Crossing the Finish Line

Training.


I had never officially trained for anything in all my 36 years. In the past, I had been able to complete most tasks without check-ins and schedules. Then, on the brink of summer, I declared I was going to be a runner. I knew I could not do it on my own, so I joined a training group led by my friends.


Much like the four times I anticipated childbirth, the preparation for my very first 5K race was wrought with pure uncertainty. The training session carried on for eight weeks...two-thirds of our summer. The procrastinator and denier in me refused to calculate how many miles were actually in five kilometers until our third week running.


5K = 3.1 miles


Wow!


Now you know, too.


For experienced runners, training for a 5K race may seem so minute. Experienced runners breeze through 5K every time they step out their front door for a morning work-out. For a newbie runner like myself, my journey was anything but breezy. During every single run, my brain and body battled through so much.


Nerves.


Fear.


Breathlessness.


Pain.


Tears.


Doubt.


Exhilaration.


Relief.


Anticipation.


I was the most beginner of beginners, and I was often the slowest runner. Even after eight weeks, the longest I had run was 20 minutes. Leading up to the race, which was the culmination of our training, I still remained unsure how I would manage. I hoped that the adrenaline and excitement of the crowds would keep me moving, even if my legs and lungs would try to quit. New friendships were formed and old ones had been strengthened, so I leaned on them as well.


Then, there's the whole reason why I began to run at all. There is my family. My four kids watch me walk out the door in my neon shoes and know their mom is a runner. The confidence and pride that have blossomed in the past two months are life-changing. I'm modeling behavior that will have positive effects on my children. Some have even started to run with me. They often leave me in the dust, but seeing me sweat and work and fight through my running sets an example for determination and perseverance.


Every runner has to start somewhere. Every runner has a first race. I captured many of the moments of my first race in my mind as I pounded through those 3.1 miles, but the moment I hope stays with me forever is when I passed my family on the side of the course. Their dad boosted them off their lawn chairs when he saw me coming around the corner, so all four of them jumped up and clapped for me, cheering, hollering and yelling.


They shouted, "Go, Mom!! You can do it! Come on, Mom, you're doing great!"


My kids. Little kids, whom I have been watching and supporting from the sidelines for years and years, were there to cheer for me. It was surreal.


I passed them with a smile and a fist pump in the air and kept on running. As the course wound through more neighborhood streets, I began to grow weary. Tired. Nervous if I could keep going. As I followed my way back out of the street, I knew that I could keep going because I would see my family again. Those three silly boys and my motivational daughter were waiting, once again, for me to emerge from the path.


Aaaannnnd...that's when I lost it!


My official cheerleaders were relentless in their encouragement, as tears of elation streamed down my already red and sweaty cheeks. Mark worried for a second I was hurt, but shouldn't he know better by now that I cry at everything? I waved again, soaked up their love, and kept on running to the end.


So, maybe all of this crazy talk I'm spewing would discourage anyone who's reading from ever wanting to take up running. I hope that it's the absolute opposite.


Please take a look at my face as I crossed the finish line. See the pure joy in my eyes?

Did I just say pure joy from running?


I did, and I meant it.


After our race, we were enjoying fresh blueberries around a picnic table, and my dear friend and coach, Renee, said these words to my children:


"Do you see your mom? Look at what she did and how strong she is!"


Moms are strong. We should want to show our children what our bodies and minds can do when we try. They will learn from us to be confident in themselves, too. Three hours ago, I met a woman new to our group who was running for the very first time...ever. A delicate place in my heart pounced with excitement, as I insisted that she CAN and WILL be a runner.

What will you be? Please take it from me, you can do it.

 

 

My friend, Rachel, snapped these photos of me reaching my goal and heading toward Mark and the kids for the final time. I'll be running another 5K in September. The kids want to do it with me. Mission accomplished!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Why We Should Stop Telling Parents to "Enjoy Every Second"

Words I would use to describe myself would be sentimental, gushy and emotionally invested in everyone and everything. My facial expressions do little to hide my feelings, whether they are cheerful or dismal. These aspects of my personality switch between a gift and a curse. A gift for those who reap the benefits of my care and kindness.  A curse for myself, for I experience some moments when I wish I could simply hit a switch. Turn off the tears. Turn a blind eye to the deep connection to every living and breathing human being who crosses my path.


You would probably envision that a person who so easily empathizes, appreciates and harmonizes with the world around her would have been one of those "I have enjoyed every single minute of motherhood, and so should you" type of moms. I probably spent hours longingly gazing into each one of my new baby's eyes: rocking, singing and caressing those chubby and silky soft cheeks.


You would guess that as a new mother, I remembered to cherish our interactions, no matter how tiny. I paid extra attention, because it was going to be over before I could blink. I realized they would be heading off to school soon, then morphing into mouthy teenagers refusing to follow curfew. I was constantly aware that eventually, my teensy newborns would be fully functioning adults with careers and families. They would move too far away to worry about their old mom, who once nursed and rocked and cherished them.


You would figure that I proudly captured every memory. I ignored the telltale exhaustion which new parents experience. I gleefully piled on more pregnancies...more screaming babies...more dirty diapers...more tantrum throwers...more laundry...more sippy cups...more demands on my body...more thoughts about "is this normal?"...more moves as a trailing spouse...more years since my own career...more...more...MORE!


Of course, I didn't do anything of the sort.


Here's the problem. No new mother (or father) can even attempt to notice it all, let alone embrace and enjoy it while it is happening. It is not possible or realistic, because we are beaten so down by it to see any of it. Every single cell in our bodies and our brains: Sapped. Dried up. Depleted. Deleted.


We are outnumbered, outwitted and outdone by the end of each day. We negotiate with toddlers to no avail. We wash bodily fluids out of places we would like to pretend we haven't seen. We wonder why babies have acne and cradle cap and acid reflux, and we want to fix everything. We cannot remember the last time we had a shower, a hot meal or a talk with a friend which wasn't interrupted by "No!! Don't! Sorry...I gotta go!"


Those of us whose children have graduated from the baby stage fondly look back with nostalgia. We do feel grateful to no longer need diaper bags or strollers for a quick trip to the zoo. We are ecstatic when our children are finished with our personal milk jugs and eventually learn to pour their own cereal. We are relieved.


It isn't until we pass a stage in parenting when we can actually see what we previously endured. Do I wish that my super emotive brain had been better equipped to mentally record all of the beautiful moments of my early years of motherhood?


Absolutely.


Will I pretend that I was doing it all along?


Absolutely not, because it would be a disservice to new mothers everywhere.


Facebook and blogs and well-meaning women in the grocery store who continue to insist that moms with new babies should be "enjoying every second" already have clawed their way out of the trenches and magically erased the battle scars they endured along the way. Their children know how to complete basic tasks such as use the toilet, take a shower, make toaster waffles for all the siblings and read! Life changes when children gain independence.


If you're a new mama with little ones at home, please feel free to ignore what you've heard about enjoying every second. If I've said it before, I take it back. (Sometimes, we slip up and exhibit inappropriate sadness about our kids growing older). It is true, they do eventually head off to school and become teenagers, and all of the baby years will be behind you.


Suddenly, a marvelous day will come when you will be able to breathe for a bit. You'll be sitting on the beach with another seasoned mom, laughing about how you cannot believe everything you CONQUERED in those early years. You will pat each other on the back, because you were rock stars-even on your most unglamorous days covered in dried up milk and baby puke.

You are rocking it, Mama!

Just check out my last kid carrying his own sand toys down to the water. Independence. A true sign of a mom who is doing her job. You will be there, too!

 

 

 

Tell us about your most unglamorous moments. You'd be surprised to know you are not alone.

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Squashing Self Doubt with Pink Running Shoes

I issued quite a bold statement a couple of weeks ago by telling all of you that I was going to become a runner. I typed it for all of cyberspace to see, which meant I could not repeal my daring declaration. I'm a woman of my word, so I had every intention to begin running. Did you notice that I never gave an exact date or instituted a concrete plan for this impending lifestyle change? Maybe I did that on purpose.


The momentum immediately following my announcement was strong. Friends reached out with support for me, and many even took my advice in declaring their own goals. I was so proud of all of you for your bravery. For your confidence. For your strength. You were inspiring!


One of my dear friends scheduled an appointment to fit me for running shoes. She is an expert, and if I was going to be serious, I needed the right equipment. No blisters for this mama. She and I spent the morning navigating the elaborate world of running footwear. It was overwhelming to say the least. She evaluated my gait. After a year in denial, I verbally admitted that my feet have grown a full size since my last baby was born.


Before sweet Anne lifted the lid from the first pair of shoes, she prefaced the reveal by saying, "How do you feel about pink?"


I like pink. I really do. My last pair of basic gym shoes were actually gray with pink accents. However, these babies were pink with a little bit of gray. Bright pink. Neon pink! The color pink I wore to the roller rink in 1986...as an eight-year-old. I modeled many styles and colors for Anne on that cheerful Saturday morning. Eventually, after trying out several pairs of shoes, the ones that felt the best and worked well with my foot shape turned out to be the atomic pink ones. Go figure.


After I packed up my fancy shoes and new running socks in my trunk, I still had no real plan laid out for how I was going to become a runner. I considered wearing my shoes to the airport to break them in, but I worried about the commotion their illumination would cause when gliding through the people mover. Instead, the shopping bag remained in my trunk for another two weeks. Waiting. Waiting for me to utilize the momentum once again and actually wear them.

My week away in Florida and then a week of end-of-school celebrations came and went. I still hadn't even opened the shoe box to show them to Mark or my kids. Maybe because that would make me more accountable to starting, to actually putting one foot in front of the other and going.


The right time to run eventually did arise. Last Wednesday afternoon, another friend of mine, who is already a runner, sent me a link to a 5K training group she was going to lead...which was going to begin in four days. Four days! She had been one of my biggest cheerleaders in this journey, and this group was not originally going to offer a session until the end of the summer. Enough of a need had arisen to start an extra training session now. Lucky for me! I decided the time was now. I promised her and told my very trusted physical therapist that I was going to do it. I was going to run a 5K in August.


All of the other girls who had considered running with me a month ago were becoming hesitant now that it was here. Now that it was real. I desperately wanted one of them to join the group with me, so that I wouldn't be the only newbie in a sea full of seasoned athletes. My confidence was waning. Somebody told me how hard it was going to be. My reserve of inspiration was slowly depleting. My husband feared I was going to try to run three miles on the first day, and he didn't want to see me hurt myself. I began to question my ability, just like I had done when I decided to try yoga last year (which, by the way, has become a part of me now...something I crave).


Perhaps Google would help ease my hesitation. Big mistake. A few quick searches, and I was doubting that I should even attempt the training. It's not actually called "Couch to 5K," which is what I think I need. What if it's too much too soon, and I can't do it? I don't even walk vigorously on a regular basis...I am freaking out!


In came my coach...my cheerleader, Wendy. She listened to my concerns and then told me not to freak and to show up. Two of my other friends would also be coaches, so a warm smile in the early morning was sure to go a long way. To my surprise, one of my previously hesitant friends decided to try it at the last second! She offered to pick me up so we could walk in together. Amazing! Everything was coming together so nicely, so I threw my apprehension out the window. I told Mark that I wasn't going to settle for any doubt, from anywhere or anyone...especially myself. I was going to run that 5K race in eight weeks. Nobody was going to tell me I couldn't do anything...ever.


What happened next was just what happened with my first time at yoga. I did what I had set out to do. Only this time I wasn't barefoot. I marched up, in my pink shoes, to a group of runners...and ran.


Surrounded by people from all walks of life, wearing every shade of neon color, we walked and ran and walked and ran...for sixteen minutes. When we circled back to the starting point, I was out of breath and sweaty and tired, of course, yet I felt exhilarated. Recharged by the fact that I had taken this challenge for myself seriously and conquered it. I pounded my doubt and fear into the pavement with my aggressive pink shoes.

Have you started on that journey you said you wanted to try last month? It's already the middle of June! If you sit around and pretend it will go away, like I might have done if it weren't for my special kicker-in-the-pantsers, you may regret it. Even if your body grows sore from using muscles you didn't know you had, or your mind tires easily from taking classes after a decade of only reading Dr. Seuss, it will be worth it. Let's go!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

 

The Universe and this Mama Say, "Your Time is Now!"

I know this happens to all of you when you want to attempt something new. An idea creeps into your mind at the most inconvenient times, whispering into your over-thinking brain, "Hey, you know you should try it. It's meant for you. You see everyone else doing it, and you would be just as awesome at it as they are, so why don't you just freaking try it? Come on, try it. Do it!"


Of course, I'm not talking about any harmful temptations or negative peer pressure. I mean something that, ultimately, you know would fulfill you. It's something you want, yet you just don't know how to leap for it.


In the past, I have described for you my journey to starting this blog and beginning my yoga practice. These were two paths that I wanted for myself...envisioned for myself...yet I was unsure how to even begin to implement them into this really nutty life of ours. The key to turning those goals into a reality came when I vocalized them. The moment that I began to tell people that I was considering writing and trying yoga, a steady flow of encouragement bombarded me. It was invigorating. Nourishing. Supporting. Just what I needed to move forward and try.


Can I tell you a secret? I have a few new goals. I had been hiding from them for a long time, trying to keep them quiet. Hidden deep inside and away from anyone who would hold me accountable to them. If I ignored them or shushed them, they would go away. Right?


Wrong!


They wouldn't leave me alone. They refused to slink away into the night, leaving me to dream about decadent peanut butter shakes or luxurious hot stone massages. Instead, those goals have been relentless. Determined. Serious.


Then, somebody said something to bring out the brave in me.


A friend of mine communicated why she began something new in her own life. She described it as, "Everything in the universe was telling me to do it." Everywhere she turned: Television, online, friends, magazines, strangers. This new path was constantly in her face. Taunting her. Begging her to jump in and go.


As those words slipped out of her mouth, I stared at her in a trance, because her story seemed to be my story. That is exactly what happened to me with blogging and yoga. Maybe that's what is happening to me now.


With my new goals.


With my plans to become a runner....and a writer who reaches more people.


There. Those are my goals. I said them. Did you hear me?


I don't need to tell you all of the small ways in which I felt pulled to declare these goals. You only need to know that I finally was forced into making them real when an eclectic group of mamas sat together in a circle, drinking wine and sniffing essential oils. That's when I knew. Weird, huh?


Really, this post isn't for me. It's for you. For all of you who need something in the universe to tell you that it's time. I am here to tell you, it's time. Your time is now. Why are you waiting? Let me awaken that voice in your mind. You have no need to keep her quiet any longer. Wake her up and go!

Why was I so scared to do something new...again? Maybe these nasty little ego suckers, perfectionism and worry, played a role in my trepidation. Taming those beasts is something many of us struggle with, even the people who seem to be extremely confident. Fear of Failure. It's real and fierce. Let's encourage each other to stomp it into the ground.

 

 

How am I doing it? I told my runner friends, in person, that I'm going to start running. I jumped up and down with another friend who was also thinking about running. I encouraged her to declare her plans with me, because that's the first step. Seriously, that's what I did. After a PTA meeting, a few of us hopped around and chanted, "Say it out loud, say it, say it, say it!! We can do it together!" Corny? Maybe. Effective? Let's hope so!

 

As for my writing: I'm hoping that I can continue to grow my readership. I plan to work on submitting my writing more starting in September, but until then, I'll ask that if you are touched by one of my pieces, please share it with whomever you think will also enjoy it. I would like to have 1000 followers on my Facebook page by the end of this year. Bam! I'm being bold.


Let's make it happen.


If I haven't told you enough, thank you for being here with me. You have so many places to be and things to do, so when you take time to drive your eyes this way and read my words, I'm forever grateful.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

My Parenting "Style" Doesn't Need a Name

Helicopter.


Free Range.


Attached.


Tiger.


Crunchy.


Gag!


The shift that's occurred since I became a first-time-mom in 2002, to the way parents begin today, has been dramatic. In that moment that Reese was brought forth from my body (vacuum delivery and all), I simply became a mom. I felt no pressure to declare what type of mom I was planning to be. Nobody talked about "parenting styles." Moms shared stories, sought advice and found what worked for their families. I struggled with breastfeeding and mastitis for two straight months, but I wasn't compelled to include it in my e-mail signature.

The influx of information wasn't as unrelenting as it is today. Thankfully, I came of age and found my confidence as a mom in the previous decade. Before everyone felt the need to declare a parenting style like it was a college major.


Before Facebook.


Before blogs.


Before we were informed that everything we're doing now is Wrong. Damaging. Detrimental to the success of our children, our marriages, and the future of America.


That's a whole lot of pressure on us all.


I can't begin to keep up with all of the parenting styles that exist in 2015. I googled them, just to begin this post, and dolphin parenting popped up. What? Maybe I'm too old and jaded to bother learning the new lingo.


What I do know is that if I were to poll my circle of friends about their parents, we'd find they were raised by a variety of people who have produced some pretty successful adults.


Maybe their moms acted one way, and their dads, another. Maybe they were from a divorced home. Maybe grandparents raised them. Maybe they had several siblings or zero. Maybe their mom had an organic garden and made everything from scratch. Maybe they were latch key kids and ate TV dinners. Maybe nobody spoke English at home. Maybe they were forced to practice piano for hours every night. Maybe they never left the house for anything but school. Maybe they were surrounded by books and music and the arts.


Maybe...maybe...maybe.


Maybe, if we all just start to be parents to our kids in the way that we feel they need, in the way that is comfortable for us and for them, then they'll turn out to be content and successful, too.


The trends will change. That's guaranteed. You can choose to read all about them and follow them, or you can choose to ignore them.


No parenting expert is more of an expert for your child than you are.


As for my family, we don't aim to practice any parenting styles. I'm not wired that way. What I've learned through twelve and a half years of motherhood is that every year is different...every stage of development is different...every day is different.


Each of our children yearns different types of affection and responds to varying rules.


Every house we've lived in has required that we reevaluate the way we navigate life.


Our family works with a delicate balance, and on many days, we topple. If I forced six people to follow the guidelines that come with only practicing Free Range Parenting or specifically being an Attached Parent, none of us would thrive.


Maybe declaring a parenting style works for some people. Maybe having that style sets the tone for a family in a positive way. I'm happy for those families and their success.


Meanwhile, I'll keep piecing together what works for us as we go along. Someday, when my babies are grown, someone will ask them what it was like to be raised in the age of hyper parenting rules. I hope they'll say this, "My mom just loved us, and she liked to make pancakes for dinner."

For those of you who are struggling to follow a style set forth by a parenting expert on the Internet...why not join me in the ways of our own parents? Do what works for you!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Teaching Our Kids It's Okay to Fail

We all remember our middle school years. Some adults may look back with wide smiles and fond nostalgia, although those people are probably rare. After speaking to a lot of my women friends the past few weeks, I've learned that many of them who are currently successful, empowered, admired and beautiful actually recall those times with distinct horror.


They explicitly describe them as "the worst years of their lives."


These are women who have gone on to become gifted engineers, pilots, computer scientists, teachers, writers, mothers and dedicated friends. They're leaders in their communities, churches and schools. They have surpassed every obstacle that has come their way and ended up in positions of importance and value.


Yet, when they think back to being an awkward early teenager, they cringe. They literally shudder at the mere mention of Middle School. Junior High. Whatever it was called where they lived. It was all the same. Horrible. Dreadful. Humiliating.


My own middle school years were no picnic. Going from the big fish in a small pond into a sea of glittery rainbow fish was something I hadn't expected. Not seeing my two best friends all day was a shock. Half of our elementary school went to a different middle school, so kids I had known for years were never to be seen again until high school.


Then, entered the mean girls. The rotten bullies who were relentless in their taunting. My mom always insisted they acted that way because they were jealous of my grades or my pretty hair (that's what all moms say), but it didn't take away from the fact that they followed me from class to class, unforgiving in their constant hounding.


Until middle school, everything had always gone my way. I was sassy and smart and believed I was a star. The mean girls bothered me and tried to tear me down, but somehow, I survived. When I look back now, I'm surprised at all that I was able to endure.


Maybe it was because my mom didn't let it show that she was worried for me, or that she knew middle school could quite possibly be the worst years of my life. She encouraged me to keep trying new things. She kept on insisting that I was amazing, that I could do anything, that I deserved more. She pushed and pushed and pushed. So, I believed her, and I went for more.


By seventh grade, the bullies must have moved on to someone else. Life was looking up as I had become acclimated to school, and I was finding my niche. Then, I did something kind of nuts. A few of my other friends were trying out for the girls' basketball team. I, on the other hand, didn't know how to play basketball...at all. I had always been a cheerleader, but that year, I decided to give basketball a try, too. I showed up to every preliminary practice, not knowing how to dribble the ball or run down the court or shoot any kind of basket: free throw, lay-up, are there others I'm missing? I still don't know.


Of course, I didn't make the team. I had no chance. Zero. I didn't even make the B team. I would not be allowed to ride any benches. I was just sent packing at the end of the last day. My name wasn't called, and I was left sitting in the bleachers while everyone else was celebrating. The end.


Do you know what happened after I experienced my first-ever real failure?


I survived.


My parents probably took me out for ice cream to console me. Then, they told me that I was just meant for something else. I never looked back on those basketball try-outs with regret. I never wished I hadn't participated because I looked foolish. It helped to build a stronger foundation for my character. To boost my confidence. To teach me that even if I wasn't the best at everything, I was still pretty great at other things. I would still be sassy and smart and a star.

Check me out playing Hedbanz, being my ultra-competitive self.

Is it normal that I can vividly recall this failure? I actually remember almost every time I didn't succeed at something. I can reflect on those experiences in connection to parenting. Learning to handle failure is surely an important tool to instill in our children, to help them build a healthy life.


As parents, naturally, we worry about our kids. We don't want them to have pain. Or trouble. Or sadness. Or rejection. As I listen to so many moms express their own painful memories of middle school, I have these wishes:


-I wish that we don't project our own fears about unchartered territory onto our kids. We can talk to our friends, our spouses or our parents about it.


-I wish that children who start out highly confident continue to grow...that even when they have a misstep, they know they are still loved and have value.


-I wish that kids who don't know that they are stars will find power from somewhere...from parents, from teachers, from friends, from neighbors. This world needs people who see potential in the quiet kids/quirky kids/awkward kids/kids who seem to have it all together, but secretly don't.


-I wish that we have strong, open dialogues with our kids about bullies and try-outs and grades and acne and the ever-changing dynamics of social media.


-I wish that we are able to nurture these big kids just as we did when they were babies...with deliberate, unwavering care, for as long as they'll allow...without hovering, of course.

What kinds of worries have you had about your child starting something new?

How did you handle it?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Learn to Take a Compliment, Will Ya?

Have you ever noticed that when you try to give praise to a woman, especially a mother, she tends to dismiss your compliment? She can come up with a half dozen reasons, on the spot, why what you are saying about her is actually not true.

I can't figure out why we are all so hard-wired to dismiss the positive comments which are directed at us. It disturbs me how a woman will instinctively react when someone tries to tell her that she has something brag worthy happening.

Tell a woman that you love the outfit she's wearing, and she'll tell you she found it on clearance.

Tell a woman how delicious her caramel brownies are, and she'll confess that she made them with a mix.

Tell a woman you're impressed how well-behaved her children are in a restaurant, and she'll blab about how rowdy they were during the car ride.

Tell a woman that her home is gorgeous, and she'll admit that someone helps her clean it once a week.

These denials happen when we attempt to recognize someone's visible accolades. Complimenting a woman's intrinsic traits is even more difficult. Think about the last time that you tried to compliment a friend of yours on her character. Her kindness. Her strength. Her ability to give without question. The obvious impact that you know she is making on her children...her circle...on you.

Did she instantly smile and say thank you?

Probably not.

I'm going to describe what could be a typical conversation between two women friends, anywhere in the world:

Friend 1: "I've been thinking about how grateful we all are to have you leading our group. You really have made it into something awesome."

Friend 2:  "Nah. It's not because of me," while shaking her head.

Friend 1: "I'm serious. It just wasn't like this before you came along."

Friend 2: "Well, I think anyone could have done it. I really didn't do anything special."

Friend 1: "Listen to me, I know what makes a difference and what doesn't, and I have seen it through you."

Friend 2: "I don't think so. I'm not capable of making that kind of difference."

Friend 1: "I'm not just talking to hear myself talk. I mean what I say. I want you to hear me. You are awesome!" as she grabs her friend by the shoulders and shakes her a little.

Friend 2: "It's so hard for me to hear you say all that about me. I don't do any of it for the compliments. Stop it!"

Friend 1: "I know you don't, but it doesn't take away from the fact that you deserve to be praised. Now, just say thank you so we can order some cheesecake and be done with this nonsense."

Friend 2: "Okay, fine. Thank you. Now what kind should we order?"

I cannot think of the last time that I complimented a fellow lady who actually just accepted what I was saying as truth. Why do women feel the need to downplay their awesomeness? Where did you learn that it's not okay to recognize your greatness? That you shouldn't let others boast about you?

It's a new month. March is here, which means Spring should be coming! Would you do something for yourself as the days grow longer and the sunlight lingers a little bit more into your dinner time? Would you march forward, confident in knowing that it's okay to accept a compliment when someone gives it to you?

I know very few people who give out false praise, so when affirmative words come at you, please listen to them. Breathe them in. Hold them in your chest for as long as you can. Remember them when you're doubting yourself again. Swaddle those compliments like you would a newborn baby, cradling them inside of you for when the doubting moments try to creep back inside your delicate blanket...your self esteem as a woman.

Your children and grandchildren are watching you. Your students are watching you. Your little sisters and nieces are watching you. I'm sure someone has gifted you a coffee mug that says you are The World's Greatest Mom/Grandma/Sister/Friend/Aunt/Teacher. It's time for you to start believing it!

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Being the Old Mom at Kindergarten Round-Up

It's that time of year when parents start to prepare their soon-to-be kindergarteners for the idea of moving out of part-time preschool and into a "real school." Kindergarten readiness talk has been buzzing for weeks at preschool pick-up. It's on every parent's mind...the teachers talk to the kids about it...and it's only February.

In preparing for my last child's kindergarten round-up, I was more than happy that it wasn't my first rodeo. Relieved that I had been through it a few other times. Thankful that I was not a nervous/ anxious/worried mom, constantly wondering, "Is my child ready for this big step? Actually, am I ready for this big step?"

I had been that mom in the past. We all have been that mom. This year, I'm one of the seasoned moms. The vets. The experts, you could say.

As Marshall and I stepped through the doors of his big siblings' elementary school, people assumed I was part of the welcome-new-parents, let-me-answer-all-of-your-questions committee. Because that's my usual gig, I just had to keep repeating myself, "Nope, this year, I'm here as a kinder mom. It's this guy's turn."

Even though I had been through kindergarten prep before, my Marshall had not. Here's where the benefits of being one of the seasoned moms comes into play. Though my son might be nervous on his own, scared of the thought of all-day school, riding the big yellow bus, eating lunch away from his mama, I'm not scared of any of it. I know from experience that my babies will be safe. They'll learn how to open a juice box while sitting at a table full of kids. They'll be exposed to germs and survive. They will make at least one friend. Their teachers will guide them and nurture them and show them hundreds of things they wouldn't see if they were home with me all day. They'll blow me away with what intrigues them, sparking their brains to develop interests outside of our family for the first time.

I know it can feel next to impossible to trust any other human beings with our babies. Our Living, Breathing Worlds. Our Perfect Everythings. I have witnessed it first hand: the fear in mamas' eyes as they drill teachers of how they would handle each and every possible scenario that might arise in a classroom. The moms exhibit signs of stress, agonizing over the notion of passing some of the control they've had over their children onto someone else, essentially a stranger.

Remember when our kids were babies, and the lactation consultants advised us that our rooting infants could sense our tension? They told us that if we could just relax, then the babies, in turn, would feel our calmness and be able to nurse? Why wouldn't that work for any stage of a child's life? If we exude confidence about something new, then our kids will feel safe in trying it. If we expose them to our heightened nerves, then their nerves will activate as well.

We have six months to make this transition from preschool mom to kindergarten mom. Part-time school to real school. It sounds like a lot of time, but doesn't it seem like your five-year-old was just in utero? In a blink of an eye, you'll be shopping for a backpack that is bigger than she is, choosing the perfect pair of shoes for the first day of school, and smothering her with smooches to last an entire day.

Are you ready to ready your child for kindergarten? I'm not talking about practicing letters and numbers and how to hold scissors. I mean are you ready to let her go into that building without you? Are you ready to pump up this experience in a positive way? Are you ready to treat it like one of the expert moms would? A seasoned mom? A veteran?

Talk about your anxiety and fears when the kids aren't around. They're real. They are legitimate, but they will pass. I know you can do this! Then, once the big day comes, and our kids are really out of sight, we can all cry into our mochas.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

I Gave up Facebook for Almost a Year

This morning is Valentine's Day, so naturally, I began my morning with a rich bite of chocolate. The kids followed suit, as I gave them permission to indulge in their goodies before we headed downstairs for a real breakfast. Reese is away on a retreat for the weekend, so our table seemed strangely amiss with only five places set. It's a blizzardy blanket of white outside, so we're planning to be snowed in for the day. Mark is up in our room, strumming his guitar while the other three babes are playing together in the family room. I've migrated to my computer chair, seeking inspiration on what to write for you today.

This month, I have already written about ways Mark and I keep our marriage thriving with date nights, and also about the unending love a father has for his daughter. These two stories are full of the gushy love that people equate with Valentine's Day, but for some, that love doesn't even exist. Love on Valentine's Day just isn't reality for everyone.

This morning, I opened up Facebook after breakfast, and I was flooded with images of people sharing love, kisses, gifts, roses...romance. I may have liked more photos and status updates today than I have ever done in one sitting. I was smiling back at my computer screen, smiling at your delight. I was genuinely thrilled for all of you. I'm able to feel joy because I'm in a joyful place as well.

However, because I'm a deep thinker and emotional woman, I instantly started to wonder and worry about all of my other friends. Those who aren't as satisfied right now. Who are suffering in some way. Whose families are shattered. Who have been wronged by someone who claimed true love. Who can't afford the latest gadgets or flowers or even chocolates. How do they feel when they scroll through their feeds, seeing that everyone they "know" is having a better time? A lovelier time? A sweeter time?

Sometimes it can be difficult to see others' happiness or boasts of good times. Sometimes, we just have to decide when enough is enough and give ourselves permission to place our minds at rest. You may be surprised to know that I have experienced those feelings myself.

A couple of years ago, I just had enough of it. Had enough of viewing everyone else's dream vacations, enormous spreads of Christmas presents and perfect pregnant bellies. All I could think to do to curb the pressure I had been feeling was to quit Facebook.

Give it up.

Cold turkey.

I did it, and my absence lasted almost a year.

It was one of the most liberating experiences of my entire life.

It sounds extreme. Why couldn't I just pop on once in a while to check on close friends and family and then pop off again? Well, because that's not my personality. I'm an all-in kind of girl. While my account was deactivated (I didn't get crazy and delete it permanently), I spent so much more time with my head inside this house and with this family, where it needed to be anyway.

Eventually, I was ready to rejoin the online world, and I felt ready to fully embrace it once again. I was no longer feeling jaded or annoyed, but excited and anxious to be back. It was an excellent vacation, and it worked wonders for my psyche. Of course, I still feel pressure sometimes. We all do. It's something we as parents have to learn to tackle, so we can properly coach our kids to be confident online. Thanks to my great community of readers who are sharing these experiences, we're helping one another!

Have you ever considered leaving social media for a bit? There is no shame in it. No shame in saying you can't take it anymore or that you need a break. The overload of information is very real and very daunting. On the other hand, when I talked about this in the past, I heard the best piece of advice from a good friend I haven't seen since high school graduation.

She said, "So what if someone else's Facebook highlight reel looks better than yours?"

Yeah, so what?

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Just Declare It

Confidence. That's a tricky subject for a lot of people, one which can pull us in many different directions. It can build us up and tear us down, sometimes within the short span of a day. I'll use myself for a quick example. I'm your gal when it comes to whipping up mouth-watering desserts for any brunch, baby shower or holiday celebration. On the other hand, my seven-year-old son asks me to sew up a tiny hole in his pajamas, and I freeze. Seriously, I cannot sew a single stitch. Those seamstress genes have skipped a generation, and I'm okay to admit it.

Our confidence tends to fluctuate, naturally waxing and waning. Do we know why these sudden shifts occur in our self certainty? Maybe it's hormonal. Maybe it's the lack of sunshine. Maybe it's how we view ourselves or others view us. After spending so many years inside the walls of our home, with four captivating children being the entire focus of my life, I have experienced a personal breakthrough in confidence. As I share it with you, maybe you can think about a situation you're facing that could use a confidence boost, too.

Several months have passed since I decidedly tuned into the relentless voice in my head and began writing my blog. It has become such a rewarding undertaking, and as always, I thank you for being here with me. Until very recently, when I talked about it with others, I could feel sort of confident in saying, "Well, I have this blog," or "I contribute to some local magazines and websites."

Then, suddenly, a transformation occurred in how I described my writing. I was set to embark on a three month reading journey with a group of women, mostly moms. I knew many of these ladies, yet a few were strangers to me and to each other. Naturally, we spent some time introducing ourselves to one another during our first meeting. Children were toddling around in the adjoining room, while all of the women sat crossed legged on the carpet, sharing basic details about ourselves. We discussed all of the typical get-to-know-you stuff: family lives, jobs, hometowns, hobbies. When my turn came to speak, after I blabbed about my four kids, these foreign words just came flying out of my mouth.

"I'm a writer."

Um, did I really just say that out loud? I just told everyone in here that I'm a writer, something I have never said before to anyone. Who says I'm a writer? Just because I say it's true, does it mean it's actually true? Can I just declare myself to be a writer?

Well, I guess that's exactly what I did, and it's happening.

I declared it. I don't know why I was being timid about it before now. It's what I do...I write. I am writing all the time, in so many places. People are reading and sharing and talking about my pieces, in person and online.. A magazine is delivered to my door every month with my title and tagline and photo...and my words, in print! It is happening. I'm secretly wishing that my name pops up in conversation, as in, "You should meet my friend, Elizabeth; she's a writer." 

Why did it take me so long to see what was right in front of me? I know it was the comforting spirit of this group of women, their warm smiles and open ears, which allowed the words to finally flow from my lips.

"I am a writer." 

What about you? What are you working on these days that you're feeling shy about or are too nervous to say out loud? Would you just declare it? What's the worst that can happen? You can begin by telling just one person. Your spouse, your best friend, your grandma, your baby who won't remember anyway. What if you tell someone who will build up your confidence and keep you motivated? You can tell me! Whoever it is, Just Declare It!

Then, come on back and let me know how it goes.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

What Do You Do When Your Baby Hates Mommy and Me Classes?

An enticing and colorful advertisement for a Mommy and Me gymnastics class just breezed across my newsfeed. At first glance, I actually considered clicking on the link, thinking to myself, "Marshall and I would have so much fun together at that class. He would be such a cutie learning tricks and bouncing on the trampoline. It would be especially fantastic since our tramp is tucked away in the basement right now. He could run and jump and be free!"

Then, reality set in, and I remembered that my sweet son does not enjoy taking part in group activities. Especially ones that involve another adult encouraging playtime with other kids, or where choreographed movement is necessary, or scripted singing is required, or basically any time his mom wants him to do anything that is not his own idea.

So, as I thought to myself what a cool notion a Mommy and Me gymnastics class would be, I knew that it was not actually meant for Marshall and Me. I kept on scrolling.

Honestly, none of my children has ever had a desire to join in during those mama and baby group activities. After many years of being a mother to toddlers and preschoolers, I eventually...finally...had that moment when I just accepted it. With that acceptance, came the realization that it's fine! My young kids are just fine without attending any sort of regular class, and their mama is a lot more relaxed without having to worry about it.

Being the library fanatic that I am, I had always envisioned that Story Hour was going to be a magical place for us. Sitting on the floor, listening to smiley librarians introduce Open, Shut Them and Wheels on the Bus to the babies on my lap was supposed to be a delightful bonding experience. With each child, I had high hopes that they would enjoy it as much as I did. Sure, they loved books and reading and singing and cuddling at home. Then, once we were in a public setting, it was a whole different ballgame.

They absolutely hated it! They revolted. They stood up when it was time to sit. They walked around when it was time to stand in place. They NEVER sang the words or rolled their hands in the famous wheeling motion. When I tried to sing along (because what adult can resist joining in to every chorus of those songs?), they shushed me. My babies shushed me.

I was a sweaty, stressed-out, miserable mess. Every week. I watched the other babies and toddlers happily bouncing on their caregivers' laps. They were quietly following along with the stories or enthusiastically pretending their fingers were the Itsy Bitsy Spider. I would sit in the circle of moms and kids, just wondering why I was torturing myself. Why did I keep going back, dragging our butts out of our cozy jammies to be there by 9 a.m? Often times, I was plopped on the rug, with not one, but two or three, kids with me. They would push on each other, each hoping to take up the most space on my abundant thighs. Seriously? What was I thinking?

In Japan, we tried Kindermusick. Have you ever been to a children's music class? It's full of those fun instruments you remember from your elementary school days, plus movement is highly encouraged. We played with sticks, triangles, drums, eggs that make noise when you shake them and colorful scarves that we tossed around for beauty's sake. It's quite a lovely way to introduce music and rhythm to babies and children. This music-loving-mama had high hopes for that class, too. I do not remember my kiddos doing any of the singing (even though it was all in English), and I definitely know they despised being told to hop and wave their bodies around the room to the music. Yet, I kept going back, paying for those classes, until I eventually had enough.

Dance classes, soccer teams, school Christmas programs. All of these events ended with the same result: my kids bucking the system. Doing their own thing. Not caring that they were not blending in with everyone else.

In the past, when I was younger and newer to motherhood, I encouraged them to join in all the fun that they could be slash should be having. Now, I just laugh and know how freeing it is that none of us really has to care...at all!

Marshall's preschool class performed Christmas songs for all of the parents, and the kids were wearing reindeer ears and noses. Before I even walked into the room, I knew that my child would not be donning any of that festive gear, and he would not be singing a single note. He gave the most glorious non-performance ever!

So, what do we do when our babies won't participate in Mommy and Me classes? We care for a while, we try, and then we eventually learn to let them be who they want to be. Buck the system. Be brave. Be an individual. Be proud.

If you have a baby who loves those classes, I'm so happy for you! You will have the incredible experience that it's meant to be. If your kids fidget or moan or refuse to wear the costume, don't worry. It's okay to give up on the dream of what they or you should be gaining from those classes. Just go home and be free.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

A Kick in the Yoga Pants

Sometimes, we just need somebody else to be our motivator. Our cheerleader. Our kicker-in-the-pantser. Yes, we're adults. We manage households full of people without any direction from anybody. We should know how to do the same for ourselves, right? Lately, I found myself in this strange limbo. I was still doing all of my mom, wife and school duties, but I had neglected to place "take care of myself" in that never-ending to-do list.

It has been a few months since I took that huge leap of faith and went to yoga for the very first time. It was an incredibly rewarding experience, and I continued to go week after week, loving everything that came with it. The meditation, the relaxation, the sweat, the challenge. I was suddenly like, "yoga...it's my thing now." That is until I had a few rough Mondays. Migraines, stomach flu, neck pain, stress. They were all creeping in, seemingly trying to ruin my new peaceful practice. Didn't my body know how much I needed to be at yoga on Mondays?

For three weeks, I was not well enough to go. I rested at home instead. I sat on the couch next to Mark, eating ice cream and catching up on The Tonight Show. Sounds lame, right? Aside from being next to my husband in the evening, it was pretty lame compared to the really cool stuff I had been doing at yoga.

I had been knocked down for three weeks. Although I knew my body could handle going back to class, I had lost my momentum. I felt all those same jitters that I experienced before my first class coming back. Would I fall? Would I run out of breath? Mark, my sudden cheerleader, encouraged me to go. He kept sneaking in questions about it, asking me "So, what time is class tonight?" even though it has always been the same time. He was my new accountability person. So, I went back to yoga last week.

That night, for the first time after class, I found myself feeling sad. I felt like I didn't really know anybody there, and I was lost. I felt out of place and lonely. I felt that the positives I had received from the exercise and relaxation had been pounced on by the negative emotions I came away with when it was over. I came home and told Mark that I didn't know if I would go back to that class. (Again...lame).

Last night was Monday, aka yoga night. It arrived like clockwork. Funny how the calendar works. I had no reason not to get off my rear and go to class. My body was sound and craved the physical transformation it feels after yoga practice. It was my mind that was not in the best of health. Mark asked me during the day what time my class was, even though I know he knows. I was finishing up dinner in the kitchen, and he came through the door after work. He placed his arm around me and brought it up once more. I started to cry, telling him that I didn't think I could go back again. I didn't feel confident enough to put myself out there, to feel alone in the class of so many people who already seemed to be friends.

I was rationalizing in my head that maybe I would just do yoga at home. (Even though I bought a DVD months ago and haven't opened it yet). My motivator wiped my tears, told me that he knows how hard it is to feel how I was feeling, and he encouraged me to go anyway. I shrugged him off and continued stirring what was in the pan on my stove.

When the whole family finished eating dinner at about 6:02 p.m., my kicker-in-the-pantser made one last ditch effort to move me out the door. Did he know what he was doing? Of course he did, although it was ever-so-subtle. He asked me, "So, is your class at 6:30 or 7?"

Darn. He won't let it go. I guess I should just do it.

Besides my husband's nudges, throughout the day, I had been unable to shake this image from my head. My yoga instructor had posted it early in the morning, with our invitation to class.

 

It's what I tell people all the time, about everything important. We'll likely regret not doing something way more than we'd ever regret doing it.

 

So, upstairs I went to slip into my yoga pants and top-the first work-out clothes I have owned since my high school cheerleading days. Trixie filled my water bottle for me, and I almost walked out without my mat. She reminded me to grab it, all the kids told me to have fun at yoga, and then I left, into the night of freezing rain and drear.

 

I walked into our warm, calm and darkened yoga room with a new attitude. With an attitude that I wasn't there to make new friends. I was there for myself and my health. I was not going to worry about socializing, even though that's such an integral part of who I am. Then, something awesome happened. The room began to fill with the bodies of people who were friendly, smiley and welcoming. Last night's yoga was the best of both worlds. Amazing work-out. Amazing people.

 

I have two people to thank for kicking me in the yoga pants:

 

My husband, who had seen the struggle within me the past few weeks, and my instructor, who shared the most timely piece of encouragement, as if it was meant just for me.

 

Do you have any cheerleaders, motivators, or kicker-in-the-pantsers that seem to know exactly how to keep you moving? Have you ever told them what they've done for you or thanked them for being an inspiration? Maybe try it today.  

 

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Coffee Mugs Take Over but Still Teach Life Lessons

As I've collected items for my kitchen over the years, I have had to learn to rid my cabinets of older ones to make room for the new. I say learn, because it is not easy for me to remove these items which actually are memories to me. Because I spend so much of my time in my kitchen, the tools I use become a part of me. When my favorite casserole dish, which was a gift from our wedding shower, came crashing to the floor, I felt a true sadness as I slid it from the dustpan into the trash. In that dish was where I crafted our first lasagnas and pans of stuffed green peppers as newlyweds. When the electric pan that Mark bought me to use during our expat stay in Japan finally stopped working, I was heartbroken. That piece of equipment was where I scrambled eggs for our babies and sautéed Yakisoba, my favorite Japanese noodle dish that I just can never recreate in the States.

This past summer, I realized I had accumulated quite a collection of coffee mugs. One of them had broken many times, and I finally had to let it go. It was a mug which my aunt had given to me for my college graduation. It was my first "Teacher Mug." I held it near and dear to my heart for thirteen years, thinking of my aunt each time I sipped my Sleepy Time tea from it. When that cherished mug was finally gone, I decided it might be time to go through my mug shelf and give it a face lift. It was actually quite liberating.

We all have our favorite mugs, right? The ones we use each morning for our coffee or tea. We have ones we save for guests that match our dinnerware. We have mugs that we never touch which linger in the back of the shelves, simply collecting dust. For some reason, those just never make it into the rotation. Those were the ones that were easy for me to donate.

Then came the sentimental mugs. The ones that had been taking up my cabinets for ten plus years. Obviously, I never needed all of them at once, and they were making it difficult to close my cabinet doors. Something needed to be done. How did this emotionally-attached, "I wanna keep everything that has ever meant anything to me" mama decide which mugs to keep and which to donate? One afternoon, I talked it over with my own mom for some tips, and I began the process.

I had four mugs from our favorite family vacation to Guam. They were identical to each other. I kept one. I had two mugs from the time I went to see my favorite Broadway show with my best Japanese friend. Again, identical. I kept one. I had many mugs with my kiddos' faces on them. Automatic keepers, of course. One or two were starting to chip. Those became pencil holders. I had a really tall, funky, cool mug from when I took the kids to their first Broadway show. It spells Supercalifragilisticespialidoscious in a rainbow of colors. It's fantastic! Into Trixie's room it went to store whatever she wants. A mug from the kids that says "Best Dad in the History of the World...Ever" required no contemplation. Through the shelves I went, making wise decisions on what on Earth to do with all of these stinkin' coffee mugs.

Then came the one that I knew I would never be able to give away. It's a sleek black coffee mug that my parents presented to me in celebration after one night of high school. I haven't kept it because of the event that surrounded it (Honor Society inductions). Obviously, who I was in high school was just that, high school. I kept it because of the words that are written on it and how much they still ring true to what I believe. When I drink from it, I read the words that my parents carefully chose for me that night. I was only sixteen, but the inspiration I felt from the words on a coffee mug (with balloons and candy attached) are still affecting me.

The words are beginning to fade, probably from many years of wear and washing. Please read them with care, and maybe you will be inspired today, too!

Excellence can be attained if you...

Care more than others think is wise...

Risk more than others think is safe...

Dream more than others think is practical...

Expect more than others think is possible.

Do you have sentimental attachments to items in your kitchen or home? How long have you kept them? I just realized I've had this honor society mug for exactly 20 years! It has moved all over the world with me. Thanks, Mom and Dad. I am sure you had no idea it would become such an important part of my home.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Peeling Back the Mask of Sensory Processing Disorder: Part 3

3 Rules to Navigating a New Stage in Parenting

Since I shared just a small fraction of our experience with Sensory Processing Disorder during Halloween time, I have been hearing from so many parents who are feeling that they navigate this world alone. What I would like to say is that you are not alone. Many of us have children who are dealing with similar frustrations. We just need to reach out and find each other!

You are probably wondering how that is possible when you already feel like you are the only parent going through it. These are some of the thoughts you probably have on a regular basis.

Other kids eat a variety of foods, including vegetables and non-processed meats. 
 
Other kids put on their winter coats, hats, boots and mittens without tantrums.
 
Other kids dip their toes in sand, grass or water without screaming.
 
Other kids like parades and the loud sirens and flashing lights that come with them.
 
Other kids willingly take baths when they need them, or maybe even before a layer of slime accumulates on their bodies.
 
Other kids move through childhood without ever knowing the struggle of an oversensitive body system. Gosh, why does everybody else have it so easy when my child cries every day about something?

The truth is, everybody doesn't have it as easy as we think they do. Every family is struggling with something. Each child probably has some issue that is causing concern in the home. Sensory processing is just one that is highly visible, and often at inopportune times, right?

I would like to encourage you that it is possible, and critical, to seek out other families who do battle the same issues. Parenting will feel a lot less lonely once you overcome the initial shock and make it your mission to connect with others who also are struggling. You can follow these three rules to help you.

Rule #1. Read...a lot!

I have discovered that using a variety of tools for gathering information makes life a little easier for all of us. Of course, I always turn to the library and Google. I read books, magazines, every pamphlet I see, Facebook and, obviously, helpful blogs. For whatever diagnosis your child has, there will be at least one online organization and support group which you will find valuable. I have learned that becoming as much of an expert as I can (while still being a busy mom with four kids, a husband, a house and myself to manage), is the first step.

As a parent, I will always be reading and learning. That part never ends. I accept it.  

Rule #2. Listen...a lot!

Through my many years of navigating my own children's issues and concerns, I have always turned to parents who have crossed the path before me. They are filled with so much experience, knowledge and advice. When I need help with something new, I look to those previous "experts." I have a notebook ready and actually write down what they tell me. It may sound silly or antiquated, but it's a crucial part of my tried and true process. I know I won't remember the entire conversation later, so I record the details. Doctors, therapists, foods, websites, resources. I jot all of it down, so that when I am ready to digest it later, everything will be right there in front of me.

How do I hear about these expert parents and who they are? I listen attentively when people talk. I remember when I hear about children having certain diagnoses. Mr. A's child has Asperger's; Mr. B's child has Tourette's; Mrs. C's child has allergies;  Mrs. D.'s child goes to speech therapy. I am able to remember and file these little tidbits into my brain and then use them like a Rolodex when it's time.

Because I have many children of varying ages, I do happen to know a lot of people. If you aren't part of as wide of a network as I am yet, that's okay. You can ask your friends for references. Ask your family. Ask your pediatrician. Ask on Facebook. Ask your neighbors, teachers, whomever you can! Someone...somewhere, will know somebody who has been in your situation in the past.

Rule #3. Talk...a lot!

Luckily for me, I have a big mouth. (I have shared that truth about myself with you, right)? I don't mind sharing my experiences with other people, especially if it can help someone through a difficult situation. I have found that my talking about our lives has already helped many others. Thus continues the circle of learning and listening. I'm hoping that others will remember what experiences I have had, and they will feel comfortable seeking out my help in the future.

Just the other evening at swimming, I overheard a mother talking about some struggles one of her daughters was having. As I had been in her situation in the past, my supersonic eavesdropping skills had been activated. Then, I scooted myself across the bleachers to see if there was anything I could do to help. Through our lengthy conversation, I learned that she felt extremely alone in this journey to advocate for her children. It was all very new to her, very overwhelming and very exhausting. These are the words parents often utter to one another when their guards are finally down: overwhelming, exhausting, confusing, sad, frustrating, emotional...HARD.

This particular woman was in a special circumstance because she actually had two children with two different syndromes and many questions. Somehow, I had been at the right place, at the right time, to extend some advice to this mother. At the end of our talk, she felt more confident, a little relieved and ready to tackle the next step in her journey.

Another obvious benefit of talking is that both parties can actually learn something. We can discover new therapies and strategies to try with our own children through the regular old art of conversation.

If you are a parent who has navigated life with a sensitive child, I'm sure you have tried these rules of Read, Listen and Talk. I hope that you will be willing to continue to share your knowledge with those new parents coming up behind you.

Just as every child is different, so is every child's method of sensory processing.

 

I am not a substitute for a therapist, but in our home, some tools which have benefited our child's specific sensory needs are:

• occupational therapy
• sound-proof headphones for parades
• sunglasses/hat for bright days
• granting him a choice in clothing, unless extreme weather is in effect
• giving a choice for bath time, hair-cut, nail trim: We tell him he can choose tonight or tomorrow, but it has to be done.
• brushing therapy
• therabands
• rolling over his body with a large yoga ball
• pouring piles of stuffed animals/clothes on him
• trampoline
• swimming
• bike riding
• swinging
• push-ups, sit-ups
• allowing him to jump against the couch
• a weighted lap pad

Most importantly, we try our best to show FLEXIBILITY, PATIENCE and LOVE.

If you're stumbling upon this post, please read back to Parts 1 and 2 of this series, in my anecdotal accounts of Peeling Back the Mask of Sensory Processing Disorder.

My Sensitive Kid Finally Wants a Halloween Costume! (Part 1)

Making Strides and Setbacks at Halloween (Part 2)


For many more resources, please check out The Sensory Processing Disorder Foundation's website.

For a great site to purchase brushes, bands, and lap pads, check out The Therapy Shoppe.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Peeling Back the Mask of Sensory Processing Disorder: Part 2

After writing about our family's experience with Sensory Processing Disorder during Halloween time, and seeing how greatly it affects so many children, I have decided to make this topic the focus of a 3 part series.

In Part 1, I described what life can be like for a child with sensory processing issues. After many years, my third child had finally decided to wear a Halloween costume.

In the post you are reading now, which is Part 2, I'd like to share what happened after Chip joyfully wore his costume for the first time. Often, sensitive children can change their minds at a moment's notice. I'll describe what it was like for him to attend his school's Halloween party, which has always been an overwhelming experience for Chip.

Finally, I will publish a piece for parents who are seeking advice or help with sensory processing issues. Please look for that in Part 3: 3 Rules to Navigating a New Stage of Parenting.

               

Making Strides and Setbacks at Halloween

 

After excitedly blogging about Chip wearing his Green Ninja costume around the house for an entire night, I felt he was ready to conquer Halloween! I was positive it was going to be the greatest year ever. I believed we were over that hurdle that had always been keeping him from truly enjoying a night of candy-grabbing and playing with friends.

Chip ran home from the bus on Friday afternoon, so excited for the Halloween parade at school. He dressed himself right away and counted down the hours until it was time to leave. I had warned my children ahead of time that they were going to need to be patient in the beginning, as we were arriving early to finish decorating our car for trunk-or-treat. They would need to wait with me while we completed that task, and then again while I greeted families at the door. (I was wearing My PTA-mom hat, along with my bright orange pumpkin shirt). Extra rules on an already sensory-overloaded night can be difficult.

I thought I had done my best to prepare Chip by explaining these guidelines many times before we left the house. However, once we were at the school, everything changed.

Tears started to flow.

He was crying about wanting to take off his costume.

He began insisting on never going to the parade again, never wearing a costume again, and predicting it was going to be a horrible night.

It all happened in just a few moments, right after we pulled into our parking space. I worried that everything Chip had overcome during the prior few days was going to be erased, and his new self-confidence would be forgotten.

Well, I was wrong.

Suddenly, out of the side window, Chip saw a few of his friends starting to arrive, too. More ninjas of varying colors were filing out of their cars. Football players, zombies, superheroes, Darth Vader. All of them were ready for the party and eager to see Chip. Seeing his friends in costume was enough to shake him out of his momentary lapse in Halloween readiness.

The rest of the night was a blur of what Chip described as "The Best Halloween Party Ever!"

Hundreds of parents and kids waiting in line for donuts and cider, children squashed up against each other on the floor watching a festive film, temperatures reaching sauna-like levels. All of these factors would have sent Chip into a frenzy in the past. This year, my boy did not melt down and cry to go home. He left me in the dust, braved it all, and said he couldn't wait for next year.

 

The junk bus is transformed for Trunk-or-Treat.

I only had half a bag of trash to clean out before the night! 

PS. It was much spookier in the dark.

(Photo courtesy of Christine H.)

For any parents with sensitive children, please feel safe in knowing you are not alone. Our kids' struggles are real, and they tend to move through them at their own pace. Even when they seem like they are moving ahead, setbacks are common. We just need to be supportive of our babies...day to day, moment to moment.

I'd love for you to find me on Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo