Motherhood with a Teenager Reveals Blessings

Let me know if you've heard these phrases: "Just wait until they start talking back to you. Just wait until all they do is sleep all day. Just wait until they eat everything in sight. Just wait until they're taller than you. Just wait until they're teenagers. Just wait..."


When a fellow mom prefaces advice with those two words, "Just Wait," I want to smack her a little. I hear it quite often, because gobs of people have lived through motherhood longer than I have. The truth is, no matter what stage of motherhood a woman is in, her future shouldn't be discussed with fear and annoyance. Her present is hard enough as it is, so how does it help anybody to dismiss what's happening now and indicate it's only going to be worse someday?


We have all heard horror stories about the teen years. We shouldn't trek blindly or naively without being prepared for the worst, because some of the worst is surely going to happen. Our paths will be tumultuous. The terrain will be rocky. We'll cross wide, gaping holes without bridges. Slippery hills and uneven ground will bring us to a halt at times. We know. Veteran moms don't need to warn us. We were teenagers not so long ago ourselves. Our husbands were boys, and we were girls. If we really tried, we could recall all of our crazy stunts and the poor decisions we made as teens. We can't believe our own parents survived. We are baffled that we were never kidnapped or lost or worse. We know, Just-Wait-Warning moms. We know what's coming.


As we sit around waiting for the worst, we can try to appreciate the best of our teens. These curious creatures are still the same babies who once were merely a dream to a newlywed couple. We can still see the glow in their eyes and dimples in their cheeks reminiscent of the toddler years. Their sense of humor has wittily evolved from that of the second-grader who loved the tired old Knock-Knock Orange and Banana joke.


Bits of the worst may be in our future, but for now, I'd like to share how I learned to appreciate the wonder of my present teen while picking up dirty laundry.


Laundry is an issue for our family...you know this because I've told you how my system moved from highly inefficient to simply okay. Six people create many loads of laundry, so each child has a hamper in his or her room. Our rule for the past year has been that each child should be placing dirty clothing into said hamper. It sounds simple, yet they do not always do it. Many days, I find clothes and pajamas behind the bathroom door, draping down the stairs, next to the basement couch and in every mom's favorite place: on the floor right next to the hamper. Right next to it! Many times I've been infuriated by this practice. I've beckoned for children to run up two flights of stairs, for the sole purpose of reminding them of proper laundry rules and insisting they follow the rules right then and there. I've cursed under my breath for the inconvenience. I've thrown my hands up in the air, wondering, Will they ever do it the right way? My way?


Some days, I am surprised when I find hampers full of clothes and floors cleared of the heaps of socks and undies. I do love and appreciate those days.


It was one typical day when the clothes were lying beside the hamper when I woke up to my teenage blessing. The sun was shining through the windows, which is pretty rare in our town during winter, so I was in an especially inspired mood. Everybody was at school and work. My Broadway Showtunes Pandora station was cranked up to a volume nobody in the house but I could tolerate. Seeing the jumbled mess of clothes next to the hamper, when nobody but I was home to move them, jolted me.


For a split second, I grumpily thought I should leave them on the floor until school was over, then make darn sure the offending child placed them where they belonged. Then, my mama heart softened as I realized that I will not be cleaning up clothes forever. Someday, there will be nothing left on the floor. The kids will be grown and gone, and I'll long for the days when I could pick up after my babies. My kids. My teens.


There will be no toothpaste on the sink. No unmade beds. No Lego pieces. No evidence of children...anywhere.


I started to cry. I began to mourn the years that are slipping away from us as fast as rockets, and I slowly and deliberately picked up each piece of smelly clothing from the floor. As I dropped them into the hamper, I said these words out loud:


"Thank you for sending me these children. Thank you for keeping them healthy. Thank you for everything we have, even the messes. Please keep them safe. Please keep them healthy. Please help them know how much I love being their mom. Please keep them mine."


As we learn to navigate our new roles as moms to teens, I hope we'll be strong in remembering how much these kiddos still need us. They aren't grown up yet. They forget. They are tired. They want to hang out with friends or read or watch their favorite shows. They're kids. They probably loathe laundry as much as we do.

 

One of my best friends gave me a cherished recipe, with these words of words of wisdom taped to the back of the card:

How Our Family Thrived by Being Less Busy

Last fall, I confessed the embarrassing disarray in which the kids and I kept our family car. The self-explanatory term, Junk Bus, confirmed many hurried families also understand our situation. We spend massive chunks of time in our vehicles.

Even if children ride in an actual bus to school, modern parents are transporting their kids by car/van/SUV to what can feel like an endless collection of activities. Night after night. Week after week. Season after season.

Kids pile into the car after school, with zero time for a leisurely chat at the kitchen table over animal crackers and milk. What's the solution? Portable bites for the ride to the latest sport or lesson or class. What's the result? A messy car. Wrappers left in every crevice. Drinks spilled. Extra shoes and jackets tossed to the floor. Homework papers strewn throughout the seats.

By the end of the evening, we're rushing into the house for showers, stories and bed. Who has the extra two seconds it takes to whisk the trash from the car? At least that was my excuse.

What would happen to our cars, and thus our lives, if we stopped all the running?

By happenstance, our family's schedule took a much needed break in 2015. Starting in May, the activities which used to keep us bouncing around town disappeared. At first, the extra time at home felt oddly wrong. All of my friends were at ball fields several nights a week, but for the first time in eight years, we were not. Our spring was so low key, that after a month of having dinner at a reasonable time, I was addicted to our family being home together. As summer approached, I strived to keep up our pattern of peace. I scheduled almost nothing for the kids to do. Swimming lessons and one football camp were the only plans on our calendar. From the mom who normally signs each child up for at least three events every summer, it was a drastic shift toward simplicity.

Spending days and nights without a schedule was liberating…for the children and their chauffeur. The car remained cleaner, while our yard became dotted with the signs of summer: sidewalk chalk, jump ropes, bubble wands and an array of balls, bikes and scooters. Instead of my bossy barks and their tired whines, the sounds of laughing kids filled the steamy Michigan air.

I dreaded the day when our carefree summer would come to a close. School starting would mean more duties, responsibilities and timelines. What would happen to our lazy nights together? Could we handle the chaos again? An injury sidelined our one child who was going to play football, so our fall also became wide open. Here we were, in new territory once again, experiencing our first fall without any sports or classes. Mark had been coaching every year since 2008, but with football over, he was home. The kids were home. We were all home.

While I don't expect this trend to continue indefinitely, because our kids will eventually choose to participate again, I am relishing in it while I can. The frantic lifestyle is so common, that stepping out of it may seem impossible. Until this year, I wouldn't have considered this break necessary, but now I realize how invaluable it was.

Resting on my nightstand is one of the year's hottest best sellers, The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up. Japanese organizing expert, Marie Kondo, teaches readers to purge their homes of possessions to achieve happiness. Why hold on to a stretched out t-shirt from college that is only taking up space in your pajama drawer? Toss it! It is just as simple to apply her methods to our personal schedules.

We can ask Kondo's famous question of anything we might set our families up to do. 

"Does it spark joy?"

If the answer is no, then we can  and should discard it from our lives. We may be tempted to think that all of these filler events in our days are joyful and continue to do them out of habit or guilt. If we look a bit more closely, we may notice that all of the activities which keep us away from home might be stirring up anything but joy. Are we spending too much money? Keeping the kids out too late? Not enjoying enough family dinners? Putting too many miles on the car? Causing tears, anxiety, stress and burn-out?

The solution is so simple. Erase it. Delete it. Change our life!

My calendar for 2016 is fresh and blank and features photos of cows doing yoga. I'm going to be conscious this year to fill the squares with what matters to my children, my husband and me. What will you do this year that sparks joy?

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Celebrating Holidays without a Village

When reminiscing about our childhood holidays, we may fondly remember piling in our parents' car, driving from house to house to see the extended families of both our mothers and fathers. Christmas Eve and Christmas Day could be packed with festivities, from morning till night, as several generations lived in the same town. A ten minute drive from one grandma's house, to another aunt's house, and back home again, in time to set out a plate of cookies for Santa was typical. Streets were lined with cars, as every house on the block was hosting a family celebration…gathering with their village.

Fast forward to today. Parents are not always living or raising their children in the same situation that was common for Americans in previous years. My generation is the generation which moved away from our hometowns. We graduated from college and joined a global workforce. We live where wide ranges of opportunities exist, and we are eager to explore cultures and experiences, many of which are vastly different from what we had known as children.

My parents still reside in my childhood home, and my grandmother peacefully lives in the only place I have ever known as hers. I cherish that continuity and safety which exists for me. I love that I'm able to look out my parents' back window to gaze at my kids playing with their cousins…the same yard where I played with my cousins and friends and brothers. I appreciate the moments when I walk into my grandma's kitchen, and she offers me butter pecan ice cream, just as she did thirty years ago. I know how special it is to have these places to return to, not only in my memory, but also in real time with my children.

Yet, my husband and I have not created the same experience for our own children. We aren't able to settle down near our parents or siblings. We are the ones who don't live there. Checking calendars weeks in advance and waiting to see how the weather will pan out is always a part of our visits. Though emotionally close, we actually aren't with our village.

We are not the only family living this way. A large portion of our friends are what we call transplants. So many people have moved into this area to work, from a variety of other states and countries.

So, how do we manage this life, without our built-in village living near us? The answer is two-fold:

First, we make sure that our immediate family, the six of us, is strong.

Second, we work to build meaningful relationships with other families with similar values. We are becoming a village for one another.

As the holidays approach, I reflect back on the farthest place we ever lived from our village. For two years, we celebrated Christmas in  Japan. Although we may have missed out on the huge gatherings of cousins and indulging in our favorite American dishes, we received the blessings of something much richer. Our village was full. It busted at the seams with every other family who was missing home and craved to be surrounded by love. Our children played with children they had grown to know like cousins. We ate, drank and were merry with the friends who were living life with us. They weren't our brothers or sisters, but we felt entrusted to them because of our shared experience.
 

As I wish you a Happy Holiday season, I'd like to extend a challenge to my readers. Some of you are surely long-time residents of your town, while others of you are transplants (like me). If you are a lifer with a big heart, why not open up your village a bit to someone you know who needs one? Supporting a neighbor's child by watching him play basketball or attending her choir concert will help build a feeling of community and family. Extending an invite during the holidays will bring joy in ways you may not even be able to imagine.

To my fellow transplants, I know it's hard to move. I know it can be difficult to find or make that new village, especially if you left one behind that already seemed perfect. I know you miss seeing your own family for the holidays. I know! Until you find your village, try searching for a Newcomers Club in your area…and smiling. You will find your people.

Whether you are living in your village, or an ocean away, there's always room for more.

 

Happy Holidays to my people!!

Just a sampling of the village we made during our Japanese days.  

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Mourning My Dear Friend, Fertile Myrtle

I suppose I should start by warning you that this post is about lady business. Dudes who read my page: you could benefit from reading it all, as someday, it may pertain to a woman you love, but feel free to turn away at any point. I promise I won't be offended. What I'm about to share is so deeply rooted in my mom-ness, and simply writing about it for you is healing, so would you please bare with me through this experience?

Now, let's get to it.

I have had a lot of nicknames throughout my life. Some were cute, some were mean, many were the result of little kids unable to say my real name. Elizabeth is a mouthful for children in any language, as we've learned. One nickname that my dear old dad bestowed upon me as I was popping out two babies in one year was Fertile Myrtle. As I announced that second pregnancy, I distinctly remember him saying, "Well, I guess we can just call you Fertile Myrtle, like your mom!" As more years passed and babies kept coming, the silly name lingered. Last Thursday morning, I had to say good-bye to Fertile Myrtle forever. It was so much harder than I imagined.

I had always considered my fertility an abundant blessing. Four pregnancies resulting in four healthy children was pretty incredible. I knew it to be true. I was defying statistics, so I was thrilled to be Fertile Myrtle for most of our married life.

She consciously retired after number four was born, but the possibility of her creeping in for one more April Fool's joke was never far from my mind.

Ever.

So, I went along the past five years, raising our four kiddos with no room or reason to add any more, yet my baby fever never broke.

Ever.

I always wondered, "What if...?"

Always.

Then, within the last year, the possibility of me actually permanently losing my fertility became a reality. I would need to have a surgical procedure for my own health, and the end result would be the end of this life I have always equated with who I am.

Fertile.

Woman.

Mother.

Gone.

As my surgery date grew near, the most unforgiving nag in my mind was not typical anxiety over pain or nausea or anesthesia or the laundry that would pile up during my recovery. It was the conscious steps being taken to strip away this beautiful gift I received upon my own birth. My gift of fertility.

On that early March morning, as my doctor popped into my hospital room to prepare for what would be a routine procedure for her, I suddenly felt the urge to stall. I knew that as soon as she said, "See you in there," it would be the end of an era.

Deliberately removing the lining of a woman's uterus to improve her health would be nothing unusual for my trusted and gifted surgeon. All in a day's work, as the saying goes.

Losing that precious cushion, which was the very first resting place for all four of my babies, would prove to be a grievous moment for this mama.

Knowing, from that day forward, that my body would no longer be a safe haven for any future surprise chocolate fans was difficult for me to swallow.

I grasped at the right words to explain my thoughts.

Women my age are just now starting to have babies.

I know we don't need any more kids, but I would always want more.

I just don't know if I'm ready....if I can do this.

It's so final. It's irreversible.

Witnessing my inner and outer struggles, my doctor graciously asked if we needed to postpone my surgery.

Then, my husband did what he does best. He cracked a joke, "Would you please stop dreaming about having more kids without me?"

And, there it was. Our laughter. The laughter that had guided me through every difficult moment in our eighteen years together. It's what I needed at that very instant. After punching him in the arm, I sighed a few more times, gave the all clear, and the rest is history.

It's been less than a week after having said farewell to my lucrative gig as Fertile Myrtle, so I don't know how long it will take for me to truly accept this next phase of my life. My days of housing and cradling babies in this wonderful womb of mine are officially finished, but I am truly thankful for the many years it served my bouncy babies so well.

Here I am, expecting number four, holding a drawing that my recent preschool graduate had given to me. It says, "I Love You, Mama." When our last baby was born, our other kids were only 7, 5 and 2. Wow, Fertile Myrtle was really busy!  

 

A woman's fertility is such a delicate subject. I wonder if anyone else who has gone through circumstances like mine felt a similar range of emotions before surgery. Even if you had no previous plans to have more children, was the permanence of it all difficult for you to handle? Would you be bold and share your experiences with us? I'd love to hear from you!

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Declaring to Value Our Time this December and Find Peace

When did it become December 2nd? Our tree is decorated, our Elf (named Harry...as in Potter), is back up on the shelf again, and the kids are anxiously counting the days until Christmas, using the not-so-fancy countdown board we found on clearance at the end of last season. We just finished up celebrating two kids' birthdays and then Thanksgiving, and now it's time to prepare for Christmas. Seriously, how did it happen?

I'll forever be amazed that since becoming parents, time just seems to disappear. It continually slips away, through our fingertips, always just out of reach. Although we'd like to catch it, grasp it and stop it from moving forward, it's impossible. Everywhere I go, when I see friends or family, someone says, "Can you believe it's already ________?" We fill in the blank with the year, or whatever holiday that seems to have arrived too soon, or time for school to start, or time for school to end. Today, I'm saying, "Can you believe it's already December?" Very soon I'll be announcing, "I cannot believe it's 2015!"

Something enlightening popped in front of my eyes yesterday which really inspired me to stop. Stop worrying about time. Stop fretting over the never-ending to-do lists of December. Stop, look, listen and enjoy what is in front of us.

This something quietly came across my Facebook feed, along with all the pictures of cats and newly decorated Christmas trees and inappropriate jokes. It was a beautifully written declaration made by my cousin's wife. She had openly declared to slow down. To enjoy her two babies. Her husband. Her life. She vowed to forget about the hassle of baking and gift buying and parties that inevitably make us all stressed and crazy during the holidays. She had decided what was most important to her at this point in their beautiful life, and she laid it all out there for Facebook-land to see. Maybe people scrolled past it, or maybe people thought she was suddenly Grinchy. I'm hoping that most people saw the same beauty in her ideas that I did.

She has inspired me.

For the past few weeks, I had been thinking about what is looming over my head this Christmas season. The calendar is filing up quickly, as our month is busy with travel and hosting and volunteering and shopping and baking and on and on. I'm the type of person who wants to do it all, see everybody, and be everywhere. Are you?

I'm thankful to have an insightful husband who can see this struggle I carry within myself. He recently removed one item from our plate. I fought him till the end, worrying about how it would affect others if we simply erased it from the calendar. Now that I'm officially free from the worry of this event, I can breathe a little easier as I prepare for my children's favorite holiday.

So, as Mark did his part to remove a hosting event from my holiday duties, I am going to do mine. I'm not ready to be as bold as my cousin and delete everything. However, I do have one Christmas obligation that I'm declaring right here, right now, simply to ignore this year. Do you have something you continue to do, year after year, but it seems to bring more harm to your holiday spirit than cheer? Will you join my cousin and me in letting go?

Here's my official statement. There's no turning back now:

I will not worry about sending a hundred Christmas cards this year.

I will not stress about posing my four children for that impossible perfect Christmas card photo. They are adorable and funny and loving and wild, and I'm not going to compare my picture to all of the others that come through my mailbox this year.

I will not spend hours going through last year's cards, my address file, the post-office or Shutterfly, looking for that "just right" card that says who we are this year.

I won't feel the sense of sadness that inevitably occurs when I send cards to people year after year who never send them to me.

I will carefully select one glittery, cheerful and sentimental card to send to my only living grandparent, letting her know that we value and appreciate the gift that she is to our family. I will encourage our children to send cards to their grandparents and those who mean the most to them.

I will gaze, with a smile on my face, as my children open the mailbox to find someone has thought of us this year.

I will cherish each and every card that does come to our home, from near and far. I will take time to read the messages, examine the sweet photos and feel thankful for those who do carry on this Christmas tradition I love so much.

I vow that next December, I will have the foresight to eliminate other needless duties from our schedule, freeing up time to send Christmas cards to the family and friends I so deeply value. I kindly ask those with whom we usually exchange cards: please don't take us off your lists. Our entryway would not be the same this year without your festive greetings taped all around. I'm still thinking of you, remembering you and wishing you a wonderful holiday season.

Can you think of something that you might want to remove from your busy life this season? Do you need a little nudge to finally give yourself permission to just let it go? Here I am, nudging you, ever-so-gently, to do what's most important to you and your family this year. Imagine all of the new memories you can create once you free yourself of the obligation. Imagine the peace.

The Mama Can't Go Down

We experienced one of those weekends around here that I anticipate with dread as soon as school is back in session. I know it will happen; it's always just a matter of when. More than half the people in the house were really sick. I will not go into the gruesome details, but the germy culprit was the terrible stomach flu that attacks our house every.single.year.

Every year, without fail, it rips through here like a tornado, leaving kids and adults moaning and groaning, ruining plans and shifting the washing machine into overdrive. One by one, the members of my house fell victim to this strong virus.

Lucky for us, this time around, I wasn't hit by the virus at the same time as everyone else. As Mark was lying in bed, he whispered, "I'm so glad you're not sick, because the mama can't go down!"

I was busy being caretaker, hopping from room to room, dropping off saltines and ginger ale. Changing sheets, cleaning buckets, wiping foreheads. Rubbing backs, telling my little sweets that everything would be alright, when in all reality, I had no idea when it would be over. We moms don't really know when the fevers will break or how long the suffering will last. We just keep wishing that it will be over soon, that we can take it all away from our children. Watching my kids writhe in pain and misery really forced me to focus on their health.

For a few moments, I retreated to the family room couch to take a break. I flipped on the TV in an attempt to drown out the worry I had been feeling for my babies. While I laid there, with the snow falling outside my window, I counted my blessings for the 362 days of full health that my family does experience during the remainder of the year. Yes, we suffer (and I mean suffer) through the stomach flu every winter, but overall, my children are in wonderful shape. I am ever-so-thankful for their health.

One by one, just as quickly as that mean virus had knocked them down, they have been picking themselves back up again. The children have been bouncing back to wrestling, yelling and laughing. Of course, I'm still on edge, wondering if or when the last two will fall. That means one more kid and me. If you don't hear from me on Thursday, you'll know that the mama did, in fact, go down.



The Professional Stomach Flu Survival Kit
 

 

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