When The Mommy Is Just Not Enough

I'm not sure if it was the 5th child or the cancer diagnosis or when someone missed diagnosing my [obvious] case of the crazies. Maybe it was some combination of all those life-altering events, but somewhere in those years, it became clear, I was no longer a contender for super-mom.

It was time to turn in the cape.

Somewhere in those moments of forgetfulness, helplessness and overwhelmed-ness I found out that I was never going to be enough.

I was never going to be the perfect mother or the ideal wife.

I was never going to achieve, accomplish or be awarded any kind of mother-of-the-year medal.

But, the truth is, for many years, I pretended otherwise.

For many years, I faithfully clipped articles from parenting magazines and stayed up late attempting cute crafts and yummy baked things from the pages of Family Fun (I am beyond thankful that Pintrest wasn't a thing yet). For many years I refused to let the sun go down with dirty dishes in the sink or with laundry left on the floor. For many years I meal-planned and color-coded my schedule, wrote detailed lists and even remembered to buy only organic apples.

For many years I thought if I just worked a little bit harder, stayed up a little bit later, organized a little bit better, walked a little bit faster ... I'd find myself a little bit closer to being enough.

Thankfully--mercifully--just in the nick of time, God released me from that kind of crazy. Like I said, I'm not sure exactly when that epiphany occurred ... but somewhere in those years I realized it just wasn't going to happen. And what's more --- It shouldn't happen.

It wasn't the right goal. 

It was never how God intended me (or any mother) to be.

Motherhood isn't supposed to be a race to the finish line.
Motherhood isn't a competition in who's the most prepared or punctual or perfect.
Motherhood isn't a test of creativity or craftiness or cute clothes.
Motherhood isn't even about keeping a clean house or incredibly clean kids.

Motherhood is a journey.
It's a painstaking, heart-wrenching, spirit-filling, joy-bringing  p r o c e s s.

And good mothering isn't what happens when we are trying to be the greatest mom out there, but when we are just being a good mom right here.

In the almost 20 years I've been parenting, I've made more mistakes than I'd ever have imagined possible. Seriously, I could blush at some of my blunders.
I've messed up and screwed up and even thrown up my hands in defeat. I've cried over spilled milk and stubbed toes and moldy laundry. I've stepped in baby poop, been smeared with peanut butter and left the house without my wallet, my shoes -- and even once -- forgot the baby. (Don't worry, the older kids reminded me before we had turned out of our street. It can happen, people. Please don't judge).

There have been many moments where I've been just flat out thankful no one was watching or grading or taking detailed notes. The marks wouldn't have been pretty and the notes certainly not nice.

I can remember a few years ago wrestling this out with God. It was the summer after we adopted Bella. The same summer I was recovering from breast cancer and a double mastectomy. Nothing like gaining a kid and losing your strength--not to mention body parts--to make you wonder just what lesson God is teaching.

It was one of those sweltering summer nights in Georgia. I was out on our deck and feeling like I had just spent my whole day dropping balls and letting everyone down in my house. So, sitting there steaming in my frustration and the crazy Georgia heat, I just flat out told Him, "Guess what God: I'm not enough!"

And though it wasn't exactly an audible voice, God whispered clearly right back to me ---
"You're right, Jody, you're not enough ... and you're not even supposed to be. But I am."

Again, not a voice, but clear as day. That was the moment He began to release me from some kind of weird self-imposed, inner idealism and was giving me full permission to build a bonfire and burn up all of the Family Fun magazines I had been saving for a rainy day.

That night I walked back into the house, hugged my kids and husband goodnight, left a sink full of dirty dishes and went directly to bed. And it was the beginning of my new walk. I was giving up my mommy-frenzy for my new found mommy-freedom.

Please don't misread what I'm saying: God wasn't giving me a license to be negligent, reckless, careless or lazy with my kids, but he was teaching me the lesson to be more lenient with myself.  Because somewhere I had gotten off track in thinking that my kids had to be my whole world and I had to be there's.

Does this sound familiar? 

Somewhere in the early years of parenting, I did what many mothers do, I wrapped my identity and my ego around them and tightly tied a big old (pretty) bow.

Let's face it, that's easy to do.
It's an amazing gift to be called mama.
It's like my favorite job ever!
But between the hormones and the housework, we women can get a little cra-cra about our "calling."

I always wanted to be a mother.

Though I carried a triple major in college, I knew even then, as much as I loved all that stuff and all those studies, I wanted nothing more than to be a plain, old mom. I never saw it as second best. I never once considered it anything less than the highest calling possible in a woman's life. And even on the hardest of days, I knew I was doing exactly what I was made for.

I've never had a moment of doubt.

I didn't doubt my calling, but I did doubt myself and my abilities and my strength and my being "enough."

Ultimately, that doubt was a good thing in my life.

Because when I brought my burden to that place of brokenness, God met me there and assured me in the sweltering heat on my nighttime deck and many, many times since, I didn't need to be enough, because He was. Because He is.

That was His job. My job is to point my kids to His sufficiency, not my own.

In fact, if I am always working my tail off trying to be all that (and a bag of chips) for my kids, then I am actually working against what God wants to do and demonstrate in their lives. Moms aren't ever supposed to compete with God. Our accomplishments aren't ever supposed to rival God's awesomeness. 

John 3: 30 says,"He must increase, but I must decrease." 
Have you ever thought about how those words might apply to mothers?

As moms, we spend so much energy trying to be MORE ... and yet God is telling us there's actually great blessing found in being LESS.

We aren't training up our kids to always assume "Mom's got this!"
But instead, we need to teach them to see how "God's got this!"

That was a few years ago, but the truth is, I still struggle. Those same urges and desires come bubbling up in my competitive and creative nature. I still find myself striving and stretching and spinning my way around ... trying to do it all. Juggle it all. Be it all.

I'm not completely healed from the super-mom syndrome, but I am more aware of it.

And God, in His graciousness, often brings me reminders along the way.

Like last weekend.

My middle child, Sarah, had a volleyball tournament and she had to be up at the crack of dawn on Saturday morning. Friday night she was out late and when she came in I was already in bed. half asleep, I asked her if she had everything ready for the morning. (volleyball bag, uniform, knee pads, spandex, socks, shoes, water bottle, blah,blah,blah ....)

"I don't mom, but I will," she answered.
and with that, I fell asleep. I didn't get up and follow her down the hall or chase her around with reminders. I just fell asleep. I had my own good case of Friday night exhaustion.

I didn't hunt down her uniform or lay out her socks or pack up her healthy snacks. I just went to bed.

We were up the next morning at 6am. Before leaving the house I ran up to her room to grab something and found this list on her desk.  the night before she had created a checklist. complete with little boxes and check marks.

I stood there looking at this little piece of paper and my eyes welled with tears when I realized what I was seeing was evidence of mom isn't enough. Not just evidence, but the blessing which moves in when I, the mother, move out a bit. When I let go of the list. When I loosen the reigns. When I leave room for her to step in, to step up.

And women, wherever you are in your motherhood journey, today I am writing to encourage you to let go a little. It's okay. I know it's not always easy, but it's what we are supposed to do. 

Let them forget something.

Let them fail a little. 

Let them face a struggle or two. 

Let them, in fact, get caught or get in trouble.

I know that's hard when we can clearly circumvent some kind of kid-crisis. And, I'm sure, sometimes we should make a decision to do so. But sometimes we've got to be wiling to put away our super-mom cape and let them figure it out for themselves.

Again, this has nothing to do with shirking our responsibilities or taking the easy way out. Not at all. We are instructed to work "heartily for the Lord," and encouraged to "approve what is excellent."  But I don't believe when Jesus asked us to "think on things which are excellent or worthy of praise" He was necessarily talking about making 4 dozen cute little frog cupcakes or making sure our kids are always organized, orderly and well-outfitted.

Not that there's anything wrong with being a creative or prepared mom. There are definitely times to go the extra mile or deliver the extra special. God wired some of that right into us. I am not discouraging you from your passion in serving and blessing your family, but I am encouraging you to keep it realistic and to know that what counts most is not the praise for the woman and her healthy, homemade meal, but the home-loved child who learns to seek God's heart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

don't give up on me, mama ...

i was standing in line at the grocery store when i heard the exchange.
seems to me, that happens a lot.
probably ...
#1 because i am waiting and still and, therefore, listening.
#2 because i am in the grocery store way too much.

but that's where it happened.

i was in line behind a woman and her young son when the cashier -- a kindly, older lady -- brought out a lollipop for the little boy. a lollipop which he gladly and quickly accepted. in fact, he swiped that sucker right out of her hand and jammed it right into his ready mouth without missing a beat and, sadly, without one word of thanks.

i assure you, the boy was old enough to say, "thank you."

the mother, looking a tad bit embarrassed -- but not too surprised -- encouraged her son to use his manners. "say, thank you, evan." but evan refused. and instead continued to chomp loudly on his lollipop, all the while completely ignoring both mother and cashier. stubbornly. willfully.

i wasn't judging. really i wasn't. i've been that mother. i felt for her.
but what happened next is the thing which most captured my attention; caught hold of my heart.

glancing from the cashier to me, the mother exclaimed,"well, i give up. i've tried to teach him his manners. it just isn't working. i'm done. i give up!"

"i give up!" --- really?
the boy was about five. seemed to me there were a lot of years ahead for this kid and his mama.

in my mind, it might be just a tiny bit early to throw in the towel.

it took everything in me to keep from following the woman out to her car and pleading with her not to give up. i wanted to urge her instead to go ahead and remove that lollipop from her son's mouth and march all three feet of him back in to offer his thanks. i wanted to tell her to take a stand, to be firm, to refuse to accept anything less from this little boy than what she knew in her heart was right behavior.

i know ... can. you. even. imagine? she'd of been dialing 9-1-1 on me before i finished my first sentence.

you'll be glad to know, i refrained. but walking to my own car with groceries in hand ... i felt her heaviness.

i didn't want to criticize her, i wanted to encourage her.
i wanted to to let her know, we all feel like that as mamas.
we wonder if we're making any progress.
we wonder if anything we say is sinking in.
we doubt somedays they're even listening.

but don't give up.
don't ever give up.

don't ever be afraid to take the lollipop or the whatever away and stand your ground.

not when they're 5, and not when they're 15.

oh, mama of the rude boy or the rebellious girl or the resistant daughter or the restless son ... don't give up. don't ever give up.

there's time. and there's always hope.

God didn't give up on us. not when we were rude or ruined or running fast away. and yes, we've all been exactly that. let's learn our parenting-perseverance from the most patient Father. the perfect Father who perfectly loves His imperfect people -- His children.

"but God demonstrates His own love for us in this: while we were still sinners, Christ died for us."  ~ romans 5:8

did you catch that phrase? while we were still sinners ... sinners. yep, you and me. not perfectly behaved little children with perfectly polished manners, but imperfect little sinners.
that's us. and that's our kids and that's this world we live in right now.

and yet ... we have this amazing God ... who, though had every right to throw up His hands and declare, "i give up!" He didn't. He stuck with us. He sticks with us. and, what's more, He even sent His Son to die for us.

while.we.were.yet.sinners.

oh, sweet mama who is feeling like she'll never see the fruit of her labor ...
oh, dear mother who is feeling like she's tried every trick in the book ...
oh, tired woman who isn't sure what else to do or where else to turn ...

this post today is for you.

i know you might be close to throwing your hands in the air or turning your back on the child or walking away from the battle ...

i know. because i've been there.

and though i didn't do anything to encourage that woman in the grocery store ... i want to encourage you ---

don't give up.
don't ever give up.

there's time. there's hope. there's Jesus.

"and let us not grow weary of doing good, for in due season we will reap, 
if we do not give up." ~ galatians 6:9

because i love them

 i'm not sure there's any other possible explanation, but love.

i love him.

i must. otherwise i wouldn't have spent my entire morning in the middle of nowhere minnesota on a chilly, gray day with a group of mean looking men and a few even meaner looking women.

but i love my 16 year old son and yesterday was his firearm safety "field day." and so we got up early and drove kind of far and circled up with this interesting cast of gun savvy characters. and we learned more about firearms and amunition then i had ever thought possible.

go ahead, shoot me a question!

i know the GUN word is rather controversial in today's world, and let me just say, this post is not about THAT. i'm not making any kind of argument one way or another. no, the gun thing isn't important in this post, it just happens to be the setting for my story. we'll have to save that debate for another post friends. =)

but my outdoorsy-kind-of-kid wants to wade out a bit into the waters of hunting, and this field day was part of the process. and so there we were.

love her sweatshirt

hunting isn't really my cup of tea. i mean, we hunt all the time for missing socks or keys or receipts. i even hunt, on occasion, for a good bargain while i'm out shopping. but the kind of hunting my son is interested in exploring isn't really in my blood. i was definitely more the type to bring home stray animals as a kid ... my mother swears, one time i even dragged home road kill wanting to help it.

anyway, there we were: listening to this rather.. er, um...rough man talk: following his directions, signing the paperwork, taking the test, writing the check, sticking foam in our ears, shooting rifles (go ahead and imagine) and trekking through the muck of the minnesota horse and gun club ... or maybe it was the minnesota hunt and horse club. something gun, horse and hunt. let's just say when i went inside to find a restroom there were lots of stuffed things up on the walls -- even in the ladies room. (see my friend to the left).

remind me, again, how did i get here? oh yeah, i love my boy.

we do strange and uncomfortable things for our kids sometimes because we love them, don't we?

i bet you have a few stories of your own. things you'd never really have ever agreed to except that you had this child and she or he had this dream or desire or destination. you went along because you were the mom or dad, and then ended up looking around and wondering how in the world you got there. but knowing, regardless of how you felt about THERE, you were doing your part just being THERE for your child.

because sometimes we do things for our kids that really don't speak all that much to our own souls --- like chuck e cheese.

as a little girl, my middle daughter, sarah, adored the idea of chuck e cheese, mostly because it was a lot like forbidden fruit. mostly because i was never the kind of mom to really be all that passionate (or willing) about taking her there. so it became this really big thing in her mind. every time we would pass the establishment she would go on and on about how "all she has ever wanted to do in he life is go to chuck e cheese." well, we went there. once. and i remember feeling pretty close to how i felt at this morning's hunting lesson. how in the heck did i get here? if you've ever darkened the doorway of this little kids' mosh pit, you understand.

i had the same thing happen this past spring with my oldest daughter when we went shopping for her prom dress. i found myself at the world famous mall of america on the busiest prom dress shopping saturday of the year. my daughter and i were in the company of every other 17 or 18 year old girl (and all of their mothers) in minnesota. we waited almost an hour at one store to get into a dressing room. i was flabbergasted. i mean it, mad as a hornet and completely aghast at the idea of waiting 55 minutes to try on a dress, prom or otherwise. it seemed ludicrous. it was ludicrous. but it was also my daughter and it was the only weekend free for shopping and we were stuck. and, the bottom line is, i love her. and so we took turns waiting in this God-forsaken line to try on a dress which would cost too much money and that she'd wear only once. {trust me, it's better not to think too deeply on that}.

i'd like to think that because of love for my children i've also done more noble things than gun field day, chuck e cheeses and prom dress shopping. i know there were countless after hour trips to the 24 hour medical care facilities and late night runs to the drug store. there have been many early mornings when i've driven kids to 6:30 am practices ... or picked them up at midnight from a friend's house. one time we drove at 2am to pick up the middle daughter (miss chuck e cheese herself) from a sleepover party when she couldn't "make it through the night."

we've quizzed thousands of spanish words and bible verses and read the same, favorite, bedtime story books until the pages fell out. we've stayed up late frosting cupcakes or washing uniforms or consoling broken hearts. one time, when tyler was a little guy, his pet lizard wasn't doing so well, and we had a middle of the night conference call with a lizard expert. we ended up camping out on the basement floor cradling little "spikey" on our laps while attempting to share our body heat and feed him from a medicine dropper. i'm sorry, but prior to children, i just never imagined sitting on a basement floor, cradling a lizard and feeding him with a medicine dropper. these are the parenting things they don't tell you about before you sign up.

but it's in these very moments when our children connect deeply with us, isn't it? it's in these moments when our kids learn that they've got someone on their side ... no matter what. when we stay in a place despite our preference. when we camp out in the backyard or in the basement. when we stand in long lines for the prom dress or the concert tickets or the ferris wheel. when we throw the baseball to the boy who can't catch or play cards with the little girl who doesn't yet know her numbers. when we allow our kids to do science experiments in our kitchens or slide down the staircases in sleeping bags. when we choose mcdonald's over the salad bar place or an animated movie over a classic. when we put aside our own wishes or wants and meet our kids in the middle of their kid-kind-of-mystery ... we connect.

i'm not saying that the answer should always be yes! oh no, no, no ... if you've read anything on this blog in the past, you know, i'm not a mama who believes in always giving her kids their way. not at all. we use the word "no" rather often, in fact. and, by the way, the word "no" can also show love -- regardless of what our kids think! but in our parent-discernment we know there are times when we stretch ourselves for our kids.

maybe the word is sacrifice. because that's clearly part of this parent thing. but i think it has a lot more to do with just plain love. we love them.

and so, on occasion, we do some things which aren't quite in our wheelhouse, but we pull up our boot straps and we walk alongside our kids in their kid kind of worlds. and even if we leave with muddy feet or ringing ears or shaky hands, we know, more times than not, it was worth it.

i'd love to hear from you! tell me about a time when "it was worth it."

 on the way home we stopped off to check out the blaze orange and camo! 

again, not really my kind of fashion ... but, hey, never say never.

back at home, ty printed off his license/certification. i made him pose for this picture. 

told him he "owed" me. might use that one for awhile. =)

the day i cried in my closet (some thoughts from a stay-at-home-mom)

i taught my last english class 16 years ago. i loved teaching high school. in fact, i was one of those strange people who actually loved teaching high schoolers.

yes. yes, really.

but after our second born, tyler, hit the scene, the chance came for me to stay home full time.
and i did.

and i have never regretted that decision. not once.

not even on those days when the baby was crying and the toddlers were clinging and the dog was, at that very moment, Lord have mercy, stealing my lunch right off the kitchen counter.

i never regretted staying home, but it wasn't always easy -- especially when the children were really young. there were days. oh, let me tell you friend ... there.were.days.

though much of it remains a blur, i do remember in those early years hitting the wall a time or two (or twenty ...).  one day in particular stands out in my motherhood memory. it was just after our third child, sarah, was born. i was in that supremely idyllic season of breast feeding the newborn, potty training the toddler and trying to keep the mischievous first born alive in the midst of incessant blouse unbuttoning, training pants removing and diaper changing.

you get the picture, right?

i hadn't lost the baby weight, i hadn't figured out how to successfully operate three children on limited sleep, and i hadn't had a chance to shower much that week. it's easy to see some traces of desperation around the edges when you add into the equation that i had zero family in town and a husband often on business out of town. on this particular day, it seemed like child number three wasn't going to ever get the hang of this nursing thing, child number two wasn't going to ever stop wetting his pants and child number one, i was convinced, was going to grow up with serious issues of neglect because i was constantly attending to her two needy, younger siblings.

and then there was that dog ... i swear, always eating my lunch off the gosh-darn-counter!

one morning, after snapping wildly at my firstborn (because she didn't understand why i couldn't add finger painting to the afternoon agenda) i climbed into my closet, and with a defeated spirit, a couple of leaky breasts and a big ole flabby stomach, i laid full on the floor and cried my eyes out.

i cried and i cried and i cried.

but i knew in the back of my mind in the back of that closet that even my pathetic breakdown had to be tightly scheduled. the baby was napping, the toddlers camped out in front of a cartoon, and both, said nap and cartoon, were bound to come to an abrupt end any second. i had only a few minutes to spare on some uncontrollable sobbing and my gargantuan self pity before i would have to cowboy up and return to my stay-at-home-mom status.

i would have to go back down those stairs.

as i heaved my tired-mama-body off the floor, i found myself standing in the middle of my "teaching clothes" section of the closet. i am not sure why i still had these outfits, but i did. just in case, i guess -- tucked away in plastic, way in the back, hidden behind my elastic waisted maternity pants and loose fitting dresses. so there i was -- a red-faced, runny-nosed, out of shape stay-at-home mom staring at my size two suits and my cleaned and pressed professional blouses. there i was staring into the face of my former life.

yep, you know it  -- i started to cry all over again.

there was no way my body was ever going to fit back into those suits. and if i did somehow manage to squeeze myself into one, i was certain it would be covered with breast milk, peanut butter and finger paint in about five minutes flat. right?

i felt like such a mess.

i felt like such a mess up.

even on a bad day of teaching school, i still had on cute shoes and a reasonably nice outfit.

but on this bad day of motherhood, i was slightly overweight, barefoot, leaky and hiding out in my closet. (that, by the way, is the other version of "barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen...").

at that moment of feeling like the world's worst mother and a completely lost-cause-kind-of-woman, i remembered (or God reminded me): i had chosen this.

this. this stay at home and stay in the kitchen and stay with the kids and stay by the potty and stay nursing on the couch and stay in my maternity clothes and stay always within an arm's reach ... this.

this is where i chose to stay.
this is where God was allowing me to stay.
this is where God wanted me to stay.

this is where i wanted me to stay.

but there were some days when this just wasn't easy and i needed to be reminded not of my former life and my size two suits, but of my choice.

and of my promise.

years ago, when we decided i would stay home with the kids, i made not only a decision, but i also made a promise. i made a vow that i would be grateful. i would not waste it. i would not take it for granted. i would not live as woman who deserved it, expected it or was entitled to it.

i would see it for what it was ---

a gift.

even on the hardest, messiest, ugliest, dirtiest days ... i would stop in the midst of it all and i would, with open hands and a grateful heart, give thanks.

but some days it was harder than it should have been.

somedays, in fact, i said my "thank yous" with clenched fists and through clenched teeth (which, on somedays, i hadn't found time to brush).

because some days, even when we've been given an amazing gift, it takes more than it should to say thank you. we have to dig deeper than we ever thought possible for those two simple words.

when i was feeling less than grateful, i would literally remind myself that there were other women out there trying to juggle jobs and kids and errands and dinner time. i knew women who wanted desperately to be home with their young ones, but weren't able to swing it for one reason or another.

and there i was struggling to stay home and struggling to say thanks.

since those days of having really young children, things have gotten easier -- physically easier for sure.  i'm still home full time with them and still incredibly grateful. i'm thankful for the chance to kiss my high schoolers good-bye in the morning and i'm thankful to meet my kindergartner at her classroom door each day at noon. i'm thankful to have the opportunity to throw tyler's soccer jersey in the wash when he needs it or to run up to school a left behind lunchbox (not often, but on occasion). i'm thankful to have the opportunity to be in and out and all around the lives of my school-aged children. i'm thankful i can be available and i'm happy to be here.

but still, even now, i need to be reminded.

because after all these years of staying home with my kids, i'll be honest, it is easy to forget that it's a gift. even though the maternity clothes and leaky breasts are long gone, i still sometimes need a reminder. i can feel it deep in my bones. i can sense it seeping out in my actions. i have watched myself, on occasion, teeter on that line of entitlement.

it's in the small things.

it's in the way i just kind of expect things to go my way when the kids head out to school. i kind of expect to have my day to myself. i kind of expect to have control of the outcome...control of the hours.

like they belong to me.

like i've earned it.

like i've put in hard time with young children and now it is my time.

i cringe writing that because i know how ugly it reads.

this past week i had one of those moments. i was sitting in the hair salon with a head full of highlight foils when i got the message from my girlfriend, diana. "school is closing early due to some kind of electrical issue in the building. do you want me to get your kids?"

it was 9:30 in the morning. i should have had hours. but instead i had a head full of foils and only a handful of minutes -- my kids were heading back home. soon.

this wasn't my plan for the day.we were just coming off a three day weekend and i was really looking forward to just a little bit of uninterrupted time. i had a list.

and i'll admit,  my first thought was not about the safety of my children, but about the state of my highlighted hair. (don't judge). just to be clear here, from my friend's text, i knew the children were safe ... i didn't have to go THERE -- to that place of extreme mother-worry. but, i also didn't go the place of "oh goodie, i get an extra day with the kiddos!" i just didn't. (neither did my friend, by the way).

(okay, stop! i can feel it...you're judging!)

when we talked a few minutes later though, she said to me ... "i have to run quickly to the grocery store, but then maybe i'll take the girls to the zoo?"
"the zoo?" i thought."really, the zoo?"
i had planned to do some shopping ... i had some errands to run.
i didn't have any spontaneous desire for the zoo. i just didn't.

did that make me a bad mom?

did that make me less of a stay-at-home kind of mom?

because isn't that the mark of a successful stay-at-home mom? a mom who when school is cancelled can whip right out of her back pocket some kind of fun day parade? i used to think that. i used to think that because i had the privilege of staying home full time i also had the responsibility of making things perfect full time.

i thought, because i was home, then i should always: cook healthy dinners, volunteer to bake cupcakes, have organized closets, video tape every event, grow my own produce, provide piano lessons, photograph every moment, make homemade applesauce, sew beautiful clothing, update baby books daily, smile at everything, host coffees, lead multiple bible studies, remember everyone's birthdays, make my own candles, always be happy ...

right?

what-ever!

maybe some of you stay-at-home moms feel that way right now. maybe you're feeling since you aren't bringing in a paycheck you should sure as heck be bringing up perfect children in a perfectly smooth life.

uh-uh.

let.that.go.girlfriend.

right now.

take off that poor pathetic attempt and hang it up it with your supermom cape in the corner of your closet...behind your former-life-suits or your maternity mumus or your whatever.

and, then ...  shut the door fast.

and run.

stay-at-home mom: you've been given a privilege. a gift. an opportunity. and, by all means, be grateful! BE GRATEFUL! but don't think for one minute that the present is going to stay perfectly wrapped and the bow is going to always be pristine.

being home with our kids is like the christmas morning aftermath. it's a mess, right? there are gifts all over the place, but so is their mess all over the place. and somedays you can hardly find the gifts in the midst of all that unwrapping...in the midst of all that undoing! we don't line up our gifts neatly on shelves ready for display, nope, we're all over the living room and all over each other and all over everything.

and when we see that kind of mess through eyes of gratitude and with a heart of grace ... we see, not something perfect, but something beautiful.

friend, see something beautiful.

some of you reading this are stuck in the closet crying ... some of you are juggling jobs outside the home ... some of you are hurried at the hair salon ... some of you have hours on your hands and aren't sure what to do with your day.

there are different seasons in this journey. but i know for me, whatever the season, i have to remind myself of my choice --

the choice to look through the lens of gratitude and grace ... no matter what.

no matter where we are.
no matter what we're doing.
no matter how it looks.

--- every season. every day. a gift.

(by the way, just in case you were wondering ... no one went to the zoo).

the saturday gift of parenting

she climbed from the car and i watched my girl walk away.  my tall girl, on her way into the ACT test for the first time.  everything about her serious.  "bye mom, see you later," she waved and joined the stream of other high school juniors heading into the testing site.

i pulled my car from the curb already praying.  praying for my big girl and this big test she had ahead of her today.  this big test which she had done her very best to prepare for.  this test which feels perhaps even bigger than a test should be.  across the street from the school was a neighborhood, and as i prayed and drove, i found myself stopping in front of the tiny neighborhood playground.  a swing. a  slide.  some monkey bars.  why does it feel like just last week she was hanging on the monkey bars of her childhood.  this tall girl,  this strong, young woman,  i swear just yesterday i was watching her walk up a school pathway toward kindergarten and now we are into the throes of college preparation -- the beginning of when she walks away.

a blink.  that's all it is.  from baby to her life beyond our home -- that's all it is. a blink.

and yet, she's not fully there.  yet.  she may be 17 and a pretty independent gal at that, but she's not fully there.  just last week she said, "mom, will you drive me?"  she wanted me to drive her to the testing site -- less than 4 miles away.  this girl who has had her license well over a year.  this girl who has her own car.  this girl who drives herself absolutely everywhere -- even all over our new city of minneapolis.  this girl wanted her mom to drive her to her test.  "of course i will."  i didn't even have to think about it.  i'd be happy to drive her and drop her at the curb and pray for her as she walked into something so big.  i'd be honored.  i'm her mom.

and i won't be driving her to places for too much longer.

somedays, in fact, she drives me.

i have always found the balance of caring for my kids and creating kids who can care for themselves to be a breathtaking challenge.  there have been so many pivotal points in our  days where i've had to say, "no, you don't need me to do that for you...you are fully capable."  with five children at five different ages, i've said those words thousands of times.  but i've also said, "here, let me do that.  here, let me show you. here, let me help."  and that's one of the greatest joys of motherhood: doing something for a small one who needs me.  even doing something for a tall one who needs me.  but it's a constantly changing kind of thing.  how much can they do...how much do they need...how much must i push them?  i don't know about you, but that keeps me on my toes and, of course, on my knees.   "yes, you can make your own bed and your own peanut butter and jelly sandwich..."  but then there's the, "no, you can't cross the street by yourself or drive alone to the mall of america."  and let's face it, i'm dealing with everything from one getting ready for kindergarten to one getting ready for college.  it's confusing. it's even exhausting.

and i mess up a lot.  there really is no manual in my hands or clear message in my ear about how to do it.  sometimes i let them push the boundaries too far. and we suffer some consequences. sometimes i make things too safe and small.  and i remove what could have been a good lesson to learn.

parenting is hard.  
parenting can hurt.
parenting will humble.

but parenting is here and it's mine to hold...at least for this moment in time. 

and i want, desperately, to squeeze every life-bit from the journey of child rearing and raising and loving.  not hold onto them tighter than they need to be held -- because that's no good either.  but hold them with a mother's arms which will hug them close to her heart and then show them the way out into the world. out into the world, but never, never far from her heart.  that's what i want.  i strive for it.  i fail and fall and start again each new day.  i apologize and agonize and, eventually, i realize it's never going to look perfect. i won't raise perfect kids and we won't ever be anything close to a perfect family.  their mama, as they know well, is so far from perfect. oh, so far.  but because of God's grace, we can know His perfect love and that will cover the countless, countless imperfections of parenting.

if you haven't read katrina kenison's, the gift of an ordinary day, i would encourage you to do so. it has been quite inspiring to me. here's a quick piece from her lovely writing:

“I know I can't make time slow down, can't hold our life as it is in a freeze frame or slow my children's inexorable journeys into adulthood and lives of their own. But I can celebrate those journeys by bearing witness to them, by paying attention, and, perhaps most of all, by carrying on with my own growth and becoming. Now it dawns on me that the only way I can figure out what I'm meant to be doing is to try to understand who I'm meant to be...I will not waste this life, not one hour, not one minute. I will not take for granted the blessing of our being here...I will give thanks...” 
― Katrina Kenison, The Gift of an Ordinary Day: A Mother's Memoir

so tall girl is now a couple of hours into her test. if you feel led this morning, would you pray for her?  because we know, more than anything, it's our prayers not our problem solving which make the difference.

and come 1 o'clock, i'll be at the curb waiting for her to walk out and climb back into my car.  at least for today.

it's a gift.

go look at the moon

every now and then we get a glimpse that it’s working.  i love that glimpse. truth be told, i even live a little for that glimpse.  i bet you do too.  so often it seems our words fall on deaf ears, our requests go unnoticed, our wishes ignored and that blessed, blessed back door seems always to be left wide open.  even in winter. 

i’m talking about kids.

i’m talking about how hard it is to parent when we don’t always see the progress.  i mean, maybe things are different for you.  maybe it all goes incredibly well at your house everyday.  your kids wake up with sunny smiles each morning and obediently drift off to sweet sleep each evening.  your toddlers don’t tantrum in the grocery store and your teenagers don’t test your patience.  perhaps your children make their beds without being told, put their dirty socks in the laundry and wipe their feet at the door.  heck, if that’s the case, i bet your children do their own laundry and wash your kitchen floors on friday afternoons -- just for fun.   i bet they cook healthy dinners for the family, eat all their vegetables and only drink milk.   i bet they never leave empty ice cream containers in the freezer, empty soda cans in the fridge or empty toilet paper rolls in the bathroom.  they probably don’t sass over the phone, roll their eyes at the dinner table or stomp off to school. they close doors quietly and they empty the dishwasher eagerly. because they love you.  i bet they read books to the baby and help little brother with his math facts when bored.  in fact,  i bet your kids are never bored.  

maybe it works this way in your home.

but that’s not my house.  

nope, not at all.

i mean, we do work hard on these things.  really we do.  it might not be obvious to the casual observer.  you’d have to come and hang out with us for a little bit to see.  if you do, plan to bring your running shoes.  but, truly, we address our issues -- all the time.  i tell myself daily, we are works in progress.  sometimes it seems we are seeing more work than progress, but that’s just the name of this parenting game.   and with five of them, it does seem i am always dealing with someone.  it is easy for a mother of many to feel much like a nag.  like the charlie brown teacher: “wanh, wanh, wanh,wuh-wahn, wahn...” i have seen that same blank look on the faces of my offspring in the middle of a lecture lesson.

do they hear me? 

are my words sinking in? 

God is so clear in His word, “train up a child in the way he should go;  even when he is old he will not depart from it.”  (proverbs 22:6).  and though i’m putting an awful lot of stock in this verse, please notice that no where in His words does He promise it to be easy.  nope, it takes work.  especially the day in and day out stuff --  the nitty gritty of that great training. it's downright daunting some days, isn't it?  heck, even mary and joseph struggled a bit in raising their perfect son, Jesus.  remember the whole losing Jesus at the temple fiasco?  they were on their way to nazareth before realizing he had gone missing. (we can, unfortunately, relate).  parenting is hard.  kids don’t come with instruction manuals and each one is completely different.  and just when we think we have a situation or a child finally figured out, they grow an inch and everything changes.   

blame it on the weariness of long winter.  blame it on the lack of vitamin D.  blame it on the addition of a new puppy.  blame it on whatever you want,  but we’ve had that kind of week: every one of us a little bit off.  everyone a little bit snippy, a little bit snappy, and sometimes, even snide.  the boys wrestling too hard, the girls fussing too much.  the mother not enough on her knees.

 “wanh, wanh, wanh,wuh-wahn, wahn...”

then there’s the stealing of stuff.  thieves!  we have five little thieves living snug under our roof.  sweaters, ballet flats, snow boots and laptops.  favorite pens, novels, headphones and the very last lovely square of dark chocolate.  you name it,  they take it.  lately it’s been my tweezers. yes, my tweezers.  they have been stolen from my bathroom so many times i have had to attach them to a chain.  well, okay, not exactly a chain, but a string.  a really thick string, mind you.  a woman's got to do what a woman's got to do! and it's not just my beauty products, my iphone charger has been stolen so often from the kitchen counter i finally had to write (in sharpie, because this is serious) “mom’s: leave in kitchen.”  notice i didn't even write "please"...we are well past politeness, folks.

i tell you, these are desperate measures for desperate times. 

and speaking of time, it is running out.  if i don’t hurry up and fix my kids, i will have five little thieves grow up to become five big thieves in no time flat. empty-container-leaving, dirty-feet-tracking, messy-room-making thieves! and oh, friends, i cannot bear the great burden of contributing quite so criminally to our society.

even now, as i furiously type this post, my oldest daughter and i are on an airplane headed to texas.  we are flying from the twin cities to dallas-fort worth to embark on the great college tour.  this is our first time visiting colleges for emily and it practically paralyzes me with fear.  how can this be?  how can we possibly be peering over the precipice of our last year with emily in our home?  there’s this part of me that wants her junior year to be endless. continuous. forever.  she drives.  she’s responsible.  independent.  motivated. for the most part, clean.  why or why do we have ruin it all just now and throw college in the mix? of course, i want her to go.  but things have just started to straighten out.  why must my oldest child, my leader of the sibling band, my capable eldest girl begin planning her exit. it has happened too soon.

not to mention she still has things to learn.  only last week did she admit she doesn’t really know how to bake all that well.  i kind of new that, but had brushed it aside, telling myself we had time.  well, guess what? we don’t.  we don’t have that much time left.  i'm feeling like perhaps we should turn this plane right around and head back to our kitchen for some cookie making lessons. 

on occasion, emily still leaves her room a mess, her socks on the floor and her dishes in the sink.  and without a doubt, she is the biggest thief of them all.  let’s just be really clear here, when this girl finally does go off to college i will have to check her bags before she leaves.  i’d bet good money she’ll at least try to take my tweezers.  string or no string.  

so, this crazy, chaotic mama feels time slipping fast between her fingers. we are 30,000 feet up in the sky and traveling at the speed of 500 miles per hour;  and this seems about the pace of my parenting these days.   each one of my kiddos moving on quickly to the next level...like some kind of fast, frenzied video game.  i want to push the pause button and stop this nonsense.  the controlling side of me wants to make a bucket list of all the things we still have to do, to address, to fix, to finish...

“slow down, jody!” i hear your collective yell, "she’s only a junior!"  you have months and months and months with her still at home.  lots of opportunity for lessons and life and lectures (when needed).  but i am on an airplane today flying toward texas at 500 miles per hour and this is how fast it feels these days. 

baking aside, have we covered the important things?

has she gotten what she needs?

has she heard what we've said?

i know i am not alone in my questions.  if you have or have had older children in your home, you know of what i write.  you've asked yourself the same things.  we spend a lot of time teaching our children how to fold their pajamas and tuck in their sheets.  we spend time instructing and modeling and correcting.  we've put every morsel of ourselves into rearing right kids.  we hug them hard and we hold them tight and then we begin to see the day approach when we will have to let them go...

and we fly 500 miles per hour to texas today. 

so, that glimpse i mentioned.  it might not really make sense in this post.  i had a different direction in mind when i began writing today.  but, as if often the case, this is where i ended up.  

that glimpse happened the other night while emily was on her way to volleyball.  she (after, i'm certain, safely pulling over and putting the car in park) texted me this message:  “go look at the moon!!”  that was it.  “go look at the moon!!”  two exclamation points, but still so simple.  some shred of eloquence in that quick text spoke softly and soothing to my mother’s heart.  “go look at the moon.”  i may not produce a daughter who can remember always to return borrowed shoes to my closet, but i have a girl who texts me, “go look at the moon.”  and somehow, that makes the stolen tweezers and the dirty socks and the missing sweaters all worth it.  

those “go look at the moon” moments are what we mothers long for ... listen for ... wait for ... wish for ...

“go look at the moon, mama....go look at the moon.”




her text buzzes in while i'm stirring potatoes at the stove. i read her words and my stirring stops. laying down spoon, i pick up my camera and, without even looking, i head outside in search of this moon. 

because, i know...

i love this photo... notice the two snowmobiles.  snowmobiling by moonlight.

okay, by the way, emily is looking at three colleges this visit:  baylor university, texas christian university and southern methodist university.  we'd welcome any feedback, opinions and letters of recommendation.  

p.s. we just drove through dallas...everything really IS bigger in texas!  

smack dab in the middle

she's a girl who makes snowflakes and then hangs them from her mama's bedroom ceiling, for no other reason than,  just because.  a girl who, while babysitting her little sister, got out scissors and paper and made beautiful snowflakes at the kitchen counter. a girl who then dragged the snowflakes, the step ladder, and the little sister upstairs so she could hang them from my (vaulted) ceiling and surprise me. this is my sarah. 


sarah is my middle child -- she is my smack dab in the middle girl.  she has both a brother and sister on either end of her--older and younger bookends.   i try to tell her it is a special place.  there aren't many kids who can boast this kind of brother-sister combination.  it just isn't all that common these days. 


i tell her she is the center point of perfect balance -- she rolls her almost teenage eyes at me and snorts.  i tell her she is the middle of the seesaw --- the balance, the bridge, the glue, the gap.  i remind her the middle is the best part, like an oreo or creamsicle or a canoli.  she is the halftime show, the intermission, the center court queen.  but i am not sure i have got this 11 year old girl quite convinced.  she has her own ideas about the birth order she was handed --the family placement she was put in. she says things to me like, "it's tough being in the middle -- you can get lost."  recently she was questioning her bedtime.  she couldn't understand why we put her to bed at the same time as the little ones.  she said she  thought we should "round up" and include her with the older kids when it came to things like bedtime and allowance.  she is smart, this daughter of mine.


my middle girl was born a mystery.  we knew the sex of the others before their arrival.  but she was the only one of the five we wished to keep a surprise.  i find that funny now.  actually, i find it absolutely perfect.  there is enough about this girl which still remains a mystery. 
i don't think she is at all a classic middle child.  i've read the descriptions and i can't say she fits smoothly into the categories. she is not a girl who easily fits into categories in general.  and i like that about her.  


but she certainly is a young lady who seems to always be in the middle of something.  doesn't much matter what the scenario, but my sarah has a spoon in the pot. she is a stirrer.  she has an opinion. an observation.  a comment. a question. she can't help herself.  she is in the thick of things --- sometimes a mediator and sometimes a meddler, but most always in the middle. 


let me just say though, there is absolutely nothing middle of the road about this girl.  she is an all in kind of kid.  she was the toddler who woke early each morning with a list of things rattling out of her as she came down the stairs. before a bite of breakfast was taken she was spouting outlandish ideas, fabulous schemes and devilish dreams for her day.  she'd string them together like a strand of colorful beads and this mama could hardly keep up -- make purple playdough, picnics and pinatas and ponies and homemade pizza!  she never hesitated to ask.  and she still doesn't.  there is no thought too big, no thing too large.  why not? is the phrase belonging to her. she owns it.  i can't say i've always embraced those words tumbling out of her.  why not?  she has asked over and over and over.  the parenting books told me, "because mommy said so" should be enough.  but, i can tell you, it never was for this one.  it still isn't.  she loves answers.  real ones. truthful ones. she doesn't settle for quick fixes or pat replies. the truth is, she just flat out doesn't settle.  but if she did, i probably wouldn't have snowflakes hanging from my bedroom ceiling this winter.

this hasn't always been kind to our mother-daughter relationship.  we butt heads on occasion.  two headstrong women we already are -- and she just barely into double digits.  but i know God will use this special wiring.  i am certain He will.  she is strong. she is determined.  we need more women and men who are willing to ask "why not?"  "why can't we?" "why wouldn't we?"  i mean right now, that kind of questioning isn't always easy to parent.  right now, she needs to learn and accept the boundaries and answers in our home.  that is her job as an obedient child.  her persistence and strength challenge me.  but as her mother i am doing my best to look down the road.  rick likes to say, "channel this girl for good." she's got that extra special spark...and it is a tricky business with a kid like this.  we have had to learn to discipline and shepherd her heart without extinguishing the spark of her spirit.  


maybe you have a child like this. my mother sure did -- me!  i can remember one summer at family bible camp my mom was done with me.  i mean it. d o n e.  we were sitting on a small hill having one of those tired mother and  touchy teenage daughter talks.  we had been having a hard few months, (perhaps a hard year) and she said, "jody, i hope someday you have a daughter just like you. you'll understand then."  i don't think she meant that in the most positive light.  i wasn't always easy.  i really wasn't.  all the things i just shared about my middle girl, well, i was  a lot like that too.  and i am pretty sure i wasn't half so sweet.  i don't fault my mom for that comment one bit.  it sounds like something i would say today.  and i understand it now.  i really do understand it, not perfectly, but better.


parenting our kids isn't easy.  first born. last born. middle born.  makes no difference--they all come with something.  each one special.  i have learned -- no, truthfully,  i am learning -- as the mother of five kids, i have five very different kids.  each one unique.  each one bringing something different to the dinner table.  each one needing something different from me. i know this best when i tuck them in at night.  they each have their own routine.  their own special words and worries.  sarah wants the most from me -- she knows there are four other siblings waiting, but, come nighttime, and she needs to connect with me.  she needs to know she is in the middle of my heart.   my middle girl is a reminder of the girl i was growing up -- the girl who was always restless for more, the girl who questioned everything, the girl who hated to settle.  the girl who was sometimes difficult for no apparent reason.  that girl, well, she's a mama now. and she's still a lot like this.  what's more,  as her own mother predicted, she has a daughter a lot like her.  a girl who hangs snowflakes from her mama's ceiling...just because.

behind and blessed

we clearly need help.  today clinched it.  it was just that kind of day -- a reminder of how unbelievably inept we are (i am).  from the moment the day started moving, i felt far behind. way behind.  while trying to get five kids out the door for school, i realized we were low on lunch fixings and completely out of milk.  

how can we possibly be out of milk?  

i run to the grocery store at least 17 times a week.  we should absolutely never be out of milk. years ago, my husband made a rule.a plan.a policy:  if ever we step foot in the grocery store we must pick up a gallon of milk. no matter what. no exceptions.  considering the amount of times my feet cross the threshold of our local market i should have a reserve of at least a dozen gallons in my garage fridge at all times.  but this morning, we were out of milk.  and waffles.  and the dog had eaten the bag of bagels the day prior.  that was the start of our day: no milk. no waffles. no bagels. and a potentially sick dog.


dropping my children at carpool, the 8 year old boy turned back to me, tears in his green eyes.  "please don't be late to pick me up today, mom."  he waivered, clutched the door handle, and then closed it quiet. i watched the sad slump of him join the stream of school children.  he threw one last look over his shoulder for emphasis causing a hard swallow deep in me.  i drove away in my pajamas and slippers and frizzy hair and thought, are you kidding me?  what have i done to cause this deep sense of insecurity in my boy so young? it's not like we ever left him at church after a christmas eve service...that was his older brother. we've hardly ever left this one.  by the time he came along we had older, more careful, children, helpful in their prompting to remember everyone.  we've hardly left or lost a child in recent years.  but i drove away low.  clutching my cold morning coffee as the youngest whined in the backseat for her lovey and juice.  we had left both on the counter at home in our hasty departure.  and she was left to stare out the window,  thirsty and lovey-less.


later that morning, the theme of "left behind" continued steady and strong. while sitting in a meeting, a text popped up on my phone:  "i left my lunch in dad's car."  this from the oldest girl.  almost 16 and in high school and my immediate thought, we'll that's just too bad sister...this one's your deal.  wow. i was somewhat surprised by the defensive thoughts which bubbled up to the surface of my sympathy.  i mean, i truly was sorry for her.  she faced a long day at school and a late practice and, remember, we had had very little breakfast available in our home that morning.  but there was nothing to be done.  i very rarely helicopter in and rescue my children. i am not much of a swooper. it not only goes against my grain, but it is not remotely possible with five of them.  my rescue helicopter is officially on overload these days. i texted her back, "so sorry honey." 


it was 1:30 and i made the preschool pick up on time.  i'd just like to note i was there with the sign in the car window and plenty of gas in my vehicle. (not always the case).  i had a smile for the teacher and the lovey and juice cup waiting for that thirsty preschooler.  all of a sudden,  i felt quite accomplished.  look how well i was doing.  the day seemed redeemed, i was back on my game.  an hour later we headed for the 3pm pick up.  remember the 8 year old's tears?  i was determined to be there not just on time, but early.  it took everything in me, but i made it.  he looked absolutely shocked to see his little sister and me standing curbside. gone were his mom's slippers and pjs and frizzy hair.  here was his mother, early and pretending easy efficiency. no biggie - i can do this.  be early, be on time, and occasionally wear heels and lipstick. how hard can it be?


the rest of the day didn't go quite so well. my facade fell apart when a neighbor, with a need, stopped by unexpectedly.  i ended up late getting middle girl from her volleyball practice at 5pm.  and strangely enough, rick was even later picking up oldest girl from her practice (that had nothing to do with me, by the way).   i won't go into the details...but there truly were good reasons and unavoidable situations.  it is just what happens in our home.  it is called life.  i am not looking for a way to excuse tardiness or justify the possible lack of planning, but is it not okay for our children to sometimes have to wait a little? i am thinking a little neglect is not particularly a bad thing for these well fed, well loved and well cared for children.  


we live in a culture which allows little girls to walk around wearing t-shirts advertising, it's all about me. we call it cute and yet wonder when our kids can't share or serve or wait for something.  what are we doing when we make our kids the absolute center?  don't get me wrong, i adore my children, but i also do not want them thinking anybody, including their mother, rotates around them.  this doesn't mean i don't take my motherhood seriously.  i consider it my highest calling.  i do.  but in our home, we are a team. we work together and help each other.  there are no superstars or MVPs.  (i think they all are pretty special). but everyone is expected to do his or her part. everyone is expected to help themselves and help each other. it is what we do.  and sometimes the team captain or coach or whatever you want to call me, needs help too.  she needs grace...needs a little extra wiggle room and somedays (like today), she needs a lot.

dinner was on the table by 7:30 that night.  children fed.  dishes done. homework completed.  three were tucked in and two continued late in their studying.  i headed for our porch and reflected on our left behind kind of day. somedays it seems my family of seven is all squished together on a hamster wheel, running and running and running.  i suppose we could get off.  move to the country.  take off our watches. turn in our phones. put our feet in a brook and our nose in a book.  homeschool and bake peach pies and grow something good. raise chickens and children. we could trade in the giant SUV for a tractor and pickup.  (don't tell my boys i wrote that).  i've thought about it.  i've dreamed about it. we've even talked about it.  is there a more idyllic or ideal way of life?  maybe.  i am pretty sure busy-ness and being late though can follow you to the country. i am positive it would follow me.  i am not sure that's the answer.  i am not sure there is an answer, except to embrace fully the crazies and give grace in the daily.  tomorrow is new, i think to myself. i'm not sure we'll do any better. but we'll try. we are busy and behind, but mostly, we are blessed.  and though i might forget to pick up the milk or a child here and there, i don't ever want to forget the blessing.