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You're on a roadtrip. You're headed to the beach. You have 10 hours start to finish and it seems like it is taking FOREVER. You stop a few times for bathroom breaks and lunch. The travelers are getting cranky. They JUST WANT TO GET THERE. When will we get there? How much longer? And then you realize. We are over halfway there. At 47 with 2 gnarly autoimmune diseases, I'm probably well over halfway there. I rushed the beginning. I looked so closely towards the end goal that I forgot to enjoy all the scenery I passed. Or did I? So I slow it way down.
As much as I can. I watch each inning of my youngest boy on the mound or at bat or hovering just off third like it's the bottom of the 9th in the World Series. I sit patiently before the curtain rises at every one of my middle boy's performances. I have no where else to be. I am his mom, and I am watching him shine. And I dance at my oldest son's wedding. I laugh. I smile. And I remember what it was like to be twenty years old and in love, the whole universe at my feet. I sip my coffee with my husband on the rare occasion we are enjoying breakfast together. I look out over my back deck at the spring leaves, the blooms of each flower, the squirrels scurrying, and the birds in flight. Slow down, Mr. Squirrel. Not so fast, Mrs. Bird. What's the hurry? You see I just left Mr. Jones or Mrs. Smith and they remind me each day that the end is not always easy. The end can be lonely, painful, or both. The end can be joyous and abundant, but we have no guarantees. So I slow it down. This line between my eyes on my forehead is from my Granddaddy Taylor. He earned his and so did I. I am reminded of him each time I look at it and I remember his favorite line: "aren't you glad you got to see me?" 🥰 If I cover it up, needle it away with miniscule doses of botulism, does that mean life never happened? The tears I cried and the belly laughs I bellowed - weren't those worth these lines on my face? And here we are, old friends. Me and my impatience. Me and my ambition. Me and my PLANS. What a farce. What irony. What next? The sun will rise and the sun will set. I choose to embrace these next decades with a little LESS energy and a little more PRESENCE. I'm showing up this time. I'm all in. I want to love hard and laugh often. Will you join me?
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We sold our van. A van I never wanted. A van I swore I would never drive (pre-kids that is). In preparation to complete the sale with its new owner, I searched every file, binder, drawer, and cabinet looking for the title. When did we buy this van? Oh yeah, 2012 when my middle son was 1 and his baby brother was 6 weeks from his debut. When did we pay it off? Oh yeah, late 2016 when I was diagnosed with an incurable autoimmune disease out of the blue. Where did I put this title??? I marched around the house the bulk of the day scouring every nook and cranny of file-space I have ever used. Since we once owned 3 houses, a fully operational lawn business, and we have 3 kids... there's a LOT of filing that goes on around here. Especially for 2 Gen-X parents who are a little more analog than digital. A few stressful hours later, the tag office informs us that Honda never even sent us the title. I'm not sure about all the details, but we should receive our updated title next week so that we can complete the sale. I'm sure we must have missed something on our end, but again: 3 kids, 3 houses, me being sick with a rare disease, and husband returning to the airline industry after selling his lawn business... we had a few things going on at that time in our lives. Back to the van, though. I noticed my body and my breathing as I was searching for that title. I was frustrated and self-loathing for a while figuring I must have misplaced this golden ticket we needed today (buyer was on his way to our house), but I was also something else. I was sad. A tiny little part of me didn't want to find the title. I was about to hand over the keys to a vehicle I never wanted that carried the life I always dreamed of... That van survived infant carriers and booster seats. My oldest son's middle school football era and me coaching my middle son in my beloved soccer. It got us home from the beach and the lake too many times to count. It started this crazy baseball journey that now rules our weekends. It took me to see loved ones that are no longer here. Today, in my search for that precious piece of paper, I found the boys' old school pictures, artwork, and growth charts. I found old debts we had long forgotten and remembered old arguments we have now outgrown. I thought of all the DVD's I rented from the Dollar General Redbox that literally saved my life (I owe a post to my "rides to the Redbox" for sure). I remembered each time one of the boys got carsick (sorry New Owners) and each time I filled that trunk with groceries. I remember being 30 and divorced and wanting to be a mother more than anything in this world. I remember spending holidays alone and thinking my ship had sailed. So I sit here typing these words to you, my friends. Let us not overlook what has brought us where we are today. The stops we have made. The wrong turns and the right ones. I am handing over the keys to an era of my life I could have never imagined. A life so full I could not hold it some days. Here's to velcro sneakers and sippy cups. Frozen on the DVD player and 3 boys in my backseat. Godspeed. Have you ever put yourself into timeout as an adult? Either your behavior was less than stellar or your attitude needed an adjustment? You were snapping at the kids for no reason, huffy with your spouse, or just spewing frustration with each breath? If you were your parent, you would have probably sent you to your room to cool off. I have learned to do that for myself. I even announce it. "Guys, mommy needs a time out. I will be back in 5 minutes. Please allow me those 5 minutes to myself." I hope this is modeling to my boys that even adults have meltdowns and need a moment. Let's talk about how to take an adult time-out and what to do during your adult time-out. How to take an adult time-out:
What an adult time-out may look like:
I was talking to a close friend the other day about the parenting we received as GenX kids. I was comparing it to the parenting I try to dole out and joked "man, I hope I'm not messing my kids up." We proceeded to have a lengthy conversation in which we semi-concluded that our generation is all in therapy because emotions were not allowed or acknowledged. We had to figure it out on our own while our kids' generation seems to start going to therapy in middle school. All or nothing? Where is the balance? This isn't funny and it isn't lost on me. At some point, I do just want my kids to be kids. On the other hand, I want them to learn how to process their emotions instead of shoving their feelings inside. If anyone knows the answer to this, let me know!!! 😜 In the end, I think we are all doing the best we can with the time, energy, and knowledge we have. Just remember... adults can take a time-out too. I highly encourage it. Godspeed. I love interacting with my readers. If you try taking a time-out, I would love to hear the results! For more of an inside look into my days, you can follow me on TikTok, Instagram, or Facebook. Please support my other hope*writers by reading their works using the prompt word PAUSE: Pause in His Presence by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/pause-in-his-presence/ Power of the Pause by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/power-of-the-pause/ Don’t Stress, Pause and Refresh Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://wordpress.com/post/reginamarcazzoskarka.com/147 When Hitting Pause is What We Need by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2023/02/01/letting-your-doing-and-being-collide/ The Pause that Creates by MelAnn https://lifesouvenirs.net/p/the-pause-that-creates Legos and Laundry. These have been in my living room and dining room for over 10 years now. Should legos be in the rooms where we eat or relax? Should laundry? I say - YES. I have wanted to be a mother since I can remember. I babysat most of the kids in my neighborhood. Back when 12-year-olds could safely keep a few toddlers without any cell phones to reach any adults. Back when toddlers were thrilled to have said 12-year-old-neighbor-girl to make them pretend-school-worksheets and teach them how to hopscotch. Those were the days. Back to the legos and the laundry, there are many days where "I can't wait until this house is in order and everything is in its place and nobody's dirty socks or underwear will be on the floor!". But now that I've had one successfully leave the nest, I don't catch myself wincing over the legos or the laundry as much. See I know those cleats will be gone one day. I know that clarinet practice I hear from upstairs will be a distant memory. I know the messy rooms and the slammed doors and the "WHATTTTT?" of a teenager (with the required eye roll) will soon be in my rearview. And sometimes it catches my breath. Because I know. I know I will go from discussions around algebra to conversations about mortgages. From little league to stadiums. From junior Broadway productions to a college stage, perhaps. It's the perhaps that gets me too. See they were little, hard to believe but true. No bigger than my short arms could nuzzle. And I rocked them every night. And I picked out their nursery furniture and their first backpack and their first set of beliefs in many ways. But they're growing up. And they're SO smart. They can think for themselves and they challenge me, too. Make my brain stretch. Make my heart explode. I didn't know it could feel so good and so awful at the same time. Good that they're becoming themselves and that they're happy. Awful that I can't protect them and keep them from getting bumped and bruised like we all did. Now when I hang up that uniform or listen to the show soundtrack for the 100th time, I just smile. I let the legos pile up. I keep the clean clothes folded in the basket on the dining room table. And I hold my breath just a few more years and soak in every minute that I can get with them. How many more loads of laundry will I get? I think any mother would agree there is never enough. Written by one sappy mom to anyone else who feels this. Written when my boys are 10, 12, and 20. Written when I'm sandwiched between launching children and caring for aging parents. Written when the world seems automated and conversations seem rare. Written with my own youth creeping toward my rearview, with a coffee mug in my hand, and a knowing heart swollen in my chest. Godspeed. I love planning. Lots and lots of planning. I wish I could say I have time to do all the planning I want to do, but let's be honest, I waste time with Netflix and TikTok instead. That's okay, though. Sometimes that "wasting time" is our mind, body, and spirit recovering from all the daily input and stressors. But every year around this time, I go full-speed PLANNING MODE to prep for a new year. I have found it both helpful and invigorating to plan for a new year with new opportunities. Fresh starts are endless, necessary, and exciting. Please enjoy my top 10 planning hacks:
To further understand what each one of these hacks entails, let's dig a little deeper:
I hope this content gives you ideas and energy towards the art of planning as it affects your life. Some of my best days were planned. Some were not. And that's okay. Listen to your body and follow its lead. Your body knows what plans feel good for you. Godspeed. ☀️ Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their work based on the prompt word PLAN: A New Plan, Again by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/a-new-plan-again/ A New Year Plan by Regina Marcazzo-Skarka https://reginamarcazzoskarka.com/2023/01/01/january-1-2023-a-new-year-plan/ Mom. Mama. Pinky. Jan. Janice. Dear. Sis. She will answer to any of these, but I believe "Pinky" is her favorite beckon. That's what her 3 grandsons call her. She didn't become a grandmother until she was 58 after believing it may not ever happen for her. Accounting. Bookkeeping. Payroll. Spreadsheets. Analysis. She has done that for work and now as a retired wife and home finance piddler, trying to spread retirement funds in all the right directions. She didn't finish her bachelor's degree until she was 48. That's perseverance and determination. And sacrifice. Don't think I didn't see you, Mom. Cook. Grocery shopper. Queen of the kitchen. Not only did she work, she cooked. She had homemade meals on the table for us every night (that we were home with all of our extracurriculars). And we ate together. At the table. With the TV off. You taught me to cook, Mom. No set lessons. Just daily presence. Daily consistency. I cook because of you, your mother, and your aunts. It dripped down into me, and I thank you. Culture. Music. Theatre. Movies. Travel. Books. I credit both Mom and Dad for this, but I think mom's love for the arts fueled my own. Mom wasn't a musician or an artist. She didn't write for fun like I do today. Children weren't always encouraged to pursue creativity in the 1950's and 1960's, so she made sure that we could do so. She is now sprinkling this love into my firstborn, and he knows it. They are magnets for one another, and I love to see their attraction. Thank you, Mom. Everybody deserves at least one magnet. Physical touch. Back scratches. Hands held. Hugs. Cuddles. Loving tenderness. I am a nurse because of you. I am realizing this more and more every day as I straddle launching children and aging parents. I learned to touch and care from you. One of my boys recently asked me "how did you know how to do that mom?" when he saw me soothing a baby and keeping her entertained. I learned it from you. I watched you and I received love from you. Thank you for giving me softness. I'm hard and sharp in so many ways. I need that cushion you have given me. Peace. Restraint. Calm. I've seen you mad, but only when necessary. Mostly I see restraint and thought. Intentional words and actions. Maturity. The tornado inside of me is calmed by your grounding, and for that I am forever grateful. I got my feistiness from your mother, and I see your sensibility in my youngest. Thank you for giving me a mirror of you in him. He will always remind me of you in his tenderness. Your childhood was very different from mine. But God knew I would need someone to talk to about families that may look different. My adulthood has been very different from yours. But God knew you might be able to heal some from witnessing adults making decisions that are really hard and living through plans that don't always work out. That's what I want to believe, Mom. That we have taught each other. Helped each other grow. You're my best friend, Mom. And I see you. I don't believe in perfect. I see YOU. And you see ME. All the cracks. And we still choose each other. Thank you for loving me through all of it. We are not done yet. And I can't wait for the rest. I don't know what your relationship is like with your mother. I don't know if your mom is alive or if she is already gone. I can't fix whatever may have happened with you and your mother. I can only share my truth and in this truth, I know that I am extremely lucky and blessed to have the mom I have and the relationship we have. Godspeed. Every year, we have a Cookie Decorating competition and an Ornament Decorating competition. The kids get super competitive and the husband and I simply enjoy all the time together as a family. We post pictures on Facebook and tally votes for the winners. In today's age of go-go-go and scroll-scroll-scroll, we cherish every minute of time together, unplugged, as a family. ❤️ Kids are out of school (or will be soon). "Mom, I'm bored." "Mom, I wanna do something fun." "Mom, let's do something for Christmas." If you've ever had a weekend or a school's-out-day full of hungry kids following you around the house telling you they're bored over and over again, I feel you!!! I have one out of the house and 2 still following me around on those days. This is a family tradition we created, in part, to fill some time and make some memories. Now it has become something we all love and look forward to every year. I keep acrylic paints on hand and I stock up on wooden ornaments at the after-Christmas sales for the next years' contest. Paint pens also come in handy and skinny Sharpies for those finer details. We usually post our ornaments on social media and allow friends and family to vote. I think we've had different prizes over the years, but mostly it's for bragging rights. Can you believe my then-9-year-old did the Frog all by himself? Rise and SHINE. Come rain or come SHINE. He took a SHINE to her. It's her GLOW UP. Bright, light, shimmery, polished. I don't know about you, but I am over all the SHINE. I want real. I want real conversations with real friends in real houses with real food. I want a real marriage with real connection and real love. I'm done with transactional. I want relational. I want physical touch and heart to heart dialogue. I don't want to talk about the weather or local gossip. I want to know what lights you up inside. What keeps you awake at night. I have been backwards and forwards, inside and outside the past few years. I think we all have with what the pandemic did to us. I don't want lip service. I want the truth. I will take that hard conversation over that placation any day. Is this shift in my mindset from midlife or from trauma or from growth? Am I bitter or intentional? Jaded or focused? I want to laugh too! I want to have fun! I want books and game nights and couch cuddles by the fire. I want to stay connected on social media and enrich my world with the vast resources available without feeling like dirt. Is it possible? Can I get on the Gram and laugh at the TikToks while still honoring my self-worth? I'm working on it. And what makes me so special to want all this? Or is this the way it was at one time before the SHINE? Does anyone even know? Even my elderly patients fall victim to hours on Facebook and subsequent feelings of loneliness and inadequacy. SHINE can be reserved for sports medals and awards shows, fancy nights out, and holiday decor. It has its place. It should be special and not everyday. Present over perfect. Real over fabulous. True over attractive. That's where you'll find me. Please support my fellow hope*writers by reading their work based on the prompt word SHINE.
It’s your time to shine! By Sharla Hallett www.sharlahallett.com/its-your-time-to-shine/ How To Overcome Adversity & Shine by Ashley Olivine https://ashleyolivine.com/overcome-adversity/ Shining Brightly in a Dark World by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/wp-admin/shining-brightly-in-a-dark-world/ Make this Advent Shine by Jessica Weaver http://rootedunrooted.com/blog/make-this-advent-shine photo credit: Naassom Azevedo I remember being 20 years old. Planning a wedding. Looking at houses like a 16 year old looks at cars. Aren’t we always looking for, searching for, planning for that next thing? After the wedding and the house came the baby fever a few years later. All the nursery furniture and books of baby names. Once the kids are born we start planning for school. Backpacks and school supplies. We spend the next decade or so driving everyone to everything and wondering when it will be our turn again. Even though these are the very dreams we prayed for and clung to for so long. Next we plan their launch. College visits or military recruiters. Sheets for twin beds and $10 dorm skillets. The excitement builds and then evaporates with one set of taillights or one giant aircraft in the distance. We wait. We wonder. We hear from them now on their terms and we count the weeks between visits. And we realize one Wednesday morning while we sip our coffee and type in the glow of the Christmas tree that now they’re us. Now THEY are 20 years old. We are no longer even a daily thought to them because they are planning that wedding and looking at that house with the very same vigor we did so many years ago. And they know everything just like we did. To that we just smile and think “so that’s why my parents never really said much and just watched it all unfold.” So what do we do now? See we have been to therapy and had all these intense life lessons since we were 20. We know so much. Alas we really know so little. We control so very little (only our own thoughts and actions). We could say now we are planning for grandchildren but we have also stopped all the cookie cutter “this comes next” because we have been on the very train that derailed those best laid plans. So I just revel in the warmth of my coffee mug in my hands. Stare at the lights on my tree. Remember the excitement of buying my very first house. Give thanks for the bumps and bruises I have endured. And look forward to making my Mammaw’s dressing from scratch tonight like she and my mother have done since the 1940’s. Mammaw was 20 years old. Mama was 20 years old. I was 20 years old. Thank you Lord for all the 20-year-olds, the hopes and dreams, the excitement of building a life. May we never forget that feeling. Godspeed. She’s walked through the fire and the storms while dancing in the rain … Her life has been difficult and filled with excruciating pain … She’s suffered many losses in such a short time yet she continues to believe that in the end… it will all be fine … With such strength and undeniable belief she tells me her healing will come in God’s time … It may not be here on earth but perhaps in heaven she will be pain free… Her words are heavy on my heart and somewhat difficult to grasp, for me… She’s my daughter, Keyera, and she suffers from sickle cell It’s a genetic disorder that we know all too well: Her story is a bit different than usual. She wasn’t properly diagnosed until the age of five. My husband and I worked different shifts so that one of us was always home with the kids. At 5, she started kindergarten and became ill after the weakened live intranasal flu vaccine was given. Initially, her pediatrician thought she had the flu in spite of the vaccination. She ran fever, she was fatigued, she had to be carried or she’d just sit in one spot. After 3 rounds of Rocephin (a strong antibiotic) injections and no improvement, her pediatrician, Dr. Allardice, admitted her to the hospital. She ran various tests. She asked about sickle cell, I told her that her cousin had it and my other daughter had the trait but as far as I knew, Keyera didn’t have the trait OR the disease. I was never notified by the health department or pediatrician’s office that I saw prior to Dr. Allardice. My daughter’s health was rapidly declining. In my heart, I felt her slowly drifting away. It seemed as though she had developed pneumonia. Treatment was started and I begged and cried for God not to take my baby away. When her test results came back, I was shocked and in disbelief. I had made sure Keyera had all of her immunizations and that she went to all of her well child visits. She had sickle cell anemia SS and it wasn’t pneumonia. She had acute chest syndrome. Sickle cells are shaped like a sickle so they don’t pass the veins and arteries like they should. Acute chest occurs when there is sickling in the pulmonary arteries and it can mimic pneumonia. Many patients with sickle cell have passed away due to acute chest, heart attack, or stroke. We were fortunate that she was admitted and diagnosed. Her situation was dire. She is now 22 years old. She’s had both hips replaced due to AVN (avascular necrosis - lack of blood supply to the bone) caused by sickle cell. She suffers from medical PTSD due to being in the hospital so often at an early age. She’s lost friends and in 2020, her cousin, Makayla, with sickle cell passed away. Her journey has been challenging and she’s often called resilient but truthfully, she is vulnerable and fragile at times. She just wasn’t given an easier course to take. She often gets upset when people tell her to be robust during a crisis. The thing about pain is that it demands to be felt, no matter how hard you try to ignore it. It makes its presence known. Unfortunately, there is not a universal cure for sickle cell anemia at this time. Not everyone can find a match or are a good candidate for bone marrow transplants. Due to my daughter’s health issues, it’s not an option. She has less than a 50% chance of surviving a transplant. My daughter depends on blood donors to have a decent quality of life. It requires 7-10 units of blood each month. If you want to be a hero and save lives, please donate blood. Before the monthly exchanges, she was in the hospital at least twice a month. She was miserable and asked God on several occasions to let her fall asleep and not wake up. She still has challenges but she is enjoying life and spreading awareness. When her cousin passed away and she got to say her farewell, she promised her with weeping eyes that she’d continue to fight and educate others. I encourage you to research sickle cell anemia. If you know or love someone with it, check in on them but remember though they may be resilient. They do get tired, though they seem strong, listen and support them when they say they’re exhausted or weak. When they say they hurt, believe them. Never tell them they don’t look sick, your intentions may be well meaning but not every illness is visible. My heart cries as my soul weeps for all the sickle cell warriors that continue to suffer or have lost the fight … Each day they try or tried to live the best life possible with all of their might … Simple things that we take for granted can be such a heavy burden or test … Their bodies tire easily and they must often take a break to simply rest …
My daughter has kept her promise to her cousin. She has done several informative interviews regarding sickle cell and continue to spread awareness. Giving blood is such a simple task but it has such a great impact on the quality of life for those that need it. It cannot be manufactured, please donate blood and help save lives. Blog host's note: I know La Keisha because she is a nurse. She does not mention being a nurse in this piece, but I feel I must. As a nurse, we take care of other mothers' children when our own children are sick at home. We minister to other daughters' aging parents when our own aging parents need us. We comfort other wives' husbands when our own husbands miss us and wish they had more time with us. So just imagine the toll this has taken on my friend, my sister, my fellow nurse. She wouldn't trade it. We nurses wouldn't trade it, our calling. But being a nurse and a mother to a sick child deserves space in this world. Godspeed.
Other ideas for rainy days with kids include:
Please check out the work of my fellow hope*writers: 10 Things I Learned While Waiting On God by Sharla Hallett https://sharlahallett.com/10-things-i-learned-while-waiting-on-god/ The Ten Lepers - A Lesson in Thankfulness by Lisa Granger https://lisamarcelina.net/the-ten-lepers---a-lesson-in-thankfulness/ Never Travel Without These Ten Things by Jessica Weaver www.rootedunrooted.com/blog/never-travel-without-these-ten-things 10 Ways to Turn Things Around by Ashley Olivine https://www.ashleyolivine.com/how-to-turn-things-around/ When Emotional or Mental Pain Is a 10 by Dianne Vielhuber https://simplewordsoffaith.com/2022/09/01/when-emotional-or-mental-pain-is-a-10/ Time Out Time Out I need to shout and push and pull and rip and tear but I can't do that, so I just sit here Time Out Time Out I need a time out I'm on the verge of eruption and I can't let it out because adults aren't allowed to throw tantrums or pout So what do adults do? We medicate or we shop We gossip or we party or we eat or we stop We stop what we are doing, we freeze, we lounge And rarely does anyone look up to notice we are down 😔 Because just like us, the ones that love us are just going through the motions They work, they spouse, they parent, but dare they notion?!? See adults, we aren't allowed to get loud or show passion We must color in the lines We must shape, form, and fashion Our lives and our minds and our hearts and our souls into everything They want from us into everything we were Sold Someone somewhere sold us a dream and we bought it, full stop That life would be perfect That the elusive shoe would never drop But it drops and it dropped and we watch it hit the floor So I beg of you, dear ones let's permit an Uproar Let us process our disappointment, our envy, and our fears Stop telling me I'm not allowed to be angry or shed tears I'm a woman, yes a woman, and you might hear me roar and I hope that doesn't push you away from my door because the rest of my house is full of love and joy and I'm getting too old to let you tell me to avoid all my truths, all my days that I've walked in these shoes so sit down on my couch, love... and appreciate these hues I'm the most beautiful colors - if you'll open your eyes Love is loud, love is mobile, can you handle my ride? To every other human
that is tired of sitting on their hands, I see you. If you are a mother, you know the feeling. You're at work instead of field day. You're at one child's band performance while the other child has an academic bowl meet. You missed that baseball practice out of sheer exhaustion and that's the one where he hit it over the fence. "Mom, can you pick me up car rider? Can you check me out early like all my friends? When are you going to be off work again? Mom, why are you on your laptop so much? Mom, are you listening?" Some of those innocent but real questions can cut me like a knife, leaving me gutted and riddled with GUILT. Mom Guilt. It's a thing. And I think we should talk about it. AND we certainly do not help ourselves as a gender or a community. Not only do our KIDS make us feel guilty, our fellow moms can inadvertently or purposefully trigger shame and guilt at any given moment. Pam made homemade Christmas cookies for the entire class while we can barely pack lunches each day. Trisha made Halloween goodie bags with a punny handmade tag using her Cricut. Allison sewed personalized pencil pouches for the entire third grade while we are struggling to sign each kid's agenda every night. Then there's social media. Be sure to only buy non-GMO Organic foods. Is your car seat in the top 3 for safety? How often is your child brushing their teeth? Gluten is the devil. ADHD is real - oh wait, no it's not - you're just a lazy parent. Discipline your kids. Don't discipline them, let them find their own way. All babies should cry it out. Babies who cry it out have attachment issues and end up in therapy before age 30. Limit that screen time. Make sure they play outside, but you must watch them outside AND still get all your paid-work done and maintain a spotless house with home-cooked meals. Cloth diapers. Breastfeeding. Well, if you work then store-bought baby food might be okay- but only if you work now. And don't forget to recycle. Make it stop. When my boys were 2, 4, and 12, I walked into my CEO's office and said "I quit. Other women are raising my children and I quit." I didn't have another job lined up. Fortunately, I had some savings, but that was mainly because I was working SO HARD and barely had my head above water that I never had time to shop or vacation (ie spend money). I was justifying myself to a man (my CEO) whose wife did not work and I "knew" he was coming home to beautifully home-cooked meals, a clean house, freshly washed and ironed clothes, and a wife who probably still had energy for sex instead of one who was collapsing into bed every night. OR SO I THOUGHT. He kindly and calmly asked me to take a deep breath, sit down, and reconsider. What about part time or PRN (the medical term for as needed)? Did I want to lose my 6-7 years of tenure with the company? Did I always want to stay home or did I just need a break? Did I still enjoy being a nurse practitioner? The truth was, I did not know the answers to his questions. I had ZERO plans, which goes against my basic core (search "plan" on this blog and you'll quickly see I plan everything). I had not asked myself if I enjoyed my work because I barely knew what day it was. I felt pulled in every direction by every person in my life and I was dreaming of ways to "get off the treadmill." My husband's lawn business was booming, and I was quickly running out of bandwidth to help him with that as well as my other demands at home and work. I felt like I was choking, but I wasn't sure WHAT was choking me the most. I just knew in my SOUL that I had to make a change. I prayed about it. I took a few days to write it all out - not my feelings - I had not found a therapist yet. 👀 Who had time for therapy? BUT, I did somehow remember some of my high school and college skills for decision making and scribbled down ALL the reasons that quitting my job would make me happier overnight. In the end, I heeded my younger-than-me CEO's advice and worked PRN the first year and part-time the second year before returning full-time when my youngest started pre-K. Since I am not independently wealthy, I did eventually have to bring home some more bacon. So, then what happened? Was my life immediately better once I was home more? Did the MOM GUILT end over night? Was I making beautifully home-cooked meals, providing freshly washed and ironed clothes, maintaining a perfectly clean house, and bursting with energy for sex every night since I no longer "worked" every day? Turns out, the joke was on me. Not really a joke though my friends. It's the truth. My 4 year old was in Pre-K, but my 2 year old was suddenly out of daycare. My 12 year old was in honors classes in middle school and I found myself juggling potty training, phonics, and puberty. 3 P's that should never go together. 😜 I was waking almost as early as I had been when I commuted to my demanding NP job. I was feeding kids, washing clothes, and picking up toys all day it seemed. I was helping with homework instead of paying my babysitter to do that. I was making brownies for the PTO instead of money for retirement. I was just as tired, but it was more of a physical tired than a mental exhaustion. I was able to go to the gym regularly, and THAT was amazing. Our gym had childcare, so I would tell the boys if they wanted a "nice mommy and not a mean mommy" then we would be going to the gym, thank you very much. I DID have more downtime. I laughed regularly. For the first time in YEARS. I WAS able to take and pickup my kids from school. I had never before and never since had that luxury. The pure joy of seeing my boys' faces when I picked them up each day was worth the frequent melt-downs when I had to wake the 2 year old to go pick up the 4 year old. (How do we do these things and no one discusses it?) I learned lyrics to Disney movies instead of new treatment guidelines for diabetes. I never took the kids to school in my pajamas, but I suddenly realized why so many women did. I dropped ALL judgment of other mothers, because I was IN THE TRENCHES. I missed adult conversation. I missed feeling important- there - I said it. I lost my temper, and I raised my voice on occasion. Sadly... and this really does make me sad... I simply had not been around my babies enough HOURS of the day to really, really lose my patience with them. Not until I was home. Cutting coupons. Cutting Play-doh with tiny plastic scissors. And realizing that THIS was the real work. THIS was the important work. And so I sit here tonight with tears in my eyes.
One launched and doing well. One in middle school with puberty and insecurity competing for his time. One who still lets me hug him in front of his friends. And I don't know much more than I did 8 years ago when I walked in my boss's office overwhelmed and undone. I'm still in awe of and in love with those 3 beautiful minds and faces that call me Mom. But guilt? Will I wallow in guilt when I reflect over my presence in their lives? Maybe on a bad day. Maybe for a minute or two when I have a "mom fail." BUT I BEG OF YOU. OF ALL OF US. TO MAKE IT STOP. WE ARE WARRIORS IN OUR OWN RIGHT. WE KISS THE BOO-BOOS AND SCARE AWAY THE MONSTERS. WE QUIZ THE SIGHT WORDS AND TIE THE LACES. WE FEED THEM SOMETHING SEVERAL TIMES A DAY, AND WE ENSURE THEY ARE CLOTHED. WE ARE DOING THE BEST WE CAN. WE ARE FLAWED BUT PHENOMENAL. WE ARE IMPERFECT BUT IRREPLACEABLE. WE ARE MOTHERS. LET US UNITE AND HOLD SPACE FOR ONE ANOTHER. Godspeed. Monthly meal planning has taken me YEARS to develop. One thing to note is that there are 3 adults rotating the cooking in my family. My parents live 2 doors down from us and we decided many years ago that it was easier to feed 7 than 2 (for them) and that mom didn't mind cooking for 7 twice a week if it meant she and dad would be fed by us several nights per week. Some weeks that looks different. Since my husband and I both commute about an hour each way to our jobs, and he works night shift, my mom may have to cook 3 times some weeks. Kids' sports and school activities can also affect our cooking rotation. Let's look at monthly meal planning with a few good tips or rules to get you started:
Now let's look at each question in more detail:
Pro tip: track what you are currently eating for a week or two as you are mentally preparing yourself to begin this process. Just like "getting on a budget" - it is extremely helpful to see what you are currently eating as a family. If you are eating out 5 out of 7 nights, it is unfair to expect you will start cooking 5 out of 7 nights immediately. That is a recipe for disaster! Pun intended! Maybe try cooking 3 nights at first. START SMALL! Good luck and just remember: it doesn't have to be fancy, it just has to be planned. Photo Credit: Annie Spratt I was eager and he was young I was ready but he was numb I was happy and he was still I was hopeful but he was nil We had some laughs We had some smiles I read to him at night Does he remember those times? Then I had his brothers and he backed away or did I hedge him out? who could truly say? Come to me sweet boy not you, I mean him I mean all 3 of you silly I mean all of 3 of them It's different they all say he's not your blood Is it different? Aren't they all different? It's clouded. It's mud. I'm stuck and he's stuck. He looks and I look. We smile and they smile. I ache and he aches. We give and we take and sometimes it all breaks. His daddy can't get it. How could he? It's pointless. But I have to get it. And do it. And "go on, sis" Keep going. Keep numbing. I didn't know it. He didn't know it. We didn't know it but we did it and here we are and we are in it. So I look at him, a product as much of me as his dad. And I don't know what to do with it. I have these other 2 on my tab. The deductions, subtractions, additions?, conditions? It's all hard and whoever says that it isn't just ISN'T telling the truth dear. See I try to be real. He's "not mine" but I'm his and we're each other's and how does that feel? Would I change it? Some days I would. In a heartbeat. Not a second thought. But does he need me and do I need him and are we better because we came together when we were both broken and wounded and bleeding and cold Now we're mending and warmer and dare I say, a little old. Was it easy? It's been the hardest thing I've ever done. It can push 2 lovers apart quicker than any weapon, any gun, any bullet to the heart that's how some moments felt I have wept, I have wailed, I have screamed, I have knelt But one day his daddy may find out what it took to hold it ALL together and to remain unshook in the quake of dysfunction and abandonment and grief of a sweet little boy looking helplessly at me. She didn't stay, sweet baby, and I'm so sorry. I can't explain it. But I'm here and I'm not leaving, and I promise - I wouldn't change it. To every little boy or every little girl who had a mama or a daddy step up outside of the DNA lines. This is to you dear ones and to the strong adults who have rearranged their hearts and lives for you. We wouldn't change it. My story is different than most step-moms. Almost seven when I met him he already had a mom. So I did what thought a step-mom would do. I had no child of my own. Lord knows I did not have a clue how to parent this sweet boy who slept down the hall every other week for a week. Thus we stumbled; there were falls. Those early years of homework and karate class. Parent-teacher conferences where I was often asked if I was his mom, since I was the only one who seemed tuned in who emailed and would come to all his events, I was all in. Meanwhile I had my babies 20 months apart, back to back. Boys upon boys, our schedules were packed. Those years of one on the hip and one in the belly and one hitting puberty. I wish THIS wiser me could tell THAT younger me that it would all work out one way or another; but his daddy and I we fought over and over. I saw coddling. He saw support. I saw side-taking. He saw retort. Step-son soon lived with us full-time and that was that. I was really his mom. She stopped putting on the act. So I again tried to treat all 3 the same "we have rules in this house" "If you did it, take the blame." But Daddy (to me) just couldn't allow his oldest who had been hurt to be kept in tow. Maybe by him, but never by me. Maybe on a Tuesday, but never consistently. So the marital battle of blended families began. It wasn't "yours, mine, and ours" it was "Me & The Little Two versus Them." And it divided us, collided us, excised us from the family that I had prayed for and dreamed of and waited for... But I didn't know how to fix it, The divide between the 5 of us. I was "always too hard on him," I needed to "chill out and stop caring so much." This passionate mama doesn't know how to do that. I see my children and I want them to try and to do their best. Thus the battle continued. There were wounds. There were scars. Being a full-time step-parent has left its mark. On our marriage. On my spirit. On my step-son, I'm sure. The war still continues as we are almost 2 years in to him being an adult and out of the house. I have certain expectations. I require a text or call now and then. I wish I could tell you it's easy or fun. Maybe for some folks it is, but not for us. Trying to glue us back together has been the hardest thing I have EVER done. But we keep on trying Keep on fighting Is it Fighting or is it Trying? The world keeps spinning The time keeps ticking The years seem shorter The road can seem colder... but sometimes on a Saturday when I watch my children smile and play, I remember that it's worth it and HE is worth it and WE are worth it. I sigh and sleep the hurt away. So if you love someone you didn't make You see their soul, and you feel their ache, Remember that they know the truth And love is really all they need from you. Keep loving. Love heals. If you love someone you didn't make, I see you. You are seen. And you matter. I have a beefy cardiology post that was supposed to drop today, but I don't wanna. I've started it, and it's important, but it's way too serious after coming off a glorious restful vacation. Instead, I thought I would share all the random thoughts that have been filling up and overflowing from my overworked brain. Maybe you can relate. Maybe not. Either way, you might find these entertaining.
Anywho, it's Saturday- the sun in shining - and if you're exhausted parenting toddlers right now, just enjoy the Duplos and Play-Doh. Starbucks and Xbox await! Entitlement and minimal communication are just chillin' - they'll come soon enough! Godspeed moms and dads. How did our parents survive us? 🥰 If you are new to my page or new to baseball in general, please read my 15 THINGS I WISH I KNEW AS A FIRST-TIME BASEBALL MOM. After writing that lengthy post, I decided to give my travel baseball tips separately since recreational baseball and travel baseball really are two different animals. My top 10 Travel Baseball Tips for New Travel Baseball Moms:
Let's break down each one of these tips into more detail:
I hope you found this post helpful. We are entering our third season of travel ball, and I am still learning all the ins and outs. One other tip I did not mention is to never burn bridges. You never know when your player may play with a former teammate or coach again, and keeping options open for your child will always be in his best interest. Baseball really is like family. We all have a crazy Uncle Larry (sorry to any Larrys out there), but we still love Uncle Larry if he has the team's and the players' best interests at heart. ❤️ *** Disclaimer: I did not mention the First Aid Kit that I have stocked and loaded since I'm the team nurse / NP. I may do an entire post on it since I have tweaked those supplies MANY times during our 11-12 seasons of baseball now! Some of the other basics like sunscreen, sunglasses, chairs, tents, blankets, umbrellas, etc are all covered in my original post "15 beginner baseball mom must-knows" linked below. I didn't know it was going to happen. He was four and grinning and hit a whopper to the grassy outfield off the tee. The crowd cheered, we took pictures, and we loaded up with Paw Patrol on the van DVD player. I didn't know he was going to ask to play every season. I didn't know he was going to grip a baseball expertly in his hand and deliver it with such speed and accuracy off the mound past the anxious batters from the other team. I didn't know I would be washing uniforms at 10 pm just to put them on him again at 6 am the next day. I never knew I would love the crisp air, smell of grass and burgers, muddy cleats, and sweaty jerseys like I do. I never knew my heart could swell and shatter all within one inning. I didn't know it was going to happen. But it did. Here are 15 things I wish I had known as a first-time baseball mom:
I think we should dig into each one of these for further understanding:
I hope you found this post helpful. I remember being a first-time baseball mom and I had so many questions and not many answers. I never really thought to look online for those answers, but I have reached out to my veteran softball and baseball mom friends for advice and tips over the years. Baseball really is a culture, a family, a lifestyle in many ways. Your child will learn invaluable life lessons both on and off the field. Hopefully, you will too. ⚾️ Godspeed. Okay, this post might get a little confusing so bear with me. I would call it a fable, but fables involve animals or forces of nature according to Wikipedia. I would call it a parable, but I am not Jesus. So it's just a story. A True Story. As I was cooking tonight, I was actually following a recipe - which is something I very rarely do. Wouldn’t you know it? I totally screwed the recipe up. I had scrolled the internet late last night before the midnight cutoff for my click list and somehow combined two different chicken casserole recipes into one in my tired mom brain. Since I do cook on a regular basis, I tried to assemble the casserole from memory. That was where things went wrong. Long story short, the casserole was delicious and my family asked me to write it down so we can have it again. Then my writer brain kicked in, and I started to think of my friends who loathe cooking and would rather swallow nails than be stuck in a kitchen near a stove. I have always wondered if these friends (male or female) grew up in a house where meals were cooked on a regular basis. I have an inside scoop on meals in a wide variety of households because I am the primary care provider for around 2000 patients. I have families who eat out three meals per day seven days per week. How they afford a roof over their head, gas in their car, or clothes on their body is beyond me LOL. The folks in my house like to eat. Since I analyze everything, after this chicken casserole disaster-turned-deliciousness, I started to think about the non-cooks that I know.
Anyway, aside from all that, I started to think about the actual skills I have acquired from cooking on a regular basis. I rarely have to measure things unless it’s a new recipe. I really don’t even look at recipes. I’ve always been able to just make something up and it works. But I do give credit to my parents who always cooked and included me in the cooking. As a latchkey kid in the 1980s and 1990s, mom would leave directions for supper on an index card by the stove.
This helped me learn what side dishes pair with which main courses and how to time meals so that everything was ready at one time. If you hate to cook you’ve probably stopped reading by now, but bear with me- I do have a point. If you like to cook, I’m sure you’re reminiscing about your early cooking endeavors as a teen or early 20s and remembering the disasters and burned meals. We have all had them. Now back to my point. I think cooking is a lot like parenting. Some people have cooks in their homes and learn how to cook because they are included in the cooking and it comes naturally to them. Likewise, some children have really good parents in their homes and learn how to parent because they see good parenting every day. When they become parents, they are able to mirror a lot of what they saw as children. What about all the little girls and little boys that don’t see good parenting? Do they grow up to hate being a parent? Is parenting more difficult for them? Some of my non-cooking friends have told me that cooking is difficult for them. Are there any parallels? I am not saying good parents cook. Being a good parent has absolutely nothing to do with cooking. I am just wondering if my patients that seem to be checked out on parenting had poor examples of parents from which to learn. I know, I know. Deep, random thoughts on a rainy Sunday night. But I think of the little girls and the little boys who are now big girls and big boys. I see them struggling because they come to me. They open up about their struggles. And I feel them. I see their efforts and witness their frustrations. Most of them are really trying, but they feel defeated from the jump. I am not going to get overly cheesy here about a cookbook or a parenting book. Life is much harder than anything you could ever read in either of those books. I just want you to know that some of us got a “recipe” given to us while others did not. Some of us received love, attention, and praise while others did not. Let us be kind to one another and forgo the judgment. “Food” comes from many places. Let us feed each other well. ☀️ Godspeed.
I recently finished The Four Winds by Kristin Hannah. As I listen to books on my commute, I often pause the recording when I hear a lovely or heart-wrenching quote and voice text it into my iPhone notes. With The Four Winds, I captured 11 quotes. One that has settled into me is this:
"You're wearing your worried face"
said the daughter to her mother. "It's my love face" said the mother to her daughter.
*** I chose mother and daughter instead of character names for context
As I reflect upon ALL THE THINGS (#overanalyzersunite), I cannot get those words out of my head. I am embarrassed (or not?) to tell you the number of times one of my 3 boys has asked "are you okay mom? Your face looks funny like you're mad at me or worried." All the while, I'm thinking "I am cooking supper, I have just folded a million tiny boxer briefs, I signed your agenda, AND I am making a conscious effort to smile ever so slightly." I realize as I pass the hall mirror that my forced smile is only on the bottom half of my face and that the top half is riddled with the heavy and the unknown that I am carrying that day. In my previous post on motherhood, I mention that I sing my children awake. It is quirky and I don't know how it started, but it is ritual in this house. If ever a morning passes without music in the house, the boys know "mommy ain't right." (sidebar: the writer in me abhors "ain't" while the Kentucky in me knows it infers just another level of wrong that the word "not" misses). Laugh if you agree. As my boys get older, and as my therapy bill reaches the thousands of dollars, I am learning that pretending everything is okay:
With boys ages 19, 11, and 9, my Worried / Love Face has rested above my shoulders on so many different days and in so many different ways.
So what next? Is there a moral to this story? I think of my own Mama and both my grandmothers. I remember seeing their Worried / Love faces too and not knowing what they meant. I remember telling both grandmothers goodbye when they BOTH knew they were dying from lung cancer, one as a spitfire 60 year old and the other as a content great-grandmother in her 80s. Even if you are not a mother as you read these words, you have or had a mother. She may be a great mother, or she may be one of the worst. She may not be here to show you her Worried / Love face anymore, and for that my heart aches for you.
I will leave you with this. Another The Four Winds quote.
"Believe me Elsa, this little girl (or boy) will love you as no one ever has and make you crazy and try your soul. Often. And all at the same time." You either have a little girl or boy or you were a little girl or boy. If you have seen any parent figure's Worried Face, then just KNOW that you are or were or will always be LOVED beyond measure and without end. My pledge going forward is to tell my boys as much truth as they can handle at that moment about my Worried Face so that they will KNOW that it really just means that I love them. Forever and Always. Godspeed. I have been waking up before 5 AM consistently for 11 years. It started with necessity, nursing my child before work, but it continued for several reasons. When my firstborn was an infant, my stepson was eight. This meant I had to be stealthfully quiet as I woke the baby, fed him, spent some time with him, and then passed him to his daddy while I showered and dressed for work. It was a time before AirPods, and before I had discovered podcasts or Audible. Facebook was barely a thing. And phones in general were just not attached to everyone’s hands like they are today. It was in these near silent moments without technology, with only a cuddly warm baby in my lap, that I discovered the true meaning of quiet contentment. Just me, rocking my baby boy guided only by the white noise sound machine and gentle soft lighting. I wasn’t scrolling. I wasn’t comparing. I wasn’t wishing, nor was I regretting. There was no self-loathing. My job had not even adopted an electronic medical record yet, so working from home was not possible. I wasn’t paying bills from a little icon on my phone. I didn’t have 400 emails in my inbox, or at least I didn’t know that I had them. Just quiet. Just peaceful. Just two humans bound by DNA and love and touch and time. Fast forward to 2021 and that baby is in sixth grade. My stepson has left the nest and is thriving, and my youngest son is in fourth grade. My alarm still goes off at 4:30 AM, but I am alone. Yes, the house is still quiet like it was back then. The lights are still low. But things have changed. There is a technological miracle that fits in the palm of my hand now. It is full of red dots that quicken my pulse. There is a slick, silver, almost paper-thin computer that is full of lab results and refill requests and exam notes to finish. Now I know that I have 400 emails in my inbox. There are all these little icons in my hand that tell me I’m not good enough when I open them. There are ads everywhere that seem to call my digital wallet’s name. What happened to those early morning quiet moments? My eyes fill with tears as I type this. Yes, most mornings I participate in healthy self care such as prayer, Journaling, or mindfulness... but let’s be honest. If I choose to pick up this Fair-weather friend that follows me everywhere, I disappear. Those quiet peaceful moments disappear. I am not touching anyone. I am not gazing at someone I love and enjoying that feeling of togetherness and connection. This quiet house? Well it’s telling me it needs to be dusted and decorated. Those sleeping children? They need agendas signed and class party treats sent in and uniforms washed and clarinet reeds ordered. My husband may or may not be at work, but if he is did I reach out to him? And if he’s home, did I reach out to him? Oh wait- there goes my timer. Time to hop in the shower, put the bacon in the oven, get those boys up and moving. There goes my heart rate rising with each deadline and inbox item that crosses my mind. Oh, yes, I’m productive. I’m organized. Just ask all my friends and family. But is that the legacy I want to leave? ‘ She is so efficient. She can get it all done. Tears in my eyes again, geez. I would rather be known as Amy that helped me. Amy that loved me. Amy that made me feel important. Amy that I could count on. But most of all, Amy that I knew inside and out- between the lines and in the trenches. You see, getting it all done can be quite lonely. Have I been so busy getting it all done that I forgot to connect? Constantly looking at this lit up master that fits in my hand honestly makes me feel like crap. Yes- there are laughs and good reads hopefully like this one. There’s my longtime friend’s child or grandchild. The books and music and podcasts usually add instead of subtract. But all those red dots? I hate them. They steal little tiny pieces of me and I can’t really explain it. My children won’t know a world without the red dots, and that makes me sad. So here I am, on a rainy Wednesday morning, now voice-texting into this devilish device to create this message. I think it is a message for myself more than anything. Gosh these stupid tears. What is going on? I need to rewind. I need to go back. Back to the quiet simple peaceful mornings. I need to let go. I need to reach out even more than I need to let go. Who is with me? A fantastic human I call my friend gifted me with this poem this week. She didn't write it, but she knew I needed it. And now, I gift it to you. ☀️ safire-rose.com/books-and-media/poetry/she-let-go |