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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Should We Provide Yearly Spouse Reviews?

Can I share some advice with you that I learned over the weekend? It came about from quite an unlikely source: a juicy novel about a woman who whacks her head at the gym and forgets everything that has happened to her in the past ten years.

Imagine everything that has occurred during your own life over the last ten years.

Obviously, for many of us, developing amnesia at this point in our lives would erase the memories of our children. Images of carrying, birthing, nursing, raising, and loving those noisy bundles would vanish, thus deleting this all-consuming notion we know as motherhood.

Although forgetting the children was an integral factor of the complex plot in the supermom's saga, it was a quick discussion that occurred between the husband and wife which lingered in my mind, long after I closed the cover of my book.

As this woman with amnesia is trying to piece together her life, she wonders why she fights so much with her husband. Why don't they find value in the same parts of life anymore? What happened to them?

He's often at work, where he's been promoted during the ten years that is lost in her consciousness. At the office, he feels important, making money for the family to have a comfortable home, cars, clothes and entertainment. 

The husband is extremely successful in his career. People throughout his office seek his advice, opinion and knowledge. He is an expert in many areas, topics about which his wife knows very little.

The trouble emerges when he begins to feel no value in his own home. He eventually decides that he would rather spend more time at work, where he's admired and appreciated, than at home where he feels belittled. He finally tells his wife that she makes him feel as though nothing he does around there is good enough. With the house, the kids, the dishes, the laundry, the schedules, the school. He can never do any of it right, according to her.

As I read the couple of pages that address the husband's feelings, I started to wonder about my own marriage. Do I act that way, too? Do you?

This post isn't about women and men and who has it harder or worse, or that we are all equal anyway. It's about the fact that maybe we should take a look at ways we can help our spouses feel valued. I know that mine has joked about me not letting him help me in the kitchen or that I worry he won't ask all the right questions when he takes the kids to the doctor. Why would I care so much? I can't change the oil in the car, and I definitely do not want to be in charge of the leaves in the fall. We all have our gifts and strengths which blend together to make a family function.

If ten years of my life were erased from my memory, I hope that I wouldn't find that I had forgotten to show the love of my life and father of my children how awesome he is. If we were to set up yearly spouse reviews, like employers do, what would we say about the person with whom we choose to share our lives?

So, what's my advice? Let's not ever allow our spouse's boss to be better at praising him or her than we are.

 

Are you guilty of letting someone else praise your spouse more than you? Can you change it?

 

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A Loyal Family Pet Is Never Forgotten

Every single year, I plant scores of impatiens along our front side sidewalk. They're the only flowers that bloom really well, all summer long, in our yard. Our home is surrounded by dozens of towering trees, which create a blanket of shade, so we simply cannot have flowers that require any amount of sunshine. I'm actually completely fine with it, because impatiens are quite lovely and have a special meaning to me.

Impatiens are the flowers that lined my parents' sidewalk on my wedding day, and they are the flowers that lined our sidewalk in the home we owned when our first three babies were born. I'm glad we have a shaded yard where they flourish. They bring a smile to my face every time I look out my window or pull into my driveway. Plus, I have what people call a black thumb, and these hardy beauties practically take care of themselves.

The impatiens I choose each year are always varying shades of pinks and purples. Our four kids often help me plant them, but this year, since my foot was broken, Mark did all the work. They linger into September for us, and that means they are always providing a beautiful background for our first day of school photos.

For almost twelve years, we had a dear golden retriever named Abby. I loved posing her in front of our impatiens, with her light yellow fur popping against the vibrant hues of our favorite flowers. Abby was such a special part of our family for so long, as I know anyone with a pet understands. She was in our lives before any of our babies were born, and Mark trained her on his own before we were married. She lovingly welcomed each new addition into our home and guarded over our babies them like a mama. She laid next to my rocker while I nursed them, slept at the feet of their beds, and nuzzled against them while they played on the floor. She was a world traveler, living with us in Japan for our two year expatriate stay. She guarded our home during Mark's many business trips and welcomed him home like the loyal girl that she was. She was silky soft and therapeutic and just a blessing to everyone who knew her. She lived a great, long life. Abby was a happy dog with a fun family who really, really loved her.

This week, it will have been three years since our Abby-girl passed away. We all still talk often about Abby and her antics. Just the other day, we were laughing at the time she caught her paw in a glue trap...while a live mouse was still attached to it.

On the day that we lost her, we posed her in front of our impatiens one final time.

 

 

This September, every time I look at my still-blossoming impatiens, I find myself thinking of our sweet Abby. I long for the days when she was lying on our sidewalk, her fluffy, golden hair blowing in the wind, waiting for her babies to come home to play.   

 

I'm seeing a lot of friends who are losing their pets this year. We seem to be at that age now when we've been married for as long as a first dog or cat will live. Our children are suffering the loss of their beloved furry family members. I wish anyone peace who has to come through this sad time with your children.

 

Will you tell me about your family pets and what they mean to you?

"Why Is It That Every Time I Am Quiet, You Think Something Is Wrong?"

On a beautiful June day this summer, I was driving while Reese sat unusually quietly in the backseat. Normally, he loves to tell stories, is full of trivia, and poses interesting questions to all of us. He is eleven now, but he has been that way for as long as we can remember. We consider him our little encyclopedia, and many of his teachers have said the same about him. He comes from two parents who also really like to chatter. We can be pretty loud and even talk over each other at times. Reese has three younger siblings he must compete with for talking time and attention. They all have their own ways of making themselves heard. 

So, on this one random day in the car, when I noticed that Reese wasn't talking at all, I asked him what was wrong. His response took me by surprise.

"Why is it that every time I am being quiet, you think something is wrong?" 

Obviously, I must say it to him a lot for him to express his observation. I didn’t even realize I had been doing it. I am so used to Reese's voice making sounds around me, that when it isn't, I think there must be a problem. 

The loud mom in me figures that a quiet kid must be a sad kid, a lonely kid, a bullied kid, an anxious kid, a tired kid, or an angry kid. We can fill in the blank with all sorts of negative emotions I was equating with his silence. It had not occurred to me that nothing was the matter with him at all. He just wanted to have some peace. 

Seriously, who can blame him? Our home and car are always filled with so much noise: dishes banging, kids crying, toilets flushing, parents bossing, music playing, phones ringing, and on and on. Reese was just doing what I also do when it is quiet for a few brief moments in our life. He was relishing in it. He was taking deep breaths. For once, he was able to hear his own thoughts as he watched the beautiful Midwestern landscape pass by his car window.

The two greatest sounds I hear as a mother are my children's laughter and nothing at all. I'll take either one any second of the day, as long as it means that my children are at peace. If they are being quiet, it means they are not arguing with each other. They are not crying. They are not whining. They are just enjoying the tranquility that doesn't happen often in a family with four children. Since that car ride, I have learned not to worry as much when my usually talkative child is quiet. Being quiet is not wrong. Being able to experience silence is a blessing that my son has learned at a young age, and now he has shared it with me.

Thank you, Reese, for your wisdom. You taught your mom something, and I am so happy that you did. 

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A Revitalizing Birthday Night Out

I just came home from spending many hours with one of the greatest women I know, after stuffing ourselves with the most scrumptious spaghetti and meatballs.  We went out to dinner...alone.  What a rare treat for us.  We were two adult women, dressed up in public without the seven children we have between us, yet we ordered spaghetti.  Then we had ice cream for dessert.  Spaghetti and ice cream...something so ordinary that we could have it at home any night of the week, yet on this night, it was extraordinary.

This night was extraordinary because we were out together to celebrate my birthday.  I really am not that into my own birthday, but when it means I can spend time with one of my best friends, I'm happy to make it a little bigger deal.  We are busy moms with hectic schedules, and so we made this date together almost a month ago.  Have you ever had a date with a friend that you looked forward to as much as you anticipate a night out with your lovie?  We were excited about this night that much!  We were texting and emailing each other about it in anticipation every week.

"Can't wait till our night out!  We have so much to talk about.  It's gonna be awesome!"   

Yesterday, she called me to find out what I was wearing.  She even jokingly suggested we should bring a typed agenda so we would remember everything we needed to share with each other.  It had been way too long since we had a nice, long visit.

You see, Elizabeth and I used to see each other almost every day, but schedules have changed, and it hasn't been that way for about a year.  Now we catch up quickly, email often, and then we plan these dates when we can.  Sometimes, she meets me for a long lunch, but we never really have the uninterrupted time we want to nourish this friendship that magically exists between us.

This night was extraordinary because we both have had a summer filled with unexpected hurdles and glories, travel, work, events, and, of course, kids.  We finally could talk about all of these together.  There are just certain feelings and emotions we are not able to express through our emails and texts.  We needed to be sitting across from each other, in person, so we could see the joy and pain we've been experiencing in this nutty life we lead as moms with many children. 

When I'm with my dear friend, Elizabeth, we laugh. I mean, we really laugh.  We are loud. We talk with our hands.  We are excitable!  It is just So Much Fun.  We were probably driving the people around us crazy with our laughter, but we didn't even care.  On this night, we also shared with each other more sensitive stories.  Have you ever had that feeling when you see someone you care about being tearful, and then in response you become tearful?  It happened to us.  Both of us.  We were free from our responsibilities of mother, wife, and caretaker.  Nobody needed us for those few hours last night, so when we were free to express our own feelings in that peaceful room, the emotions just came.

This night was extraordinary because we were sitting in a beautiful restaurant with incredible gourmet food that somebody else prepared and served for us!  Our server was like a snake charmer, luring us in with his description of the homemade Amaretto and locally grown cherry ice cream.  We couldn't decide between two desserts, so like an old married couple, we shared them both.  First we devoured the ice cream, piled high into a gigantic martini glass.  We were not about to let it melt.  It was every bit as luxurious and amazing as our server had promised.  The Tiramisu, usually our Achilles' heel,  sat in the center of the table until our tummies had time to settle and make room for our favorite delectable treat.  We didn't notice anything else that was happening around us.  People continued to stop by and ask if we needed anything, bringing us fresh ice water and clearing away our dirty dishes.  We'd glance up and thank them for the water, then delve right back into catching each other up on our lives.

You should have seen me when the hostess reached over to clear our almost empty plate of Tiramisu. 
 
"Are you ready for me to take that?" she sweetly asked. 

Didn't she see there were still three bites of creamy, chocolaty goodness left on it? Of course we weren't ready for her to take it!  We needed those last few morsels to carry us through the last hour of our night together.

Of course, like everything in life, our extraordinary night had to come to an end.  After dinner, she drove me home.  Elizabeth and I sat in my driveway, squeezing in "one more thing" ten times before I finally had to go inside.  I waved good-bye, kissed Mark hello, and she drove home to her husband and sleeping children. 

Today, it's back to reality of cooking dinners, wiping bottoms, and refereeing squabbles: being moms.  I woke up to a message from my wonderful friend telling me how revitalizing last night was for her, and how she forgot to tell me some other very important stuff.  I guess we really needed that agenda after all...and a few more hours.  Thank you, my extraordinary friend, for everything! 

Mark keeps asking me what I want for my birthday this week.  All I'd really like is some time away for a facial and dinner at Olive Garden with my family.   A facial, some breadsticks, and maybe my readers could take a sec to share one of their favorite posts of mine:  now that would be a great birthday! 

Here's the cake from my 30th Birthday.  I'd like to pretend that I'm turning 30 again!

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"Carpe Diem"

I am in the process of planning a dinner party. For the past week, it has been consuming me. I've been cleaning and painting and shopping. The menu planning has been on my mind for weeks. Lately, I've actually been losing sleep over this dinner. I've been worried about hosting Mark's colleagues and their wives, all of whom are working moms. My house hasn't been this clean since we moved in, yet there still feels like I have so much more to do. Then last night, when I came home from the store, Mark told me that Robin Williams committed suicide. Wait, what?  Suddenly, I was shaken out of my party planning fog. I had to tell my children that one of the actors they love from many movies was gone...dead.

 

I told the oldest two because I didn't want them to hear about it from TV. I told them that he died. I didn't mention suicide. Maybe I should have. I didn't know how. How do you even explain what suicide is to a child? Tessie asked if he died because he was really old? I told her he wasn't that old, he was about the age of her grandpas. I guess to her, they must be really old. My kids have grown to love Robin Williams in movies like Jumanji, Mrs. Doubtfire, and Aladdin, all ones they watched on old VHS tapes that belonged to my little brother. Lately, they've seen him in the Night at the Museum movies. They thought it was sad that he died, but of course they don't know the extent of why he is gone, his battles and struggles. 

 

This morning, I woke up to my Facebook feed flooded with posts about Robin Williams, depression, suicide. What a somber morning. Somehow, my party planning seems so trivial now. One of my friends posted a video from Dead Poets Society, giving me chills. That movie has so many powerful messages, the most famous one I remember being Carpe Diem. Seize the Day.  

 

None of us knew Robin Williams. While we can feel sorrow for his family and the loss of his humor the world will no longer know, our lives will carry on tomorrow. My dinner party will still go on as planned. I hope that what his death can trigger is a sense for all of us to treat what we have with extreme importance. Let's treat our loved ones with the utmost care. Hug and kiss and snuggle with those babies no matter how tiny or tall they are. Tuck your teenagers into bed, even when they act like they don't need you anymore. Tell your friends how much they mean to you. You can do it over email or text. That's how we roll these days, and it's okay. It will still mean something. Send a card to your grandma or grandpa. They don't have a computer, so something in their mailbox that isn't junk or a bill would be the highlight of their week. Go to bed at the same time as your spouse so you can have a long chat in the dark and a kiss that's longer than a quick smack on the lips. Cherish your relationships...before it's too late. 

  

UPDATE: The following day, I had time to gather my thoughts enough to know what to say to the kids in talking about Robin Williams' death. Trixie asked me if I knew how he died, and I told her that he made himself die. She said, "You mean, suicide?" I asked her how she knew what suicide was, and she said, "You told me." 

 

How could I have forgotten that a high schooler in our school district had taken his own life last year, forcing me to have this tragic discussion with them on a random weekday. Reese and Trixie wondered why Robin Williams would be so sad to want to die. Of course, we'll never understand someone's inner pain, but I explained to them that no matter how much money or fame a person has or happy a person seems on the outside, they can still be sad inside.   

 

 

 

 

 

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A Letter to The Loud Teacher Who Changed My Life

The year was 1989, and I had just decided I was going to join the sixth grade orchestra. I did not know a thing about string instruments except that my Grandpa played the guitar and my older cousin had just started playing the violin. My mom took me into the intimidating orchestra room in my new school lined with instruments. Lots of other kids I didn't know were filing in to see which instrument would be the best fit for them. A man with a shiny head and booming voice was there helping everybody decide among the choices: violin, viola, cello, bass. I remember him telling my mom that since I had long fingers, I could easily play the cello. I had never heard a cello before, but the teacher, that loud man, was convinced I could do it, so I said okay. Little did I know that the decision we made that day, and the man I met that afternoon, was going to play such an important role in my life.

Of course, he has a real name, but we all called him Mr. G. He has retired from teaching, and he has touched the lives of thousands of students. I've been thinking about him tonight because he is my only Facebook friend who was ever my teacher. I saw a picture of him yesterday that touched me, and I wanted to talk about how impactful teachers can be. Parents can only dream that their children would ever have a teacher as incredible as Mr. G. for one semester or even one year. What made him so incredibly special to me is that he taught me the cello not just for 6th grade, but for 7th, 8th, 9th, 10th, 11th, and 12th grades, too. He watched me grow from a child into a young woman.   Many years have passed, and now, through the awesomeness of the Internet, he watches me mother my four children, two of whom are at the exact age I was when he was my teacher. It's amazing how it has all come full circle.

This talented man taught us music, of course. That was the job he was hired to do. 

It was his job to teach us to read music. 

To appreciate music.

To create music. 

Notes, rests, dynamics.  

We learned it all. 

What an incredibly awesome music teacher he was.

We started out as just kids. Little kids. We had never even touched or seen or heard a stringed instrument before. How he transformed us into the true musicians that we did become is beyond me. In the beginning, how could he stand to listen to our screeching? How did he not go crazy at our constant mistakes? He didn't. He was patient. He was encouraging. He was hilarious. 

Then there's the job he wasn't hired to do, but he did anyway. Mr. G. taught us what it meant to really be an orchestra. 

He taught us discipline. 

He taught us teamwork. 

He taught us diligence. 

I don't know how he did that part either. He just did it.

There were no books or worksheets or movies about how to become a cohesive orchestra, a symphony, but we were one, an outstanding one.

We wanted to be the best for him. We wanted to work together to make him proud of us. It was our goal to play beautiful music and bring a smile to his face while he was on that conductor's stand. 

Now that I'm a mom and my own son is playing the cello, too, I can truly appreciate what a wonderful gift and blessing I had in being taught by Mr. G. He was such a treasure to our school, to my family, and to me. He still lives near our hometown, but I don't anymore. I haven't seen him in person since I said farewell in tears after graduation. 

Mr. G., if I could see you again, I would tell you about the role you played in my choosing education for my degree, but how proud I am of my work as a full-time mother. I would want my children to meet you. I'd want to listen to you tell stories about your life and what you've been doing all these years. I would love to hear you play your saxophone. I promise, you would not want to hear me play my cello. I'm sorry to say that I haven't practiced in years. 

Thank you for being one of the most dedicated, passionate, and fun teachers our world has ever known. I hope for a day when my babies will have a teacher to inspire them as much as you have inspired me. Love always, Elizabeth

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The Month I Said "No" to Everything

I have a difficult time saying one of the shortest words in the English language. It is that two letter word which our toddlers can scream all day long. 

They make it seem so simple. 

They repeat it over and over and over. 

"No, no, no, no, no!" 

They say it day in and day out, morning and night, forcing us to resort to begging and bribery, just so we can buckle their highchairs or slip their icky, sticky bodies in the tub.

If a baby could say it, why couldn't I?

I used to wonder why I never had time for anything I wanted to do. I realized it was because I was always saying yes to everything anyone asked of me. Sometimes I was saying yes to things that interested me, and sometimes it was just because I felt guilty saying no. I liked to please other people, and I liked for people to find me valuable. Don't we all? I had been that way since I was young. A couple of years ago, a very intuitive person helped me to realize my struggle.

Apparently, it is very common for many women to always want to say "Yes."

Who knew? 

This wise woman challenged me to say "No" to everything that was asked of me for an entire month.  I shrieked at the thought. An entire month of not helping anybody with her children? A whole 31 days of refusing to make baked goods for an event? 

Hey, lady, those are my specialties. What will I ever do with my time? What will my friends think of me if I don't lend a hand when they ask? 

 

I actually found myself hoping nobody would call or email me so I wouldn't have to face my challenge. Of course that didn't happen. People still asked me for favors, and I had to force myself to say no. I sort of trembled a little bit the first few times. It really was hard for me. I didn't make up excuses though, I just said, "I'm sorry, but I can't this time." 

Do you know what happened? Everyone survived. The world still revolved. Most importantly, I had more time for my family and myself. I was less busy. I was less stressed. I spent less time telling my children that I had something else to do and more time doing what we love, like playing puzzles on the floor.

Honestly, I will tell you that when the 31 days were over, I did give myself permission to say yes to people again. Now, about three years later, I am more mindful that I don't need to say yes to everything. I have become much more adept at telling people no when I should. The truth is, I really enjoy helping friends, baking for events, and participating in committees. I would not be a complete person without those elements of my life. I have learned that I need to find the right balance in how to manage it all. It's a work in progress I should say. 

Are you like me and always saying yes, even when you really should say no. Do you wish you had more time to yourself and for your family, but your outside commitments are interfering? How about starting your own Month of Saying No tonight? I urge you to try it! You will be amazed at how liberating it feels. Let me know how it goes.

Disclaimer: I do not recommend using the Month of Saying No on your spouse. 

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Can Bratty Kids become Caring Adults? Heck Yeah!

Marshall just finished telling me that he hates me...again. He's four. He says it a lot. He also says that I'm mean. He sometimes tells me that he wishes I didn't exist. He says all the food I make is gross. He usually yells these obscenities when I'm carrying out my motherly duties of denying more Wii time, refusing to buy candy at the store, instructing him to change his dirty socks, and telling him that I want him to eat his dinner. How dare I? I really am a rotten person, right?

Should I be worried that he is going to grow up to be some terrible monster who screams and yells at everyone? Maybe, but honestly, I'm not. I'm not worried about it at all. 

I have two solid reasons to believe his outbursts at four are not a big deal.

1. He (and his older siblings) do not behave this way for everyone. Teachers and other parents from school find my children exceptionally well behaved. They adore them. They praise them! Sometimes, I wonder if we're talking about the same children. I have learned that the fact my children act up under my authority and not others' is because they feel extremely safe at home. They know we love them unconditionally, and even if they call us names or raise their voices in fits of frustration, we are still going to be their mom and dad, hug them, love them, read them stories, and make them our priority. 

2. I was kind of a bratty kid myself, yet I turned out to be a very giving and loving person. I was very similar to my own children in that I acted up at home but behaved impeccably at school. My best friend will laugh and tell you that if my mom did not give me what I wanted, I would stomp my feet and whine, "But, Whyyyyy?" I remember slamming my door and yelling that I hated my parents. My older brother and I fought so much that we couldn't spend the night together at our friends' house on the same night. I procrastinated on everything. I'm sure I drove my mom and dad crazy! I was a stinker at home, probably because I knew I was safe there, and my mom and dad would love me no matter what. Then I went into the real world and impressed the heck out of everyone with my, you know, perfection. 

Do you ever hear those people who see crying kids and say, "I never would have acted like that as a kid?" Or even worse yet, "My kids always behaved in public." Yeah, right! All kids misbehave just like all kids are good inside. We just never know what mood is going to strike them at any given moment. They're kids for crying out loud, and although it is our job to teach them proper manners and respect for authority, it is impossible to control them. One minute they loathe us, the next, they love us.

Like last night when I heated up Bagel Bites for Marshall. He smiled sweetly at me and said, "Mom, you make the best dinners ever!" We have to learn to take the ups and downs of parenting and hope that eventually we'll come out ahead. One day, our children will become successful, respected members of society, and we can laugh about the times they threw tantrums over Fruit Loops. 

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

Am I Trying to be Our Kids' Favorite Parent?

Mark is convinced that I am trying to make the kids believe I am their favorite parent.  It's been a running joke in our home for years.  This is how it usually goes down around here:

Mark gives directions or attempts to enforce a rule, in his stern dad voice.

The child leaves, crying, because the fact Dad told him to brush his teeth is pure torture.

As he is stomping away, I call after him, in my sweet, sing-songy voice,  "I love you!"

Sounds innocent enough, right? 

I had never realized what I was doing until Mark pointed it out to me.  I guess I really was saying it often, but not because I wanted them to love me more.  That's ridiculous.  It was because I wanted them to know that even though we were disappointed in something they had done or failed to do, we still loved them.  Sounds like something any mom would do, right?   Although, why was I saying, I loved them and not we?   

Eventually, when Mark caught on to what I was doing, he brought it to my attention.  He felt I was undermining what he was trying to teach the kids at the time.  I agreed it made sense, and so I thought I would just stop doing it. 

Hmmm, not so much.  Sometimes I catch myself before I say it, but whenever I do follow-up with my usual "mama loves you," Mark has developed a new way to let me know it has happened...again.

When the kids leave the room, he makes a milking sound.  You know, the sound a baby would make while suckling for milk.  Only our kids did not drink milk from bottles, they drank it from me.  So, it's a metaphor for what he feels my constant reassurance means. 

Like I want to bribe them with the boob to keep them as babies and loving/needing me most.   Pretty profound, huh?  Whatever!

I really have tried to stop calling after them when they are in trouble.  I know it is not necessary.  If I do, it's to say, "We love you!" 

If I'm the one being bossy to the kids and making them cry,  Mark chimes in to save the day.  He yells after them, in his warm, kind voice, "Daddy loves you!"

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

Mom, It Doesn't Have to be Perfect

Baking with my four children was something I have loved doing since they were each about eighteen months old, using this cherished time together for many reasons. I loved seeing them peek over the counter from atop a kitchen chair, using their stubby little fingers to stir eggs and measure cinnamon. We discussed the shapes and colors of the ingredients as we added them to the bowls. As a teacher, I tried to incorporate some math facts when they were old enough to understand concepts like addition and fractions. I enjoyed sharing my hobby with them, teaching them a life skill that they hopefully would pass on to their own children some day. I wanted to help them create something they could see and taste with pride. 

My daughter, Trixie, was only seven years old when we were finishing up a cake together. She had done her best to frost the cake in a way any young girl would. When she was finished, I took the offset spatula from her little hands and adjusted the icing a bit, sighing a little at the need to redo the work. Right away, Trixie said, "Mom, it doesn't have to be perfect."  The instant those words came out of her sweet little mouth, it was like I had been hit with a brick. Of course it didn't have to be perfect. Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?  It was a cake we were making  to share with her dad and three brothers. Cakes did not have to be perfect. I did not need to do things perfectly, and neither did my children. 

This epiphany from Trixie strongly resonated with me, and I wanted to share it with people. I wanted to share this one simple sentence with everyone I knew. "Mom, it doesn't have to be perfect." How amazing it was that a child's mind could see the way life should really be, and she was innocent enough to tell us. I sadly thought back to the past eight years of baking with the kids, hoping that I had not made them feel pressure to make our treats perfect.  

Trixie's advice made its way into every part of my life. It was not until after that memorable day in the kitchen that I realized I had been battling with perfectionism for years. I examined the way I was living, and I made a conscious decision not to worry about being perfect anymore. It was the best decision I have ever made.

Did I feel happy when others enjoyed my homemade treats or told me that my themed parties were so wonderful? Did I enjoy hearing friends compliment me on my perfect children, my perfect hospitality, my perfect leadership skills? Of course I did. Who wouldn't love all those compliments?  Unfortunately, it had come to a point where I felt that if I did not keep up with that perfect appearance, I would disappoint people. My mom used to tell me that once I turned 40, I would stop worrying about what everyone thought and relax. Thanks to Trixie, it only took me until I was 33 to figure it out. 

I have other close friends who have similar personalities as mine. I have been spending the past few years encouraging them to drop the perfectionist facade and just be themselves. Through talking with them, I have learned that they, too, have struggled with this need to be perfect in others' eyes.  A perfect wife, a perfect employee, a perfect mom and hostess. We have all been slowly but surely letting go, and when we are together, we enjoy each others' company instead of trying to be so perfect.

What's funny is that people have now told me that the fact I did things so "perfectly" made them feel badly about themselves, which was never my intention. I recently made some raspberry cookies for an event. When my friend told me I made her feel badly about herself because she did not make cookies like mine, I made sure to let her know that the cookies came from a mix, and I just slapped some raspberry jam in the center. I was nowhere close to perfect...not in the kitchen and not in life.

I continue to bake with my children. It will always be one of my favorite things to do with them. The older two can now complete a recipe on their own, and the younger ones are quick to hop up to the counter when I ask for some help with muffins or cookies. I still have to remind myself that I will never be perfect, and I need to make sure my children do not think they have to be perfect either. People will still like them, and their cakes will still taste delicious, I'm sure of it! 

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

A Parenting Melting Pot

How is it possible that I have relationships with so many parents, yet our journeys through parenthood have been so vastly different? When I consider the people whose advice I trust and encouragement I actively seek, I am pretty astounded at the varied lives we lead.

Some of you were blessed with many children. You experienced the ups and downs of pregnancy and childbirth, and we can share our stories about morning sickness, stretch marks, and labor.

Others of you went through unimaginable struggles to have the family that you do now. I admire you for the pains you have endured to become what you so longed to be, a mom.

Some of you are staying at home with your children. We like to commiserate about how many dishes we have to do during summer vacation when the kids are home all day, but we also realize how lucky we are.

Some of you are rocking the workforce, aside from your job as mom or dad. Although I do not see you as often as I wish I could, I support you and love to meet up whenever we can. My teacher friends are special superstars, working day and night, guiding our children in a way that we appreciate and value. 

Some of you share your life with a caring husband. He provides strength and support in your home, offering love to you and a father's presence to your children. 

Others of you are doing the jobs of two parents, all on your own. I often wonder how you can do it.  How can you lift up your children when you need lifting up, too? I know that you do it because you are strong, so strong. Stronger than any of us will ever know. 

Some of you are blessed to have healthy families. You and your children have occasional illnesses, but nothing that isn't considered par for the course of life. You know, like that raging stomach virus that hits everyone in your house at least once a year.

Others of you have children with conditions or illnesses that make childhood a little bit harder for them. You feel worried and sad, but you are an advocate, and you make sure that they have the very best care possible. 

Others of you are suffering. You, as moms and dads, have something keeping you from living an easy, healthy life. You amaze me as you keep a positive outlook when most of us would be wallowing in sorrow or self-pity. 

Some of you have a vast family support system. You have a great extended family: brothers, sisters, parents, and grandparents, on whom you can rely for comfort and help with emergencies.

Others of you have lost those loved ones you had trusted the most. Your children may never know their grandparents. I love that you are keeping the memory of your family members alive by sharing your stories and pictures with your children.

We all have an ongoing list of differences, such as in the types of schools we choose, whether or not we attend church, and how strict or liberal we are with technology. I know that I do not have two friends or family members who are exactly like me. I am positive that we are meant to be in each others' lives anyway. How boring would it be if we were all the same? I gather strength and inspiration from the all of the parents I know, so thank you.


One of our baby boys playing with all the pots and pans.  Who needs toys?

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

https://www.facebook.com/mamalovesyouandchocolatetoo

 

Back to the Summer Madness

The kids and I just came home from a week away from the daily grind of summer vacation.  I know, it shouldn't be a grind. It should be relaxing and carefree.  Believe me, I'm working on it.  I vowed to schedule less camps and activities this summer.  I actually did schedule less than usual, but with four children, we still have more than I can count. I can't even begin to remember what they are unless I look at my calendar...my big paper calendar attached to my fridge.  I also have a small paper calendar in my purse. I cross-reference them every week to make sure I don't forget anything.  I do not have a smart phone.  I like using a pen.  Is that weird?

I took our kids to my hometown to stay with our families.   Every day, we had places to go and people to see.  We did miss Mark, the poor guy had to stay behind and work, but having some time to decompress really helped us prepare for the rest of our busy summer.  Usually, when we go visit family, it is for a specific event, like a birthday party.  We drive down, stay a night or two, hopefully sneak out for a movie, and then we head back home.  We see the people whose event we are attending, and that's about it. 

This time, I made the smart decision to stay an entire week.  I know I am very blessed to have the opportunity for such a trip.  Have you ever had the chance to do something similar?   I really hope that as a parent, you are able to connect with your friends and/or family as much as possible.  Whether we have new friends, sneaking in a quick coffee while the kids play, or lifelong friends who know us like nobody else, we all need to make time to nurture ourselves.   Positive relationships help us thrive.  Let's make them a priority, and we'll feel more ready to tackle the parenting our kids need from us.   

If you are reading this post and thinking, "I do not have those kinds of connections with people," please come back again.  I have been sharing my mom survival tips with my real life friends for years.  I'm not an expert, but I do know what has failed me and what has worked.  I hope you'll visit again to laugh in agreement or shake your head at my motherhood goofs. 

There will be lots of them.

I promise.

Like what happened to me this morning:   I was being a nice, fun mom and let the kids play at a local park.  One of them threw a little girl's shoe down the hill.  When I told him to give it back to her, he threw it up the hill and nailed her in the foot.

Yep, I'm one of those moms at the park. 

I have rude kids sometimes.

I do my best to teach them manners. Really I do.

They just choose to learn them on their own schedule.  Please forgive me and have patience with us. I'm sure they won't be like that forever.

Meanwhile, I would like to reflect on the blessings I had while I was visiting my hometown and forget about the rudeness for at least a little while.

I am very thankful to all of my friends for the times we spent laughing and reconnecting last week.  I am so energized after all of the fun we had together.  You know who you are!  A late night shopping trip to Kmart, a four hour lunch at the winery, an afternoon spent by the pool with our babies, a chat over peanut butter shakes, a kid-free dinner out sharing a pitcher of sangria, a long car ride made shorter with a phone call from a best friend, an extremely loud trip to McDonald's with the kids.  None of those outings would be possible if I did not have relationships and friendships that stand the test of time and distance. 

 

Thank you to my parents and Mark's parents for making special memories with my children.  Watching a calf be born on a farm, catching candy with them at a parade, oohing and aahing under the fireworks.  Those little events are ones they will remember.  Thank you to aunts and uncles (the kids' and mine) who are an active part of our family.  Thank you to my 91 year old grandma for being spunky enough to spend a few days with nine rowdy kids.   I hope I have that kind of patience when I'm a great-grandmother.

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

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