Springtime Depression

I thought about changing the name of this post, coming up with some creative and catchy title.  But I decided not to.  Why sugarcoat things?  Springtime depression.  It is what it is.

According to statistics, about one-quarter of the people reading this will have personally experienced some kind of depressive episode in their lifetime, and nearly all of you will know a close friend or family member who has.  We don’t talk about it much, but it is real.

Most people think that depression is most commonly experienced during the winter and at Christmas.  False.  There is actually a marked decline in suicides before any major holiday.  In fact, December and January have the lowest number of suicides each year.  When are the most?  April and May.

There are theories upon theories about why this might be.  Google “Springtime Depression” and you’ll find a heap of articles discussing the subject.  Read some of them.  It’s fascinating.  Theories range from social disaffectedness to increased inflammation due to pollen.  The bottom line is that nobody really knows for sure why this happens, but it does.

In his poem, “The Waste Land,” T.S. Eliot writes:

                April is the cruellest month, breeding

                Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

                Memory and desire, stirring

                Dull roots with spring rain.

                Winter kept us warm, covering

                Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

                A little life with dried tubers.

The speaker is basically contrasting the spring and winter, noting that the emerging life of spring stands in stark contrast with the comfortable numbness of winter.  Ever since I first read this poem, these lines have stuck with me.  They seemed so odd, so contrary to nature.  But knowing what I know now, well, maybe they aren’t so out of place.

When I was a kid, the best playground in town had one of those really big spiral slides.  I loved that slide.  It was huge and metal and scalding hot when the sun was shining.  But if you could manage to slide down, crouching on your shoes so as not to scorch your legs, you whipped around at least 3—maybe 4—spirals. Because of the twists and turns, you couldn’t even see the top of the slide when you were at the bottom.  Unlike the uber-safe plastic slides today, you went fast.  So. Much. Fun.  It was also an exciting feat to climb up the slide, but that was a more dangerous endeavor.  First, you had to avoid burning your hands and feet, which were most likely barefoot because your shoes would slip too much on smooth metal.  Next, you had to be prepared to cling to the edge or get pushed down by someone coming down the slide.  Sometimes we’d have a ‘lookout’ at the top to holler down if someone else was coming. Sometimes we went up in teams and braced one another from falling backwards.  As you inched your way upwards, your hands were sweaty, slipping on the hot metal.  Your legs were shaking.  It was a whole lot easier to give up the climb and slide all the way down, but when you made it to the top?  Exhilarating.

That’s kind of how depression seems to work.  You start to notice that you’ve been slipping down, crouched on your feet and trying not to get burned.  It is tempting to just keep sliding because reaching out to grab that hot edge and crawl back to the top is so daunting.  But you also know that the further you slide down, the higher you're going to have to climb to get back to the top.  Sometimes you don’t even realize you've started to go down that slide.  And sometimes you do, but the bottom seems so far away and the glide downwards so much easier than the alternative.  Sometimes the twists and turns blind your view of the top, and you don’t realize how far down you’ve gone.  You need people to remind you where you are and encourage you to grab that edge, to inch upwards again.

Maybe you’re one of those kids on the slide. Or maybe you are a ‘lookout.’  As we enter into the season most people associate with budding flowers, green grass, and longer days, take note that for some, this is the darkest time of the year. If you are one of those kids on the slide, remember that you are not alone.  Tell someone.  Get encouragement.   An insightful woman once told me that the surest way to let a fear or anxiety grow was to squash it down, try to control it, or pretend it wasn’t there.  Rather, she suggested, it was better to take that thing and hold it up.  Look at it from all angles.  Let the Light shine on it.  Then, and only then, can you really deal with it.  Darkness has a way of letting ugly things grow.  So, my friend, today?  Today when you maybe don’t want to get out of bed and the To Dos of the day seem like more than you can bear, let the Light shine.  Take those struggles, and hold them up.  Look at them straight in the face.  Grab the edge of the slide.  Get a ‘lookout.’   It’s good to have someone to warn you if something is going to come flying down the slide at you, to encourage you when you start to slip, and to be there to celebrate when you make it to the top.  You can do this, my friend.

  

You can search for “Depression help” to find oodles of resources on what to watch for and how to help.

Life Lines

When a friend of mine turned 25, her mom bought her wrinkle cream.  No joke.  We laughed about it, especially since this friend still looked like she had just started high school.  But she used it anyway, and seven years later, she still looks like she's fifteen.  Meanwhile, a delicate web of lines has been weaving its way onto my face.

As I look at the women who have preceded me in my gene pool, I see beauty.  I see strength.  I see wisdom.  I see evidence of lives well-lived.  And I suspect that wrinkle creams will only bring me so far. 

And I'm okay with that.

In this culture of cosmetics and anti-aging potions and lotions and eternal quests for the fountain of youth, I am okay with wrinkles.  

In fact, I am more than okay.  I value them.

You see, each one of those beautiful little lines tells a story.  Together, they tell my story.  

My story of days spent on the ball field, the sun shining, eyes squinting, a breeze blowing, a dust of brownish-orange sand splattered across my socks, a faint smell of leather stuck on my fingers.

My story of nights spent rocking babies and finding pacifiers and taking temperatures and tucking in the blanket extra tight instead of sleeping.

Those wrinkles tell about when I've laughed and when I've cried.  They tell about the days I've worried and when I've celebrated.  Those wrinkles tell my story.

Heirloom

A few years ago I determined that I would age gracefully.  I decided that I would make it my goal to move through and among the stages of life with as peaceful and positive and forgiving of an attitude as I could muster.  I decided that I wouldn’t lament the wrinkles multiplying, or the age spots that are spreading, or the ways that my body used to move that takes just a bit more effort these days.  I decided that I would not long for days of the past but remember them, fondly, and look forward to the days ahead.

Today that determination was put to the test.

My baby…my still-1-year-old-for-another-23-days-but-who’s-counting baby said “bye bye!” to the crib that has furnished our home for almost 4 years.  We took out the screws that held together the heirloom that somehow comforted—and contained—10 years’ worth of babies in our family.  Six children slept there, and cried there, and babbled there, and searched for pacis and blankies and loveys inside the crib that was built by a father, by an uncle. 

The babies
siblings + cousins = lifelong friends

Today we set up a “big boy bed” for my baby who is still my baby even if he does not sleep in a crib.

This determination to age gracefully and move peacefully to this next stage of life…it’s tough.  But I will do it.  I will.  I will.  I will.

And I will also imprint the memories of this phase that is fading deep in my mind.

I will remember how it felt to lift his body up over the railings and lay him gently down, bottom first, then his head, tugging up the blanket, and making sure to tuck in his arms just so. And I will remember how large that crib seemed as it held his teeny-tiny newborn body, swaddled into an impossibly tight burrito. And how we found his “big” brother, who was younger than he is now, curled up, asleep, around that tiny baby burrito when he started to sleep in that crib.

I will remember how he called for Ma Ma!  Momee!  Momma! each time he woke up, even after he knew he could climb out on his own.  I will remember the excitement that shook his thick little body when he found out he could sleep in a big boy bed. I will remember the laughter as my two babies, two brothers, made their own memories, giggling their way to sleep.

I will remember that I cried because no matter how gracefully we embrace the changes in life, it is still a little sad to say goodbye to a phase that brought so much joy.  And I will remember that these tears are good for the soul.  Remembering our story is worthwhile.  It matters.  Never stop telling your stories.  I will remember that these tears are layered with anticipation about what lays ahead.  Because, though the road is uncertain, there is joy in the journey.

I Tried to Be Good, and I Failed

Today I had A DAY.

You know, one of those days.

From before I even rolled out of bed, things seemed to be going the wrong way.

I was up too early.

I had too much work to do.

The kids were up before they should have been.

Everyone was crying.  EVERYONE.

My mind was racing with thoughts about Why didn't he do this?  And Why did you do that?  And, C'mon!  Just do this!

And I realized that if I stepped out of bed with all of that going on, I was going to have a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day.

So I prayed.

I prayed that God would fill me with the Holy Spririt.

I prayed that He would use me to breathe love and life into my husband, my sons, my students.

I prayed that--no matter what--this day would not be about me and what everyone could have--should have--would have done for me.  Instead, I wanted to be other-focused.

As an only child and a millenial and a human-being, let me tell you, this is very hard.

But I tried.

And then I failed.

And then I tried again.

And then I failed again.

And then I realized that I could keep trying over and over and over and I would keep failing.

And then I got very annoyed at this whole business of caring for other people who do not do what you want them to do.

So, I did what any millenial would do:  I checked out of real life and checked into my phone.

(Not my finest moment, but God used it.)

I had an email saying that the weekly kids' clubs at church were not happening tonight.

No!  I need that time!  Don't you know that I NEED THAT TIME tonight?  I silently screamed back.

And then I kept reading.

There was an activity to do with your kids.

You were supposed to get a dirty penny and wash it with vinegar.  The vinegar wouldn't really work to clean the penny, but then you'd add salt...and..WAH-LAH!

Shiny, clean pennies.

You'd explain to your kids that you were like the vinegar and can't really do much on your own.  And then you'd tell them that the salt was like the Holy Spirit and without the Spirit we can do some but mostly we are useless.  And then the kids would have this A-HA!  moment.  And then you'd all drink hot cocoa and hug.

Except that I was the one with the A-HA! moment.

After I'd stepped out of bed, I'd pretty much been trying to be a good mom and a good wife and a good teacher and a good worker all by myself.  And I sucked at it.

I didn't leave any room for the Spirit to work in me.  Through me.  For me.

I was the vinegar.

And the Spirit is the salt.

And I need a whole lotta salt in my heart.

And so do you.

Because, no matter how hard you try, you will never be good enough.  You will never be strong enough.  You simply aren't enough.

But there is one who is.

And He wants oh-so-much to show you just how great He really is if only you'll let Him.

Go on.

I dare you.

For the times they are a-changin'

I once read that one of the oddest things about life is that you never really know when a new phase of life is going to start.  Days drag into days, and into weeks, and into years, and every day seems exactly like the day before it.  Then all of a sudden, your tiny frog-legged baby is having a baby of his own.  It's crazy, right?

I remember being a little girl and asking to ride on my uncle's shoulders for the one hundred and bazillionth time. Sometimes he said Yes, and sometimes he said Not now, and sometimes he said Just for a little bit and...well, you get the picture.  But I remember walking home from the zoo, past the crummy camping grounds that used to be along that stretch of the road, and he said No.  And I was feeling grumpy because he'd been saying No for a really long time.  I couldn't remember the last time he said Yes.

And that's when it hit me.

Things were different now. 

I was growing up.  It would never be the same as it was before ever again.

And I was sad.

Really, really sad.

Sometimes you can prepare for the changes.  You know when Kindergarten starts and when you get your driver's license and when you go to college.  Those are big and they are important and I will probably be a blubbering wreck when my kids do all of those things.

But it's the things I can't prepare for, that I don't see coming, or that I do see coming but don't know when they will come...it's those things that really grab me by the throat.

Today I took my boys to the park.  And they ran and they screamed and they climbed on everything in sight.  And I realized that I had been there, watching and standing and laughing.  And that was it.   I didn't carry anyone up the stairs, or help anyone over a wobbly bridge, or guide any clumsy feet down a slide.  They could do it without me all by themselves.

Oh sure, I still need to issue the occasional regular warnings about not throwing rocks or not climbing on things that aren't meant for climbing or not wrestling random kids at the park, but my role is shifting from that of a constant helper to more of a guide, a coach, a trainer.

A friend once told me that for the first 12-18 months after her second child was born, she mostly focused on keeping her kids alive.  I totally get that.  Somewhere in the recesses of my memory there is a shadow of myself screaming, No, don't put that in the baby's mouth!  He can't eat goldfish!  She said that eventually it changed.  She said that eventually her kids played together, and everything became so much easier.

In those first months of having two kids to care for, I clung to her words.  She said it would get easier.  She said I wouldn't always think about just surviving this day.  She said.  She said. She said.

And you know what?  She was right.

I don't know when, but eventually I stopped worrying that the toddler would poke out the baby's eyes if I had the audacity to take a shower.  Soon enough I was able to put food on their plates and eat my own lunch with both hands.  And one day I realized that these two little people, whom I've loved on and fretted over for two lifetimes, love each other back.

And that is awesome.  So so so awesome.  There really is nothing greater than hearing the sound of two people whom you love share a deep, deep belly laugh.

And I am so excited to see what the next chapter holds.

But it's strange, these days of autumn.  Every time I go outside, I breathe as deeply as I can and notice how the sun feels warm and toasty on my skin.  These days are numbered.  I won't know the last time I go outside in my flip-flops, or the last time we run to the store without jackets, or when the days of playing at the park are through until spring.  I know it is coming; I don't know when.  But I know that I have it today.  And I am grateful.

So today, I challenge you.  I challenge you to look at your life, at your day, and find one thing that brings you joy.


And be grateful.


Soak it in.


Breathe deeply.


Cherish this moment.

Dear Max

Today you put on your shoe.

All by yourself.

Not your rainboots, that you slip your feet into with ease and then clomp around like a tiny herd of elephants.

Not your sandles, that you squeeze between your toes and slip the strap over your heel, always on the wrong foot.

Today you put on your tennis shoe.  All by yourself.  The one with the velcro strap that you have to undo and redo in just the right spot.

That one.

You did it.

Without me.  All by yourself.

You yelled, "Mommy!  Mommy!"  And I looked at your feet, knowing that there were no shoes there the last time I'd seen them.  I asked if you did it by yourself.

You said yes, and you asked if it made me happy.

And I said it made me very happy.

And I clapped.

And I smiled.

And then I hugged you.

And when I hugged you, I shed a tear.

Because I was happy.  And I was sad.  And I am feeling all of those things at the same time.

Being a mom is weird.

Yesterday you needed me to do everything for you.  Every little thing.

But today you put on your own shoe.

And I'm a mess.

You are going to be 3 in a few months.

3 years old

I remember when your dad and I celebrated our 3rd anniversary after we started dating.  I bought him a bunch of balloons and tied them to his motorcycle.  We had a big dinner and exchanged cards and presents.  It was a big deal.

Three years was a long time.

But, I swear, you were born yesterday.

How could you have been alive--in my life--for 3 whole years already?

No way.

That simply cannot be.

Yesterday I finagled those froggy newborn arms and legs into impossibly tiny outfits, and today you are putting on your own shoe.

How do these things happen?!?

Breathe, momma, breathe.


I need to slow down.

I need to freeze this moment in time for just a little bit.


Because I want to need to remember the way that you...

...say "Mommy!  Mommy!  Hurry!  Hurry!"  when you are excited.

...and say "Mommmyyy..."  all long and drawn out when you make a new discovery.

And I don't want to forget how you...

...put your head down and say "Oh man..." when you find out that things aren't going your way.

...hold my hand when we walk across a parking lot.

...insist on opening the door to walk into the garage all by yourself.

...turn everything into a ramp for your cars.

...make me "breakfast" in your kitchen.

You seem to think I love cupcakes and tea.

...ask if Daddy is home whenever we pull into the driveway.

...lay on the floor...or your bed...or the couch...or anywhere to "look at pictures" in your books.

...shout "Good morning, Mason!" when your brother wakes up from a nap.

...stick out your tongue just a tiny bit when you concentrate.

How much longer will you...

...say "my" instead of "I" ("My did it!")?

I can't bring myself to tell you that you are saying it wrong.

...raise your voice to a tiny squeak when you say something is "tiny little"?

...ask what that sound is?  And that sound?  And that sound?

When did you stop saying "sound noise" and start just saying "sound"?

When did you learn to say it like everyone else?

Why didn't I notice that change?

...ride "zoom!  fast!" on your motorcycle up and down the hallway?

...tell me that you're sorry and that you "lub" me?

...look so sad and conflicted when you know you've done something that you shouldn't have?

...remind me to pray before we eat or see an ambulance or feel sad?

...ask me to hold your hand when you have a hard time falling asleep?

As I write this list I am struck by how many of my memories are noted by your words. Your simple, sweet words.  

When did you start talking?  Or saying sentences?

I swear it was yesterday that I thought you'd go to kindergarten saying only the word "dis"...

I should be going now.  

You're putting on your other shoe, and I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Love always,

Mom

Dear Mason

Today I realized that you are 10 months and 4 weeks old.
That means in one week you will be 11 months.
That means that turning *1* is right around the corner.


But, I'm not ready for that.

Nope.

You cannot turn 1.  Not yet.  Not now.

For now, you are still my little baby.

My 10 month old I-don't-care-how-many-weeks-because-I-don't-want-to-think-about-it baby.

So, I just need you to stay in your chubby little 10-month old body for another minute.

Because I want to remember all of the ways that you...


...flip open those blue eyes that melt my heart.  Still.  Every single day.

Even strangers stop to tell me how beautiful your eyes are.

And how you...

...curl your legs around my hips when I carry you.

And when you...

...crawl across the house to find whichever room I've gone to.

...smile, laugh, and flip around every time a cat is within eyesight.

...breathe in and squeal with delight as excitement takes over your little body.

...laugh as you splash in the water.

...try to convince your fingers to do what you want them to do as you are learning to stack cups.

I don't want to forget how you...

...work oh-so-hard to get food on a spoon and feed yourself without it falling off.

...toss your water cup to the floor immediately upon finishing.

...yell for "Da!  Da!"

...wrap your arms around my shoulder and bury your face in my neck to give me a hug.

...smile.

...cry.

...wake up at 5:30 a.m. 

Actually, I could do without that one.

...mold to my body, legs curled down and head nestled close, as we glide in the rocking chair.

...beam and giggle when I discover which word you've been trying to say.

...walk along couches, tables, chairs, toys, legs, beds, or anything else at your height.

...spit things out when I ask.

Really, this makes my job so much easier.  

...laugh hysterically when I tell you not to do something.

This is only cute right now.  If you are thirteen and reading this, it is no longer cute.  Seriously.  Pack your bags.  You're going to boarding school.

...stop crying as soon as I pick you up.

Because for now, today, in this moment, you are my sweet little baby boy.

And, no matter what, you will always be my sweet little baby boy.

Even when you aren't so little.

I love you, Mason.

"Truth. Let's hear some."

A friend of mine recently posted this as her status update on Facebook.  It's probably one of my favorite posts ever.  I've thought of it often and truly hope that I am living my life in such a way that truth is spoken by me and to me as often as possible.

So, let's hear some.

You have days where you think you aren't good enough.  Not a good enough spouse.  Not a good enough parent.  Not a good enough friend.  Not a good enough worker.  Just not good enough.

You have moments when you're not sure how you are going to make it to through the next hour, let alone the next five minutes.

There are times when you just want to lock yourself in a room and pretend the rest of the world is not happening right now.

Sometimes you throw socks or toys or clutter in the trash just so you don't have to clean it up.

You have moments when you want to cry because--even though it's hard--being a parent is the coolest thing you have ever done.

Sometimes you leave a few squares on the toilet paper roll just so that you don't have to put on a new roll.

You stopped buying white socks so that you don't have to see how dirty your floor really is.

You wonder if you will ever feel as alive as you do in this season of life.  It is the hardest and happiest time of your life so far.

You drive the long way home.

You wish you had a clean car.  And kitchen.  And bathroom.  And everything.

Having a clean car--and kitchen--and bathroom--and everything--is overrated.

When it's late at night and everyone is sleeping but you, you listen to their heavy breathing and wonder if you will ever love as much as you do right now.

You like looking at the wrinkles in your hands.  They make you feel like you've done things in life.

Mason at 5 months

Every mother says this, but it seems like yesterday that my baby was born.  I can still feel what it was like to touch his warm, slimy, soft, squishy skin for the first time.  He was so round...his tummy...his cheeks...his thighs.  At 9.1 lbs, there was a lot to love!

Fast forward 5 months.

Mason is still cute--and round--as a button.

His weight is just shy of 18 lbs, a feat his older brother didn't accomplish until he was nearly a year old!

The days sometimes seem long, but they are flying by.  In the craziness of parenting and working and living,  I like to slow down and try to stick some of these moments into my memory.

Here are the things I want to remember about my 5 month old baby boy

...how he molds perfectly to my body when I hold him, like a little koala bear.

...how he blows raspberries when he's having fun.

...how his eyes squint up into little crescents when he laughs.

...how he tries to hug--and eat--his brother when we read stories.

...how he stares with eyes that melt you when you take pictures of him.

...how his legs pop into the air as soon as you lay him on the floor.  (This kid will do anything to suck on his toes!)

...how his thighs are so squishy!  They are nearly as big as my biceps!

...how he grunts as he babbles, like he's talking straight from his diaphragm.

...how he stares and takes in the world.

...how he wags his tongue in and out and in and out when he tastes a new flavor.

...how fascinated he is by people.

...how much I love to hold him.

Moms say the darndest things

Sure, kids say cute things.

So do moms.  (And dads.)

I'm not sure if my "pre-mom" self would be amazed or appalled at some of the things I experience and say on a daily basis.  It's amazing how readily some of the classic mom phrases spill out of my mouth without even thinking about it.  It's also amazing what odd things tumble out in the craziest of times.  Here's a glimpse at what has come out of my mouth lately...

"Don't 'hammer' your brother."

"Oh, honey.  No, no, no.  That's what toilet paper is for, not your hand."  [EWWW!!!]

"Do not pee on the carpet.  Ever."

[insert various potty training related songs here...]

"Don't eat that snow.  It has chemicals on it."

"That is very dangerous."

"If you don't eat ______, we will save it.  And it will be your snack later."

"You need to ask permission before opening the fridge."

"Don't touch that.  Don't that either.  DON'T TOUCH ANYTHING.  STOP TOUCHING EVERYTHING."

"Let's practice staying really still."

"Yes, you have to wear pants."

"Where are your socks?"

"What are you eating?  WHERE DID YOU GET THAT?"

"Why are you licking the wall?"

"Let's only throw soft balls at the ceiling."

"What are you doing? WHY ARE YOU DOING THAT?"

And the ultimate...

"I'm going to count to three..."

Why being a parent is awesome

You've been a parent for years.

You have two kids.  Or three.  Or one.  Or four.  Or eight.

You feel like you've been doing this parent thing enough to say that you are firmly in the trenches.

But you still remember what it was like to wake up (or eat...or watch tv...or take a shower...) whenever you felt like it.

Sometimes, you have these "Zach Morris" moments where time stops.  You step back and take a look around at this life.

This amazing, 
crazy, 
messy, 
fun, 
never-get-a-break, 
dishes-to-do, 
pick-up-your-socks, 
don't-hit-the-cat,
laugh-til-you-drop, 
color-me-a-picture,  
let's wrestle, 
I-love-you-so-much, 
beautiful, 
beautiful, 
beautiful
life.

It's in these moments that the contrast to your pre-parenthood days is most clear.

It's when you notice how different things are.

It's when you realize that this conversation, this place in time, this room...is different.

It's different because your kids are here.



They are here.



They are here and they are living.

They are here and they are learning.

They are here and they are teaching.


Have you ever realized all the noises that surround us everyday?  I bet you have if you've ever been the parent of a two-year old.  What's that noise?  A truck.  What's that noise? Another truck.  What's that noise?  A car.  What's that noise?  A motorcycle.  Fast?  Yes, it's going fast.  What's that noise? A garbage truck.  Trash?  Yes, it will pick-up the trash.  What's that noise?  The dishwasher.  Clean?  Yes, the dishes are getting clean.  What's that noise?  What's that noise?  What's that noise?

And this goes on.

Every hour.

Every day.

And you love it.

It shakes you out of the dull bubble that you've fallen into.  When did you stop hearing the world around you? When did it all turn into this big mish-mashed gob of sound?

You get to experience the world all over again for the first time.

The first time you hold up your head.

The first time you grab a toy.

The first time you smile.

The first time you feel rain on your skin.

The first time you take off your own shoes.

The first time you GO PEE PEE IN THE POTTY!
(which you scream and clap for like HGTV showed up to give you a total home makeover)

The first time you lose a tooth.

The first time you squish yogurt through that hole in your mouth.

So many firsts...

So many smiles...

So many furrowed brows in frustration while figuring out how to do all of these firsts...

So many hugs...

So many kisses...

So much.

Love.

Being a parent is awesome.

My imperfect life

I have an imperfect life, and I love it.

I've been a bit absent from the blogging world for awhile, and that's because I have a new baby boy! Mason James was born on Thursday, May 30 at 5:28am.  He's pretty much an ah-mazing baby (praise God!), but caring for a newborn and a toddler has definitely been a challenge.  The hubby has been a big help, but my (already lacking) ability to stay in top of laundry, cleaning, etc. has taken somewhat of a nosedive in the past three weeks.

Sometimes that really stresses me out.

I have perfectionistic tendencies, and I really like when things are neat, clean, and organized.  However, I seem to constantly battle to make that happen.

I used to blame it on my hubby.  I thought that our home would be Pinterest-perfect if he would just pick up his clothes and wipe up the crumbs.  Then I looked in the mirror.  Metaphorically.  Really, I took one look around the kitchen to see the cereal box I never put back in the pantry, and the pile of washcloths I hadn't put in he laundry basket. My computer and calendar were spread across the counter.  This was my mess.  No doubt about it.

Oh, sure, the Mr. had his fair share of clutter lying around, but I could no longer deceive myself into thinking that I was not a part of he problem.

But tonight at dinner I realized that it really isn't a problem at all.

Not for me.

After we were done eating, my son-the-comedian was cracking up as he hid carrots inside of his T-shirt.  He laughed hysterically as he stuffed it down his shirt, and I could get over the adorable crinkles under his eyes as he asked us where it went.  The sheer joy in his face as he pulled down his collar to reveal the collateral was just TOO MUCH.  There was no way I could be upset that the collar on his shirt was completely
stretched out and the T-shirt was now more of a loose wrap around his tiny body.

I thought about how special it was that we were all here, in THIS MOMENT, laughing together, sharing life.

This is why I don't like to have a lot (any?) "perfect" things.  I don't want to risk being upset if they get ruined.  Things aren't nearly as important to me as the people in my life.

I looked over my son's shoulder at the kitchen chair...the same kitchen chair which we bought only six months ago.  Instead of looking shiny and new, most of our chairs look like something has been eating them.  Literally.  That's because our newest cat, Rambo, literally gnaws on the corners of all of our chairs.  I have no idea why. Believe me, it drives me insane and makes me want to clamp his mouth shut BUT someday I will look at those teeth marks and they will remind me of this cat, who in his own way has been just exactly what each member of our family needed from a pet.

Tonight I've been looking around the house through his lens, one of seeing the imperfect things as a testament to the life I am living rather than glimpses of what I wish it were.

The shoes scattered by the door tell a story of an evening playing at the park and being too excited for bath time to bother to pick them up.

The crumpled towel in the bathroom shows that (1) we actually wash and dry our hands and (2) I'm usually running out of the bathroom to make sure my almost-2 year old hasn't poked out the eyes of his little brother.  And, hey, that's WAY more important than neatly hung linens!

The basket of laundry in the living room is filled with the blessing of having clean clothes to wear.

If you come to my house, I will welcome you with open arms.  I'll probably apologize for the mess because that's what Minnesota women do. But really, I'll be more grateful for the sock war I had with my son than embarrassed by the laundry strewn about the living room.  So, come on over, but you might want to watch your step.

Sincerely,
A recovering neat freak


P.S.  If you have ANY idea how to get my cat to stop eating my chairs for lunch, I'd love to hear it.  He's left me enough "mementos."   ;)

Morning Adventures

One of my tactics for staying sane as a WAHM is to have some kind of an outing every day.  Usually, this means heading somewhere in the mid-morning, between a burst of work in the morning and lunch/nap time.  Today, my little guy and I had a special adventure to the Linden Hills neighborhood.  We were drawn by stories of an eclectic children's bookstore that is home to a chicken, a few cats, ferrets, doves, some reptiles, and a rat that lives under a window in the floor.  After we got there, I discovered that a yummy ice cream shop was just around the corner, too!  Despite the drizzle, we walked around the neighborhood, stopping at shops, eating ice cream, and snatching a few free bread samples from a local bakery.  It was a fantastic way to perk up our spirits in the middle of a busy week!  Here are a few pictures from our adventure:

Max thought the chicken pecking around the store was pretty fantastic!

Yes, it is a real chicken.  (!)

The birds were chattering to each other by the rain soaked windows.

These chinchillas were both sleeping with their heads hanging out of their little hut!

These are two of the house cats at the bookstore.  They were far and away Max's favorite animals there!

Who says you can't eat ice cream at 10:30am?  Not me!

YUMMY!

Things to remember

Maybe it was the pregnancy hormones, or maybe it was exhaustion after a day of lots of back pain, or maybe it was just good 'ole maternal nostalgia...but for whatever reason, I  broke down into tears last night.  Several times.  That hasn't happened in a while, but I have to say that it felt kind of good.  Amidst the chaos of WAHM-dom, I sometimes forget to just take a step back and marvel at this amazing thing of motherhood.  It really is a beautiful thing that sometimes grabs me so hard I can barely breathe.  That was last night.

I was thinking about how fast the past two years have gone.  I am just a few weeks away from welcoming my next baby boy into this world, but it feels like only yesterday that my 22 month old was the one kicking and wiggling inside of me.  Words can't even describe how excited I am to meet this next little boy, but I am also a little bit sad that I won't be able to focus so much of my time just on Max.  If you haven't met him, he's a pretty spectacular kid!  I know that soon I will barely even remember what life was like when we only had one son to clothe and feed and pray with.  I know that I will love this next little boy just as much, and that I will want to squeeze him so tight and never let go, too.  I know that my heart will grow and our family will be even more filled with love when this next baby comes.

But for now, I want to try to lock a place in my brain just for these precious memories of life as a family of three.

I want to remember how Max calls, "Mama!" and runs to me as fast as he can every time I pick him up from the gym.

I want to remember how he sweetly says, "Hi," when he wanders out of bed because he can't sleep.

I want to remember how it feels when his head nestles on my shoulder as we read stories.

I want to remember how he curls himself around my swollen belly when I rock him to sleep.

I want to remember the moments when he lets me rock him to sleep.

I want to remember how he furrows his brow when he's thinking really hard about something.

I want to remember how he scrunches his eyes together when he's trying to learn a new concept (like how "I don't know" means something different than "no no.")

I want to remember how he "scares" me by jumping out and shouting "Boo!"

I want to remember the sweet, sugary sound of his voice when he says, "Bubble?  Bubble?  Bubble?"  (Nearly always sounding like a question on repeat!)

I want to remember how I can gradually feel his skin losing its baby softness and gaining its little boy firmness.

I want to remember how he shouts "Whoa!" every time he goes down a slide or scoots on a scooter.

I want to remember how blue his eyes look first thing in the morning.

I want to remember that sometimes all he needs is a touch from me to feel all better.

I want to remember how he asks to pray before eating a snack, even if it's a cup of pretzels in the car.

I want to remember how his feet seem to fly sideways when he starts running really fast.

I want to remember the way he stands so still if he gets to have his hair cut.

I want to remember how he always wants to know where the cats are and if they are sleeping.

I want to remember how he signs "thank you" if he wants me to give him something.

I want to remember how he excitedly signs "All done!" when the cats open their eyes after he finds them napping peacefully.

I want to remember that some days it was hard to just make it to lunch time, and then to dinner, and then to bed time.  I want to remember that not every day was fun and happy.  (Those hard times make the good times that much sweeter.)

I want to remember that it is okay that I don't have all of these things on video or in photos because I was too busy living in the moment to find a camera.


There are so many things I want to remember, but I know I will forget a lot of them.  And that is okay, too, because I have a lifetime of more memories to come that will be just as sweet and cherished.

You know you're a WAHM when...

...you have more yoga and sweat pants than jeans and slacks.

...showering becomes an optional part of your day.

...you are over-protective of your computer and favorite mousepad.

...you master the art of attending a meeting and entertaining a toddler simultaneously.

...the task of fixing your hair involves nothing more than a ponytail holder.

...you forget to pay attention to the weather because it doesn't affect your commute anyway.  (..yay!...)

Adapting

The past two weeks have brought quite a few changes for my daily WAHM routine:


At 20 months, Mr. Max has decided that sleeping in a crib is a thing of the past.  We bravely transitioned him to his "big boy" bed after several nights of him repeatedly climbing out of his crib and causing all kinds of ruckus in the house, including trying to shave his non-existent beard in the dark bathroom while I tried to muster up the energy to roll out of bed to put him back in his crib AGAIN.

His "big boy" bed is a twin mattress and box spring on the ground near the crib.  He has transitioned marvelously!  Although moves around a bit before going to sleep, he has been doing really well at getting himself to sleep before too long and without too much intervention.  I was anxious about how this would affect his naps, and how much more time I would need to devote to putting him back in bed without the barrier of the crib rails to keep him from playing in his room.  It's been about a week and half since the transition, and he's doing great!  Yesterday, I was able to do our "normal" nap time routine, and he crawled into bed without even seeming that tired.  Within 15-20 minutes, he was sleeping soundly in his bed.  As a WAHM, I am extra thankful for this because every minute of nap time is precious work time for me!  The only major adjustment I am making is that I bring my computer upstairs to work in the living room until he falls asleep.  That way I am close by to remind him that he needs to stay in bed.  After he is asleep, I move back to my basement office to work for the rest of his nap.

Mr. Max has also decided that sleeping until 8 am is for the birds.  He suddenly wants to be an early riser, getting up anywhere between 6-7am.  This has been the hardest adjustment for me, since I typically was able to get 2 hours or work done before he woke up in the morning.  Now, that has dwindled to anywhere from 0-60 minutes, depending on when his little feet pitter-patter across the kitchen floor.

Partially to counteract that lost time, I signed up for a membership at a local YMCA.  So far, I love it!  As part of the membership, Max can go to their kids program for 2 hours each day.  My intention is to use that time mostly for work, and hopefully squeeze in a short workout when I can.  Since I'm 8 months pregnant, spending hours on the treadmill is not a high priority of mine anyway.  In the fall, I might make more of an effort to get in that workout.  :)

I have never joined a gym before mostly because, well, I'm too cheap.  I've never been able to justify the expense when I can just run outside FOR FREE.  But now, I look at the cost as covering some much-loved childcare PLUS access to a pool, which will be nice for family outings and teaching our little guy how to swim.  I also feel a little better about managing WAHM-hood with two kiddos next year, knowing that I'll at least have some time for me and to work each day when we go to the gym.

Oh, one more thing...

Max suddenly has become far too mature to be confined to a high chair.  He puts up a huge fuss about using his high chair tray, and often won't even let me buckle him into the seat, which can also function as a booster by the table.  While this is probably a tricky transition for a lot of parents, I really really liked that time in the high chair.  After I ate or read bible stories with him, I would often use the time to get some quick housework done or answer a few emails.  Maybe not the most ideal parenting strategy, but, hey, you do what you have to do sometimes!  Now, I mostly give reminders, warnings, and try to train him to handle the freedom of sitting at the table.  *Sigh*

After many months of a having a consistent routine, the changes in the past weeks have both been hard and refreshing.  With each new "milestone," I find myself being challenged as a parent, which is another opportunity to grow, learn, and sometimes pull my hair out.   :-P

Carry on!

An Imperfect Day

When I was in high school, I was really fascinated by quotes.  I liked philosophical quotes, funny quotes, and everything in between.  I used to keep a book where I would write down (in colorful, decorated marker letters) some of my favorite quotes.



 
Today, I thought about one of the quotes I'd written down.
 





This is an odd one, and it fascinated me for years.  When you really think about it, it's actually kind of depressing, but it still makes me giggle.  Well, today is one of those bug/windshield days for me.  I'm not sure which I am, but I am definitely not a ray of sunshine.

 
I am sick.  Again.
 
I don't sleep more than a few hours in a row.
(Third trimester of pregnancy means bigger baby and smaller bladder.)

I was up for 2 hours last night being a very boring mom as my toddler battled another sleepless night.



There you go.  That's my pity party for the day.  Really, in the grand scheme of life, it's not that bad.  I know, I should pull myself up by the bootstraps, slap a smile on my face, sing a song, reply to 20 emails, and teach my toddler Mandarin Chinese.



But I'm not going to do that.


Nope.


I'm going to be happy with just being a patient mom today.




We aren't going to try 20 Pinterest Projects to Do with Your Toddler.

 
I'm not going to clean the bathrooms with homemade non-toxic scrub.

 
I may brush my hair sometime before dinner.
Maybe.


We'll have frozen waffles for breakfast and canned soup for lunch.

Max will have more freedoms today than usual, and the house won't be in top-top shape.  But that's okay.



Today I am focusing on grace and gratitute.



Grace for Max.  He's getting over a cold, and he has to be around a sick mom all day.


Grace for me.  Sometimes, it's okay to let go of being perfect and just be real.

Today, I am grateful that a lot of my online students are assuming it is Spring Break (it's not) and not turning in as many assignments.


Today, I am grateful that I have son who does pretty well playing independently.




Okay, as I wrote that last sentence, he walked over to me.  Pants-less.





Yep, today is an imperfect day.



But that is okay.  Some days are just like that.


Heck, some minutes are just like that.

This whole day could turn around in ten minutes.

 
(I'm pretty sure if I could have a cup of coffee that would be the case, but that's another story....)


Ah...coffee....









Sorry, I'm getting side-tracked.



Well, I better run.  It's time to heat up that canned soup for lunch.






Final thought:  Give someone grace today, maybe even yourself.