I Miss You...Here's Where I've Been

Peer pressure is some serious business. We all feel it. Well, maybe you don't anymore...now that you're a grown-up. If you don't feel peer pressure as an adult, I'm jealous. Look, there's more proof that I feel it. I feel pressure to be exempt from pressure.


Several months ago, I read these words across my computer screen:


"You haven't posted anything new in 11 days. 221 people who like your page want to hear from you."


What?


Who did that person think she was telling me to come up with something interesting/endearing/clickworthy to share with my likers?


Well, it wasn't even a person. It was Facebook. A computer generated message, coded to pop up as a reminder for business owners and bloggers to keep their pages active, happening and vibrant. To keep those clickers clicking.


A quiet, inconspicuous nudge. Come on, say something. Anything. Bring someone here...to this page...your page. They want you. We want you. Do it.


I read the words, felt the pressure and caved. I typed. I created something for my likers to like. I did what I felt I was meant to do.


One of my dear friends straight out told me, "That's a lot of pressure from Facebook." I LOL-ed and smiley-face emoji-ed at her brilliant comment. (I don't think those are verbs yet, but I'm typing them anyway. I'm screwing teacher pressure tonight).


Life continued as it had for the previous many months. Eleven days between posts had once been a mighty number, so I squeezed it back to three. However, eventually, that high of eleven became nineteen. Nineteen morphed into thirty-three. This fall, Facebook made sure to warn me that my likers had gone a painstakingly 45 days without seeing anything new from their wise and witty Mama (Who Loves You and Chocolate, Too). What had I done? What was I thinking, not writing and sharing and blogging and posting? Where was I?


Don't I wish that I could tell you that I was living the easy life as all four of my kids were at school?


That I was kicking up my heels (FINALLY) and eating all those bon-bons I have been missing out on all these years?


That the breakfast dishes were cleaned up as soon as the kids hopped on the bus, in time for me to work out before my long, hot bubble bath?


That my husband and I were sneaking away for long lunches every day?


That I planned, shopped for and cooked wholesome and thoughtful meals, which were ready at 5:30 each night?


That the children did their homework without hesitation or fuss?


That they happily went upstairs after family book or game time, eagerly brushing teeth and taking showers, allowing us to relax with Jimmy Fallon and our unhealthy addiction to the new Netflix series Narcos?


Don't I freaking wish? If only that were how life was. For a real look into our lives, go ahead and reread those few sentences, knowing that none of it ever happened. In fact, it was the exact opposite...all the time. Our life was the typical, hectic, back to school mess with four kids, plus several medical disasters thrown into the mix. I was forced to give up running and yoga after a hefty injury to my ankle. Yes, again. My feet suck. I miss it more than I could have ever imagined.


Two of the children were/are being treated for some lasting health issues. For one of them, we met with or consulted with nine physicians and specialists. For the other, we are still not to the bottom of the problem and are seeking a second opinion after months of pain and therapy. One of the boys underwent ear tubes surgery, which had to be postponed once during his first medical crisis. Also, it wouldn't be Halloweentime without the family picking up the icky germs. Each morning, as I struggled to open my puffy eyes from another sleepless night, when I thought nothing more could go wrong for us, something always did.


Usually, I only complain to my closest friends, my mom and Mark. They hear the worst from me, They are my people. They know my scary stuff. Even if it had been physically possible for me to sit at my keyboard without crying or falling asleep, you guys didn't want to hear about all my drama. My stress. My major mama worries.


Or did you?


Lately, people have been asking where I've been. This morning, my friend hesitantly, yet dearly, confessed to me that she missed my blog. She told me that she wanted me to know, but she didn't want me to feel undue pressure to come back. It made me smile inside to know that my words have affected her and the others who expressed similar sentiments. I've wanted to be here for so long...I've missed you all. You know how much I hate to admit I can't do something, but spending part of nearly every day in a medical office Is.Just.So.Darn.Draining.


So, here's what I'm thinking. I'm thinking about peer pressure. The good kind. Did you know there is a good kind? I didn't need Facebook to toss meaningless numbers at me to start me writing again. Facebook pressure has proven to be ineffective on me the past several months. Thank goodness. I'm thinking that I needed to hear from just the right number of people, the exact number of times, that I should come back to my blog. Thank you, Sweet Smiling Sarah, for pressing me.


When I told you in early October that I was cutting back on blogging, I had no idea what was ahead. I was only a mom hoping to figure out her place in a day with no children. I was going to recharge myself to be the best mom ever! I imagined I would take time away from the keys to plan satisfying meals and take steamy baths and meet Mark for relaxing lunches and go on daytime runs and have coffee chats with friends and volunteer at both schools and paint everyone's rooms and magically tidy the whole house using the KonMari Method. If life ever really gets there, I'll be sure to tell you.


For now, I'll tell you that the life of every mom you know is probably overwhelmingly messy. She'll smile and like your pictures and click "maybe" on your invites, hoping that someday her life will calm down enough for her to actually finish that book on her nightstand. Don't give up on her. I won't give up on you either. Send me a note. Post on my page. Let's start talking about what is important to you.


Are you that messy mom feeling pressure? It's okay. I feel it, too, and people call me Supermom. Whatever.

MOUNTAINS. BABIES. PEACE.
 

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

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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/

 

How I Cherish My Land Line Phone Time

Our land line telephone loudly rings throughout the house, to the tune of one of Mozart's famous pieces. Please don't ask me which one. A computerized voice speaks to me, acting as my secretary, telling me exactly who is calling. She lets me know if it's worth it to even look for one of the four hand sets that are spread among several rooms, hiding under couches and beds, blankets and stuffed animals.

Mark Cell.

Stacey Home.

Walgreens.

Cris Tina. (The computer lady splits this name into two separate words).

Private Caller.

Grandma Home.

Kara.

MI FOP (They sure do call us a lot).

Many times, I run around the house, hunting down one of our phones, desperate to talk with someone I haven't spoken to in days or weeks. No matter what I'm doing, I perk up my voice and consciously tune in to what I know is about to be a fulfilling conversation. Mark often questions why I don't answer phone calls from him in the same way.

Other times, I ignore the call all together. I know what Walgreens wants...to remind me that my refill is ready, and private callers obviously don't deserve any attention.

Once I hold the phone in my hand, brushed against my cheek, I tend to keep busting through my day...for a while. Toss in a load of laundry; scrub gloopy globs of watermelon toothpaste from the bathroom sink; open the blinds to let in the tiny flecks of sunlight that peek through our shaded yard; maybe make a bed or two...maybe.

Eventually, I grow tired of the multitasking. I know that running the dish water and focusing on my friend's new work story are too much for me to handle. I don't want to do both. I make a shift. I reheat my coffee for the fourth time or make myself a fresh glass of iced water.

Then, I settle into my spot.

My talking-on-the-phone-spot.

I tune out the world around me, glance out at the beauty of nature through my front window, and immerse myself into the life that is coming at me through my phone line. Listening with careful consideration to the voice on the other end, I'm happy to be engaged with someone who isn't physically here. Sitting in my spot, my phone spot, helps me to forget about the busy-ness of my mom life. My school leader life. My wife life.

While we have lived in this house for only five years, this spot has existed for many, many more. I sit in my gliding chair, where I've spent countless hours, day and night, nursing and nuzzling and nurturing our four babies.

Rocking.

 

Reading.

 

Rejoicing.

Our chair is no longer situated in a child's nursery. Gone are the pastel colors, intoxicating smell of newborn Pampers, and our light-haired golden retriever resting at my feet. Instead, the chair now serves as a regular piece of furniture in our living room, where everyone can enjoy its lasting comfort.

 

Still a favorite reading spot, we can all fall into it with a book or magazine and forget real life for a while. Mark plays guitar from the couch across the room, while I simply rock and listen to his strumming. Each child takes a turn sitting in the spot while I write at my desk. They tell me stories about their days. Although much too big to rock in my arms, they will never be too big to share in the closeness that the chair promotes.

It relaxes us. It hugs us. It holds us.

If you call me on the phone for a chat, be sure that while we talk, I treasure those moments together. If you hear me making noise at first, just know that it's because my mind races through my to-do list. Just hearing your voice will quiet down those nagging feelings. Having a few giggles, confessing that you forget to send in field trip money, too, or checking on my carefree summer status will remind me to seek out my spot.

To sink myself into our family's spot and just listen. Just share. Just be.

Do you have a special place in your home for reading or knitting or talking on the phone? Why does it mean something to 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/

Do People Still Ask to Borrow a Cup of Sugar?

Two young girls, best friends who are as opposite from one another as can be, are playing together in the back yard. It's the 80's, so nobody is wearing sunscreen or shoes. Pony tails are flying in the wind as they run around, engaging in whatever game they can agree on for the day. One girl loves baby dolls, while the other one is an athlete, so their choices are limited.


The screen door creeks open, and a Southern mama, who's been transplanted to the North, peeks her head out to yell, "Girls! Head next door and ask if I can borrow a cup of sugar."


The girls grab the measuring cup from Mama's outstretched hand and then mosey over to a neighbor's house to retrieve what's needed. They don't ask the same person every time, but the results are always the same. The mom in each house on the block thinks nothing of walking into her own kitchen to share food from her pantry with a friend. A give and take exists among these women neighbors, as children embark on this simple errand.


Depending on what this mama is mixing up in her kitchen, the items she needs may vary.


A stick of butter, two eggs, a packet of cherry Kool-Aid


Tromping through the neighbors' yards with my best friend, Stacey, to borrow small items for her mom was a regular part of my girlhood. Our play was often interrupted by this request to exchange kitchen basics, her boisterous voice calling after us to fetch something to add to the iron skillet bubbling away on the stove. On many Saturday mornings, we answered their front door to find other barefoot kids asking for the same usual staples.


Do you remember those times? Did your mom share and borrow sugar from her friends? Weren't those days effortless and breezy?

Today, times are different, right? Neighbors barely know one another enough to wave Hello while mowing the grass, how could they ever consider raiding someone's kitchen cabinets?


Now that I'm the mom in the house, I'm faced with this dilemma from time to time. I run out of basics as I'm baking. While our street is quaint, comfortable, and we are actually friends with the people who live around us, I have never sent my children to ask anyone for anything.


Not once.


I know our neighbors would gladly fill my empty cup with mounds of grainy white sugar if I asked, and I would do it for them in a second, but I haven't been able to take that plunge. What if they think I'm a weirdo?


Whenever I am short on ingredients, I do quickly consider the possibility of asking one of my lady neighbors for a bit of help. Here is my thought process, which I realize is quite ridiculous as I write it for you:


I figure that the best first step would be to text. I plan out in my mind what I should say. Something like,


"Hi! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I'm in the middle of making banana muffins, and I just realized I am short an egg. Do you happen to have an extra one that I can have? I promise I'll share the muffins with you guys! Sorry again, it's okay if you say no. Thank you so much in advance."


Meanwhile, I think about the trouble (whining) I'll have to endure to convince one of my children to go grab it for me. I'm typically a mess when I bake, so no one should have to see me in that state. Because it's never been done here before, the kids who are old enough to cross the street would argue about going. They would try to bargain for somebody else to do it.


I would have to bribe them.


Eventually, I decide none of the hassle or fear of rejection is worth it, so I give up on the entire idea. I pile everyone in the car and drive to the gas station, where a dozen eggs costs twice as much as any regular store.


All of this talk about borrowing sugar from neighbors began because Mark's mom told me a story about her current next-door-neighbor. She shared with me how grateful she was for their relationship, because she loaned her a potato when she needed it.


A potato.


I've discovered that those ladies trade foods with each other on a regular basis, just as they would have done if they'd been neighbors in 1988 or 1968. They don't have small children to shuttle anything back and forth between their homes, so the husbands do the transporting.


A friend of mine who also has four children had just boiled all of her eggs for the Easter Bunny, not remembering they would need more for baking. Instead of going through my complicated process, which ultimately would have resulted in buying overpriced eggs, she borrowed some from her neighbor. Modern mom and brilliant!


Tell me, have you ever asked your neighbors to borrow food? We do other favors for each other all the time, so I don't know why I've been anxious about this practice that's been happening in American homes for years. Should I just start the trend again?

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

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

When Friends Leave...

For so long, we have usually been the ones doing the leaving. We're the movers. The shakers. The jet-setters. The let's-pick-up-our-lives-and-go-ers. Leaving our previous homes and friends and lives in the dust as we moved on to the next best thing.

Right now...next week, the tables are turning. We have friends who are going to be leaving us, and I have found that I have no idea what to do with myself in this situation.

When you're the one who's leaving, saying good-bye to the friends who are staying is undeniably difficult. Physically moving your family is worth mourning. You're parting from relationships that are warm and comfortable and easy and right there.

However, just as adrenaline kicks in during an injury, the unknown of your enticing new life tends to mask the pain of a permanent good-bye. Life before a move is so hectic and overbooked with packing, paperwork, farewell parties and cleaning out the freezer that you don't even have the time to process what is happening. That you're leaving. That it may be months...or years...or never...before you see those incredible people with whom you have shared intimate memories, laughter, sorrows, birthdays, life.

The leavers don't have time to dwell on the "maybe nevers."

The stayers do.

Today, I'm the stayer, and I'm so sad about it.

My life has always had this way of working out so that people come into it at precisely the right times. I've been blessed with gifts of powerful female friendships that are beyond compare, so, when I meet a woman who so naturally fits into my cradle of connections, I long to keep her there forever. I lure her into my home with piping hot coffee and blueberry crumb cake, hoping she'll never want to leave.

When fate intervenes and brings a family to my doorstep that is meant just for me, how else can I react but to embrace them?

Two years ago, a Japanese couple with two young boys moved into a house across the street from us! Of all the streets in all the states in all of America, they moved onto ours. Their kids were in the same grades in school as two of ours. The boys didn't speak English yet, but Mark could speak Japanese. Nobody in this town speaks Japanese, but he does. See what I mean about fate? Of course we took them under our wing for American traditions like Trick-or-Treat, and they invited us into their home to enjoy delectable Japanese cuisine we hadn't had in years. While our Japanese and expatriate connection was the ice breaker to beginning this relationship, two years later we share a friendship that I am sure would have blossomed from any circumstance.

While I have always known that their life in America was temporary, I kept their move date in the back of my mind. It appeared to be so far in the future that there wasn't actually a need to think about it. Now, that looming date is knocking around in my mind like a bowling ball. They will be leaving our tranquil wooded street for Toyko in ten days. I will need to say good-bye. Can someone please give me instructions on how to do it?

How do I accept that we won't be seeing them every morning at our bus stop? Fall Saturdays with our boys playing on the same soccer team will be gone. No more bumping into them at school functions, and Halloween in our neighborhood will be so strange without them.

Our streets have been covered in snow and ice since the middle of November. Covered. This week, we have finally begun to see small sections of dry pavement. While I was driving out of the neighborhood two days ago, I saw my friend's oldest son riding his bike on what surely will be one of his last carefree bike rides on our block. He waved enthusiastically at me, and I flashed a huge smile and waved like crazy back at him. Then, I turned my car in the opposite direction as tears began to roll down my cheeks. I cried because I know that when Spring finally does arrive, he and his little brother will not be here to zoom up and down our driveway. His mom and I won't be standing in the street, chatting for an hour as we share stories about cooking and her career and this universal phenomenon known as parenting.

This morning, as I wipe my tears and take deep breaths to prepare for this farewell, I come away with these words for our friends, the leavers:

I am so happy for you and what is coming next in your life! I know you will miss the school and memories made here, but you are going HOME! You will finally be able to drive where you are comfortable. You can shop where everything is familiar...food, drinks, clothes...everything will be easy again. You will be with your family.

You will be missed. You will be remembered. Thank you for resting in this friendship cradle of mine, even if it was only for a little nap.

Now that I have been the leaver and the stayer, I can't say that one is easier than the other. Both are gut-wrenching. Both bring up emotions you never knew you were capable of having. Are you usually the leaver or the stayer? What's the hardest part for you?

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/

Beating Snow Days and Sickness With Laughter

This Winter sure seems to be working hard to keep the Mamas on their toes. We thought last year was unbearable, but this one is on the path to be just as wicked, and it's still nowhere near over. How can we manage it with grace, when we don't see an end in sight? Last year, the grass wasn't visible in our tree-covered neighborhood until May. My oldest son had lost his school ID, and it wasn't until all of the snow finally thawed, IN MAY, that we discovered it had been buried all Winter in our front yard. Once the white mess had eventually melted away, we were able to see his cute, smiley face peeking out at us from the dirt.

It's all happening again this year, with our grounds being blanketed with the white fluff every few days. The snow days/ice days/too cold for school days are piling up on districts everywhere. It's going on throughout the country right now. Of course, it's all relative, as what some cities consider just a dusting is means to declare a state of emergency in other places. Kids are being forced to miss school, while parents are sent scrambling to find alternate care for them and rearranging work schedules.

On top of delayed or canceled school days, parents are contending with the relentless germies that have been running rampant since October. We can't open up our Facebook feeds without seeing somebody, somewhere telling us about the bodily fluids being expelled by the precious children who share bus or desk space with ours.

With all of the crazy weather and never-ending illness, and having as many kids as I do, I can count on three fingers the number of days since Christmas that all four of my children have been at school during a normal week day. I didn't realize how batty it was making me. How deeply the cabin fever was beginning to set in, until Tuesday night.

One month ago, I made plans to meet up with my best friend for this Wednesday. That's how far in advance we need to make our plans these days. Our calendars just don't mesh like they used to when our kids were babies, and we didn't have so many commitments outside of our homes. Unfortunately, so often, when I do have plans with someone during my 7.5 hours of free time each week, one of us will end up with a sick child. It's disappointingly laughable at this point. So, before bed on Tuesday night, I voiced to Mark how desperately I needed for Wednesday to go smoothly, for all of the kids to be healthy and go off to school. I was pleading and begging, out loud, as if he had a sense of control over any of it. I went to bed dreaming of what was to come for me the next morning: a quiet, hot breakfast, served to me, with coffee and dear friendship. I needed it more than I had needed anything in a very long time.

Wednesday morning came with no added snow or ice. Temperatures were warm enough for children to head to school. Nobody was complaining of tummy aches or other ailments that would throw my plans out the window. As I was packing lunches and Mark was pouring coffee into his travel mug, he boldly commented, "So far, so good, huh?"

The first three children made it off to their designated schools without a hitch. The time was growing nearer that I would be spending the morning with my best friend, whom I hadn't seen in weeks! Then my phone rang. Naturally, my mind drifted to the worst scenario...one of her daughters was suddenly home from school, so she needed to cancel our breakfast. I breathed a sigh of relief, as it was actually another friend of mine who was hoping to meet up for breakfast. She was in need of companionship. A hug. A meal someone else was going to cook for her, over friendly conversation. Laughter.

Exactly what I, too, was seeking.

Yes!! The more, the merrier. A table for two instantly turned into a table for three!

Once Marshall was settled at preschool, we three ladies nestled ourselves into a comfortable booth at my favorite breakfast spot and didn't move again until it was time for me to pick him up from school. I was surprised that each of us is feeling the weight of this Winter. Though the snow falls lightly, as it accumulates and remains for weeks on end, it heavily presses down on so much more than the branches of the trees and the invisible sidewalks. It burdens our psyches. Our confidence. Our womanhood.

Moms are people. We exist outside of our children. It's easy to forget that sometimes. Especially, when we are literally trapped inside our homes because of unsafe conditions or children stricken with illness. When we don't have a conversation outside of our house for days at a time that doesn't solely revolve around our kids, it's hard to remember that we are someone other than "Mom."

What's the best way to remember? Connect with other people who are going through it, too. Cry about it when you actually say the words. Realize you're not alone. Whether you're stuck in an apartment with two crazy toddlers or all of your friends have already returned to the workforce, parenthood can feel lonely. Parenthood during Winter is knocking us all down.

So, what's next? How do we get through this beat-down season?

After the tears flow...
after the realization comes that it's okay to be this overwhelmed...
after you lock yourself in the bathroom to eat a brownie without having to share it...
after you give yourself permission to use the iPad as a babysitter so you can take a shower...
after you scream, "This is so freaking hard!"...

Laugh!

Please, just laugh about it all!

During my breakfast with friends, we cried, we ate, we shared, we sipped, we consoled, and most importantly, we laughed. A few hours later, I had a wonderful phone conversation with another friend. It was full of sharing, consoling, questioning, venting, and most importantly, more laughing.

In the evening, I sat for over an hour with two more beautiful friends of mine, doing more of the same. I'm not sure how I was able to squeeze in so much time with so many friends in one day. It was a dream come true sort of day, a rare bit of warmth in this unforgiving brutal Winter.

Today, you won't be surprised to hear that one of my kiddos is home sick. Nothing lasts forever.

I hope that if this Winter is tearing you down, you'll find comfort here. Come to this place, with this group of parents, and share. Vent. Console. Laugh.


 

Be inspired by my cheerful friend, Megan, tackling her snow blower with a smile on her face.

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Good Moms Don't Have Dirty Sinks-Or So I Thought

I should be cleaning my kitchen right now. The sink, which is piled with dirty dishes from last night's dinner and this morning's breakfast, is taunting me. I'm sitting two rooms away, so I can't even see the mess from my desk, but I can still feel it tugging at me. I hear the plates, cups and cereal bowls calling me. They're saying, "What would you do right now if someone stopped by and saw this collection of caked on taco soup and Cheerios? Why don't you move your booty in here to wash up this stuff, and then you can write? Then you can relax. Then, and only then, will you deserve to go about your day."

Everyone knows that good moms have clean sinks. Sparkling counters. No evidence that people actually live in and eat in and use the kitchen.

How do those moms actually do it, because I just can't seem to figure it out?

My kitchen sink always has dishes in it. Always. I have succumbed to it being the way life is for us. Well, unless of course my mother-in-law is visiting. She washes every single item before it can even touch the sink. Once, she had gone back home after staying with us for a few days, and one of the kids said to me, "Mom, you know if Grandma was still here, there wouldn't be any dishes in the sink."

Yes, yes I know.

But, Grandma doesn't live here. Mom does.

I do love a clean kitchen. It instantly brightens my mood, plus it makes cooking so much easier. Please don't take me for a filthy mom, because of course I do wash our dishes and scrub my counter every day. At least once, sometimes more. I just choose not to spend all of my time cleaning that space, because it is going to be messy again in such a short amount of time. Maybe I should do it in little spurts, like the good moms do. Then I wouldn't freak out at the thought that Mark stopped by yesterday with a co-worker when I wasn't home...and the kitchen was messy.

Maybe if I did my laundry like the good moms do or did my dishes like the good moms do, I would feel like a good mom. Right?

Well, no. Not right. I do feel like a good mom. We've talked about this so many times. Good moms come in all forms.

When we were living in Japan, I was really concerned about my kitchen being clean for company. Seriously, I shouldn't even say "company," because they were my friends. My close friends. The women who became like family to me when we were all so far from our own families that we leaned on each other like sisters. Those were the days before I realized that parenting wasn't about perfection.

I hosted an international playgroup in my home every couple of weeks. Reese and Trixie were so small then, still toddler and preschool age. The moms who came to playgroup would bring their kiddos and a snack to share, but as the hostess, I felt compelled to provide an abundant spread for everybody. Before my guests arrived, I would run around like a crazy lady for hours, cleaning and cooking and keeping the kids all set to play with their friends. I was still in my twenties, with bounds of energy, and although I was always perfectly presentable once the doorbell rang, I just never had enough time to wash, dry and put away the dishes I had used to prepare all the food.

So, shortly before anybody arrived, I would stuff the big bowls, pots and cookie sheets into a plastic garbage bag and hide them in my garage. Every single time. It was my little secret. My kitchen was a glistening canvas, ready to showcase all of the delicious treats people would be bringing to share.

Apparently, I was making it all look too easy. I'll never forget the day when my friend, Helen, who had two young children of her own, asked me how I managed it. While I did love that she believed I had it all together, I knew I couldn't allow her to continue seeing that false flawlessness about me. So, I let her in on my dirty little secret. I led her over to my garage and showed her my shameful bag of food-covered, party-prep dishes. We laughed, and she let out a refreshing sigh of relief.

It's been so many years since my "Hide the Dirty Dishes in the Garage" trick began. It worked wonders for me for so long, and Helen and I still laugh about it to this day. Now, when I'm having my friends over, I leave the party prep dishes in the sink if I don't have time to clean them. I'm over the façade.

Dirty dishes sitting in the sink
Kids' school papers strewn across the desk
Baby toys in every corner of every room
Clean towels, waiting to be folded, taking up space on the couch

All are signs that your home is being lived in and used by the people who are living there.

Once we tune out the nagging voices and give up the notion that we should hide the evidence that we actually live in our homes, we'll be confident in calling ourselves one of the Good Moms.

Has anything kept you from believing you were a Good Mom? Let's talk about it!

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

Why Don't Moms Get Medals?

I have this beautiful mom friend who's always inspiring me with the stories she shares about her own life with four children...all girls. She's one of the first people I met when we moved into this town, and she welcomed me with the most endearing gift of her friendship. She's always the first to offer help for anything, so of course she brought us dinners during my pregnancy bed rest, and later when Baby Marshall was born. No matter how humble she is, or how much she hates it when I tell her that I think she's a rock-star mother, I have to set the scene for you. Her home is incredible; her children are starlets; her smile is dazzling. She cooks and bakes everything from scratch, and she's the epitome of everyone's favorite school mom. Basically, she's amazing!

I guess I kind of idolize her, as she's actually able to pull off that impossible "Supermom" status, a title, which, frankly, nobody really wants. Though it sounds flattering, the second one of the many balls we're juggling drops, somebody...somewhere, will be watching and relishing in our failure. Sadly, you know I'm right. With Cathy and me, our relationship stems from a mutual respect of mamas in the thick of it all. No need to be perfect, no need to prove that we're the best. We're just there to share in the craziness of having so many kids in such a short amount of time.

So, when we met up during our annual holiday cookie party (remember my peaceful December?), she talked to me about what had been an extremely hectic afternoon in her house. That's one of the perks to sharing my business with the world. Women know that I'm the first one willing to be honest and admit defeat. I welcome them, with their ups and downs, into this cozy, comfortable, judgment free-zone with my manta: parenting is hard.

Cathy and I stood side by side in our friend's impeccably decorated kitchen, surrounded by hundreds of the most delectable cookies in every imaginable color, shape and flavor. She was ready to decompress from her stressful day at home, with the allure of butter cream icing, chocolate shavings and confectioners sugar to serve as the best remedies. Cathy had been suffering with an unforgiving headache all afternoon. Then, her four girls came home from school, busting through the door with the same levels of noise, liveliness and desires that they do every day.

As Cathy was scurrying throughout her kitchen to produce a healthy dinner, she was also busy overseeing that all of those kiddos were set for sports and finishing their homework. While her head was throbbing, she chopped, simmered and sautéed. The dog was barking; kids yelled throughout the house as they searched for their work-out gear; somebody needed help with her math problems. It sounded like a typical night for most parents I know. Pounding headache, needy children, demanding pots and pans. Everything and everyone instantaneously screaming for attention.

How does a parent decide which way to go? What do you think was last on the list to be addressed? We all really know. Moms come last.

Cathy is a master of the multi-task, as many parents are, especially during meal prep time. She handled it like the pro that she is.

As the meal which she had painstakingly prepared was finally ready to be served, she proudly brought it to her family. Just when she laid the food out on the dining room table, she thought to herself, "After everything I just went through to make this dinner come together, I deserve a medal." Even through all of the madness, it turned out to be a delicious dinner, one which adults would enjoy and appreciate. As for the children: well, we know how kids can be with food.

Did anyone present her with a medal? How about a trophy? A ribbon?

Nope, nada.

Maybe a groan about having to eat vegetables. Probably a quick "Thanks, Mom" as they scurried to finish the rest of the night's activities (which also required mom's help). Do you know what mom's prize was? Some dirty dishes, a bunch of half-eaten food and the chance to do it all over again, every day, for the rest of her kids' lives.

Is that enough?

Is she being dramatic for asking why moms don't earn medals? Of course not. She's one of the most extraordinary moms I know, and her children are respectful, intelligent and a delight. She's doing something right. What's awesome about Cathy is that when she told me this story, she was laughing. She knows what she's in for with this motherhood thing, and she's learned ways to stay sane through the repetition of her life as a mom. It's so much fun...and remarkably therapeutic...to talk about what we're going through, especially with others who are in this life, too.

All moms have hard days. We all experience times when we feel nobody appreciates us or values the time and effort we put forth to take care of our family and homes. It doesn't mean we would do it differently. It doesn't mean we aren't grateful for the chance to have these children, or to be with them all the time or that we should be teaching them better manners (all stuff someone might say to tear down a parent who gets real about how hard it is).

It just means that we'd like a little credit. Sometimes.

For now, we have to settle on knowing that we are winning at motherhood, even if we don't actually hear it or have physical hardware hanging around our necks to prove it. Let's ask ourselves these questions:

Are our kids growing? Do they hear our voices as they drift off to sleep? Do they have milk in their tummies and blankets to warm them at night? Do they know what books are? Are they showing up for school with clean clothes and full bellies? Do we tell them to brush their teeth? Do we cook vegetables that they may or may not eat. Are they laughing? Do they hear that we love them? Are they asking for our help? Do we shower them with hugs and kisses? Do we take them to the doctor and dentist? Do we rescue them when someone hurts their feelings? Are they seeking our opinions?

I know you can think of a million other ways you are winning at motherhood. It's all these little tidbits throughout our days, that we meticulously manage without a second thought, that make us champion mothers.

So why don't get moms get medals?

Really, what could we possibly do with one more trinket, let alone with all of the medals we'd be winning for the many years of championship mothering yet to come?

For Cathy, a tiny scoop of validation for her hard work was dished out later that evening, when her tray of homemade goodies won the prize for Prettiest Cookies of the Night. See, I told you she's a rock star!

What are some ways you know you're winning at motherhood? Let's cheer ourselves on right here!

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

http://mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo.blogspot.com/

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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

It Will Get Easier...A Lesson Passed on over Frozen Custard

With my youngest son turning five recently, I've begun to worry that I might lose some of my street cred with the moms of really young kids. Maybe you'll start to think I'm out of touch with the issues that mamas of babies and toddlers face. That my days in those dirty diaper trenches are over, so I can't relate to you anymore. I'm here to tell you that although my days are different now, I have not forgotten what it was like to live as a stay at home mom with very, very young children, all needing me at one time, all crying, all wanting to be fed, or changed, or read to, or played with, or driven somewhere, or you know how it goes. My friends and I who are moving past the baby stage look back and wonder how we did it. We laugh, our eyes glaze over, and we say to each other, "How did we ever survive?"

A few weeks ago, I was out to lunch with Marshall. We had a quick bite at Culver's after I picked him up from preschool. I had spent the morning alone, shopping and running errands without anyone tugging on my leg or asking for candy in the check-out lane. I'm sure I look like a weirdo when I walk through Target and talk to all the moms with babies, as I feel lost without any of mine with me. I stop and smile at every single baby who is strolled past me. Everywhere. I can't help it. So, after a few hours of eyeing all the babies that were not mine, I was so happy to in fact have my own child back in my company.

Over lunch, Marshall and I talked about his friends at school, what his snack was for the day, who the special helper was, and what he wanted to do when we went back home. We had a big kid conversation. It was back and forth...quiet...interesting. I might even go as far as to say it was easy. We were munching on that greasy goodness that only comes from Culver's, while a mother and her three young children were sitting at the table behind us. Her meal, with a baby girl and two toddler boys, was far from easy. I must have heard her direct her children to do something or stop doing something fifty times.

Stop touching your brother.

Eat your lunch.

Don't climb under the table.

Stop blowing bubbles with your straw.

Sit up nicely.

DO NOT EAT food off the floor.

Please don't squeeze the baby's face.

Would you just eat?

Leave him alone.

I'm serious...stop!

If you don't eat, then you won't have any ice cream.

Quit pushing each other.

 

Why are you acting this way?

 

Would you please just listen to me?

As the meal went on, I could hear her frustrations escalating. I could hear the kids becoming more antsy. I was wondering why she was lingering in the restaurant, why she wasn't picking them up and leaving. They weren't bothering me, because I have been that mom a million times, but I could tell that she was upset. I once walked out of Red Robin with our food going straight into take-out boxes, because four whining kids couldn't handle the wait. These kids had finished their meals and their ice cream sundaes, yet they were still sitting there, seeming to torture their mama. Maybe this was her first outing in days, her only chance to have a hot meal that she didn't have to prepare herself, so she was trying to make the best of it.

Marshall and I finished our creamy frozen custard and began packing up our table. I had already made up my mind to stop to say a kind word to the mom on my way out, but what I saw when I turned around really surprised me. I saw the reason why that mom hadn't already left the restaurant, even though her children were clearly pushing her over the edge. Her husband had come in late to meet them during his lunch break. He was wearing his work clothes, a mechanic's uniform, and he was just beginning to eat his meal when I said this to the young family:

"It will get easier."

That mother, all tired and ready to pull her hair out, let her frazzled face and frustrations relax for a minute. I saw the relief in her eyes when she gazed up at me and my big boy with hope. She asked with a desperate inflection in her voice, "Really?"

We talked for a few minutes, and I found out that her children were ages 4,3, and 1, the exact ages that my first three were at one point. There's something about learning that another mother is traveling a similar path on parenting that creates a connection for me. I explained to her that I had been that mom, too. My kids drove me crazy in restaurants....in the library...at the store. Wherever. Now they go to school, and I'm alone sometimes during the day. She started to unload more to me, that her oldest will start school next year, and that she hopes it will make life a little easier. I assured her that it would. I congratulated the couple on their cute family. I wished them luck, encouraged them to keep taking the kids out, and we went on our way.

On our way out to the car, one of my best friends in the whole world called me. It was perfect timing. She has four kids as well, and boy, were we in the deep mama trenches together for many years. She and I would call each other day after day, week after week, saying, "How did our moms do this? Will it ever get easier?" She's the friend I called the time I left Red Robin in tears, swearing I would NEVER take the kids out by myself again. I called her from every parking lot in town where my kids threw fits. She would lift me up, bring me back to reality, and I would do the same for her. I told her about the young mom in Culver's. We giggled at how we were that mom, and it really wasn't that long ago.

So, to all of my readers with wee ones:

I am so glad that you're here! I know I joke about how much the world has changed since I first became a mom--like how we had to develop film, but most of it is still the same. Feelings, struggles, insecurities. Milestones, accomplishments, celebrations. Those aspects of motherhood are constant. If my 92 year old grandmother can reminisce and empathize with modern moms, then so can a woman who hasn't given birth in this decade.

Thank you for continuing to read this blog! Thank you for trusting me through this journey. If you know someone who could use encouragement through parenthood, I would be honored for you to pass along my site.

Please, share your feelings here in the comments, any time. It would be so cool to have a dialogue start that might even lead to another post.


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

My Key to Making Connections

Over our many moves, I've somehow invented a persona for myself as the "Welcome to this Group Lady." I tend to join an organization and then implement my human welcome wagon. It's sort of my thing. My friend likes to call me a "Bringer Togetherer." (Please read that term with air quotes). It's what I do. I don't remember when I started to feel this urge to bring people together, but it is now innately a part of my entire being, and I really just cannot help myself.

Not everyone has this natural tendency to embrace the newbies. Not everyone even has an ability or desire to seek out someone who might look a little lonely or lost or in need of a warm welcome. Somehow, I do have this tendency, ability and desire. I once heard the term, gift of hospitality. I suppose I might possess this gift, if it does in fact exist.

I have tried to use this gift of mine to reach out to people who are new to motherhood, in town, church, school, an organization, the country, whatever! People often ask me what my secret is to connecting with these fresh new faces and helping them feel at ease in their new or unfamiliar environments.

I would say that the number one key to making connections with new people is...

to SMILE!

It's the easiest way to lessen the stress of any new or difficult situation. It's the simplest way to let another person know that you see them and are open to having a conversation, answering their questions or holding their baby while their toddler darts down the hallway.

A smile really can go such an incredibly long way.

Have you ever walked into the library carrying a baby, diaper bag, and a really loud three-year-old who still doesn't understand what you mean when you say, "Whisperrrrr?" Did anybody give you a friendly smile during this common fiasco of motherhood, or did you receive the stink eye from a library patron who wished your kids would just Shush?

Do you remember the first time you took your children to their new school? Did people smile at you when they walked by or when you came through the door, or did you feel invisible through the halls and as if everyone already knew each other?

I can remember many of my experiences in places that were not so positive. If I hadn't been the outgoing, in-your-face type of person that I am, I might have slumped away from ever going back or trying to put myself out there again. Instead, I've simply embedded those negative encounters in my brain and used them to benefit others who will be in similar situations in the future.

Obviously, not every person is meant to be the Welcome Lady. Your husbands would probably prefer that you are not. (Mark asked me this morning to please stop signing up for everything, as I was waking up before dawn to prepare for a welcome event at school).

We all have different personalities and different gifts.

However, I am quite confident that most of us are capable of making that aesthetically pleasing facial expression known as a smile.

Please, try it. We never know who we can touch and who needs our kindness today. You might make a new friend in the process!

 

 

Do you consider yourself to be a Bringer Togetherer or a person who likes for people to reach out to you? Can you tell us about an experience you had when you felt especially welcomed or especially unwelcomed somewhere? How has that shaped how you reach out to or shy away from others?

 

 

 

 

 

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Failure-I'm Over It and Going to Yoga!

Can you think back to the last time that you tried to do something new or different or completely out of your comfort zone? Something that you knew eventually would be positive and wonderful, but just taking that first step was a little terrifying?

For me, last night, I leapt into something new. It took courage for me, and strength, but with the encouragement of some incredibly inspiring women, I was able to do it. I would love to share it with you, because you may be having some doubts about something in your own life. You may be feeling an itch to learn a new art form or change career paths or maybe have another baby! Maybe you just need that little push from someone to let you know it will be alright. We are all scared sometimes. Nobody is great at everything. Even those people who seem to be perfect on the outside really are not. If you're lucky enough to be let into their world, to know the real them, you'll see that most people around us have these kinds of feelings, too.

My new, yet previously terrifying, experience is yoga. I've only gone once, so I promise I'm not going to change my blog to be about exercise or being a perfectly balanced mother. I still love my chocolate and this place will always be crazy! This post is really about my fear of failure and how I was able to knock it down a notch last night! I'm constantly encouraging my kids, my friends, my mom and everyone else I know, but I'm always the last on the list to receive any of my own cheers. Aren't we all? That's just the nature of motherhood: take care of everyone else first. Our time will come when the kids are grown, right?

My journey to trying yoga has been about my health. My migraines and the stress my body carries have reached a point where my doctor told me, "Just take time away from your kids every day, and you'll be fine. They are the reason for all of your troubles."

Totally a cop-out diagnosis and totally not realistic!

Like most moms, I spend time away from my kids as much as finances, reason, and emotions will allow. In the meantime, I have been trying medication, chiropractic, and physical therapy for my headaches. Over the past month, the idea of attempting yoga slowly started to creep into my head. I see so many of my friends who share beautiful photos of themselves in yoga poses.

Incredible.

 

Inspiring.

 

Impossible?

You know what I mean. Who can really do those poses? Pregnant headstands in the morning. Hot mama of four making it look so easy on the beach. Obviously, people can do them, and these are women I am proud to call my friends.

 

 

I used to be as flexible as these women. If they learned to move their bodies into such amazing positions after motherhood, then I could at least go to a class to learn to breathe and bend a little, right?

Once the idea of yoga popped into my head, I asked a few of my good friends in town about their experiences with yoga. They all offered to go with me if I tried it! I mentioned it briefly to my physical therapist that I was considering it. He freaking ran with it. As soon as I said it out loud to him, I was committed. There was no turning back after the words came out of my mouth. Accountability. He was going to be asking me about it again, and he even taught me one pose before my first class. Within a matter of days, I had my plan for yoga.

Day, time, place, instructor.

I borrowed a pretty purple mat from one friend. Another friend was going to meet me there for moral support.

I was still scared out of my mind.

I emailed the instructor, letting her know I was coming for the first time. This is a snippet of what I told her:

I've never done this in my life, and I'm pretty nervous to try something new in front of other people! I don't normally expose myself for failure, so it's a big step for me. I'm really looking forward to this new journey for my health and myself, because I'm a very busy mom of four kids.

 

She responded with the most amazing message and offered to meet with me twenty minutes before class started. When I arrived, she greeted me with a warm embrace. She talked to me about her own fears of failure, and what aspects of her life she wished she could do better. Hers was cooking. She said she always wished she could be better at cooking or even learn to enjoy it a little, but she just hasn't been able to...yet. Then, she asked if I liked to cook.  

 

Talk about the right question for me. She could have asked me if I liked to sew or garden or run...all no. But she asked me about cooking. So, yes, I do love cooking. I don't know anything about yoga yet, but I can cook.

 

She let me in on a little secret, that even though she was a yoga instructor (and would blow my mind in the next seventy-five minutes), she, too, has areas of her life that are not perfect. Whew!

 

So, yoga.

 

I did it. It was hard. It was fun. It was refreshing and rejuvenating. Some of the poses were easy for me, some were a challenge, and some I just didn't figure out yet.

 

It was only my first day.

 

Nobody cared what I was doing or what I looked like or if I stumbled.

 

I didn't fail because I went. That was my first step.

 

I am going back next week.

 

I would love to extend a special thank you to the women in my life who have inspired me through this new journey: Cathy, Renee, Anne, Elizabeth, and especially Jen and Meghan, who are featured in these breathtaking photographs.

 

Tell me, do you have something you've been considering, but you are just too afraid to try it? Why not bite the bullet and do it? I'll be here to encourage you!