to my little woman, there was a resounding chorus of “Joy!”

Being a joyful person might seem like the greatest blessing God could bestow on a soul, especially from the perspective of a Oscar-the-Grouch spirit such as myself. But having lived with and parented the bubbling brook of happiness that is my daughter for eight years now, I have come to realize that, like all things, there is a flip-side to deep joy. The other side of her precious joy coin is sorrow.

Because Maggie loves life and those around her with an almost strangling passion, she feels loss so much more deeply than others. Trying to get her to dispose of anything, and I mean anything, is tortuous for us both. “Not the bear so-in-so got me for my fifth birthday!” “Not the plastic and rhinestone ring so-in-so gave me as a party favor!” “Not the one-armed, scuffed up kid’s meal toy I found in the garage can that time!” How many nights, I have rocked her through tears at the loss of one of her treasures? How many hours have I spent stroking away the sorrow that so often seems to shadow great joy?

I am so not like this.I actually love throwing stuff away. It makes me feel lighter, less cluttered in my head. After I spent a gleeful afternoon clearing away mismatched picture frames and knick-knacks, Jim said it looked like we were getting ready to move and I took it as a complement. When I peer into Maggie’s mind, it feels oppressive to me, all those attachments, all those burdens of love and care with which she is burdened. But what is my flip-side? I may be more safe but I am also more alone.

When I see my daughter embracing life to the fullest, running head long into the joy of living, a pang of regret and envy fill all that space I have created. Suddenly that space doesn’t feel a tidy retreat so much as an empty void.I don’t want to feel her sorrow but in trying to avoid it, I am missing out on her joy.

Maggie is a let’s-dump-out-all-the-drawers-and-see-what-we-can-create-and-only-clean-up-when-Mom-makes-us kind of girl, while I am most definitely a-place-for-everything-and-everything-in-it’s-place kind of gal.

I follow my kids around picking up stray socks, cereal bowls and shoes.  This approach prevents me from grinding Cheerios into the carpet but when it comes to life, I think I need to loosen up a little. I can’t arrange friends and family and, I don’t know, God just like I arrange the dishes in the dishwasher.

Life keeps wiggling out of my hands, falling behind the couch and popping up again in some seemingly unpredictable way, doing the unexpected. In my mind, unexpected generally translates as “bad and to be avoided.” But I am learning…from my eight year old.

I am trying to let things and people in. To enjoy the moment and try not to think about where things are headed. To let things get a little more messy. To dump out all the drawers and worry about cleaning it up later. You never know what you might find there. Maybe some joy is hiding in the most unexpected of places.