Tag: Being a Mom is Hard

The Cinderella Mom

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Hey, Mom. I see you, up late.

The kids are in bed, the husband is snoring, and the place is all yours: it’s go time on mom time.

The time has come for you to be who you were long before the kids were there – the writer, the reader, the artist, the seamstress. We spend our days as servants, ragged, worn. But when night falls and the clock strikes, our transformation takes place. Bippity, boppity, boo! The responsibilities of the day and the plans for tomorrow fall away, and for just the slightest of time we’re alone to be us, to follow our dreams, to play among our passions.

Not every night. Some nights all we can manage is a little Pinterest, maybe some Netflix. Some nights end in tears, some end in guilt over how you wish the day had gone, some end on the couch before you mean them to. Heck, some nights don’t seem to end at all because the kids keep coming out of their rooms and asking questions and wanting more water and complaining and tattling and remembering details about a YouTube video from 7 months ago and being the thirstiest person to EVER LIVE. But some nights are magical. Some nights the stars align, the alarm doesn’t taunt you, and the silence is golden. You don’t have a pumpkin carriage, but you have a couch, a desk, a favorite chair, or even just the whole living room floor awaiting you, ready to take you where you’ve been itching to go. There isn’t much time – there never is – but what you have is the stuff of fairy tales, the stuff that holds you over, energizes you, reminds you that you are more than Mom, that you can do more than laundry and shuttling and meal prepping and breaking up fights. You can produce more than milk and fruit snacks. Maybe you work magic with a pair of needles, maybe you paint, maybe you read… maybe you rest. Whatever it is that you do, it is of the utmost importance that you keep doing it.

Whatever it is that you miss about the time before becoming a mom, do that. Did you meet friends for movies? Do that. Did you write short stories? Do that.  Did you sculpt, garden, give yourself pedicures? Do those things. There may never be time to do them every night, or even every week. But there may also be no other time than the magical midnight hour to do them at all. You cannot afford to invest all of yourself into motherhood. You will never see a return on it if you do. Huge parts of you, yes. More than you knew you could give, sure. But you cannot give every part of yourself to raising your children or you will have nothing left when you’re done. And you will be done, at some point. Not tonight, obviously, but someday.

Beyond what is left of you then, the world needs what’s inside of you NOW. You, your perspective, your gifts, your words… they don’t just disappear once you become a mother. You still matter. You have not become a bookmark in someone else’s story, holding the place and marking pauses. Your name may have been changed to Mom, but who you are was not modified, what you are capable of remains.

There’s a quote that makes the rounds, I see it about once a week and the person accredited to it changes as frequently. It says, “Children are not a distraction from the more important work. They are the most important work.” I don’t know that a quote has ever filled me with so many conflicting feelings at once. Yes, this privilege we have in child rearing is great. The weight of our decisions hangs heavily over us every night, the words we speak, the job we do, can ripple outwards who knows how far. We get one shot at raising these people, and it’s a really big deal. But we also only get one shot at being us, and we have more to offer and are more impactful that motherhood alone. Do not misunderstand me, I’m not discounting motherhood and all its glories. I’m saying we’re mighty moms BECAUSE that’s not all there is to us. We were not given talents and gifts and callings and likes and preferences simply to let them waste away once we started changing diapers. You are made up of so much more than mom genes. You have ideas, passions, abilities, and the world needs them. You need to exercise them. And, just as important, your children need to see them. What better way to raise strong young women than to show them what all a woman is capable of? What better way to raise appreciative young men than to show them all the facets of you? Let your kids be in awe of you. Let them see you create, let them know what’s important to you. They see every day how human you are, so give them a glimpse of how superhuman you can be. My kids’ mom takes photographs that hang in peoples’ homes. They sit on chairs their mom painted and sometimes even wear clothes she made (though just washing the store-bought stuff is equally miraculous most days). Show them the stories you wrote that impacted people they’ve never met. Make sure they know about the baby blankets you made that will become heirlooms, or the recipes you shared that feed countless families. Tell them about the job you work at, the kids you teach, the patients you help, the companies you help run, the services you provide. Let them see the stack of books you’ve devoured, show them your art, your hobbies, your contributions, your gifts. Show them YOU.

In my experience, kids don’t appreciate the meals or the cleaning or the folding or the pick up line. They expect it, it becomes mundane. It can do the same to us. And it’s hard, pulling yourself up out of the mundane, the rut. It can be difficult to feel inspired when you’re surrounded by the same mess and chaos and laundry piles that you were in all day. But just wait. Wait for the clock to strike and allow the magic to work. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to work all day, to feel the press and the rush to get home and get everything done for the day, then everything prepped for the next, in a span of a few hours. The temptation to fall fast asleep and rest your brain must be overwhelming most nights. But sometimes, just sometimes, don’t give in. Stay up and do something for you. Transform. Be YOU. Not the employee, not the mom, but YOU. The unique you who existed long before the babies and the meetings and the appointments. Allow yourself to indulge in what brings you joy and dare to feel no guilt for it.

I admit to losing myself when I first became a mother. I won’t go into too much detail now, mostly because I’ve already gone on for so long, but also because I’m saving it for another blog, wink wink. But whatever the details, I was lost. Me, Jen, the goofy, movie-quoting, fashion-magazine-devouring, creative person had become a shell, a robot, someone only capable of carrying out tasks necessary for my baby. I didn’t recognize it at first. I didn’t know I wasn’t fulfilled, and if I had, I wouldn’t dare have voiced it for fear of being judged. But I remember the moment I realized something other than caring for my son was making me happy. I had taken photos of a family friend and was skipping through the house as they transferred onto the computer. Me. Skipping. I don’t do that NOW, and I’m sure it was just as ridiculous to see then, but something was awakening me, something had stirred a part of me I didn’t realize had gone stagnant. I was doing something creative, and I was loving it. Over the years, as with any relationship, my dance with motherhood has had highs and lows. Some days I crush it and some days it crushes me. Some days the monotony so consumes me that I forget what I’d want to do with free time, should I scrounge any up. On those days, on the really hard ones, when you’re so completely overwhelmed that you can’t see past the moment to come up with a hobby, just sit. You don’t have to create anything. You don’t have to cure cancer. You don’t have to have hoardes of fans or followers, customers, influence. But you DO have to take care of you, and just sitting can do it. Maybe that leads to reading a book you’ve been wanting to get to. Maybe that leads to getting an idea. Maybe that leads to you singing a song. Or maybe you just get to be with yourself for a little bit and catch your breath with no one to touch you, to ask of you. Your relationship with you began long before the one you have with your children, and it’s just as important to maintain it.

It can be really hard, having to wait to do what you want, to do what you’re passionate about. It can make you feel unimportant to have to put yourself on the back burner. It can make you feel guilty, to use precious and finite time doing something only for yourself. Find the time. Make the time. Heck, trade, barter, or steal the time. Cinderella had only one night and it was enough to change her. She had a pretty rough day the next day, too, and still it was worth it. You’ve spent so long being the unappreciated attendant and all you want is the chance to have a night of magic… or maybe to get your hands covered in Mod Podge or sculpting clay. You don’t have a fairy godmother or glass slippers, but an adult coloring book could be just as transformative. Make your passions and hobbies a priority, make YOU a priority. Fight for who you are, not what you do. Wait for your moment, enjoy the quiet, and have a wonderful night with yourself. Don’t be a stranger. Be Cinderella. Isn’t that what we wanted to grow up to be, anyway?

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To the Mom Who Doesn’t Love Staying Home

I normally do an internal eye roll at most of the open letter blogs I see. “An open letter the lady wearing a purple sweater who let me go in front of her at the bank”. Really? Just thank her to her face. If it meant a lot, tell her. No need to tell the entirety of the internets something that only applies to one, single person. There have been some great posts, so I certainly don’t feel this way about all of them, but let’s be real: a good portion of these “an open letter to…” blogs could have easily been titled “This Happened Today and Here’s How it Affected Me”.

Yet here I am, penning an open letter, because I know it’s to more than one, single person. I know there are many out there, most of whom are silenced by guilt, by fear of others’ reactions, by stereotypes and standards that are never actually realistic.

There are mothers who stay home with their children, doing “the most important work there is”, devoting their days to their daughters or themselves to their sons, and they are miserable.

You, mom who left a thrilling, challenging career. You, mom whose degree is as useful as a PeePee TeePee. You, mom who longs for adult interaction. You, mom who misses getting dressed up every day. You, mom who feels trapped in your own home. You, mom who wanted to love it, but staying home just is not what you thought it would be. You, mom with the difficult child. You, mom who feels like she doesn’t contribute to society. You, mom who feels overlooked. You, mom who is struggling to pay the bills because you gave up an income. You, mom, whose circumstances made the choice for you. You, mom who feels left behind by the world. You, mom who feels like she has nothing left to give. This is for you.

The very phrase “stay at home mom” implies that something else is going on without you. In order to stay home, someone else must go out. Coworkers, partners, clients… they all move on and go about their business and lives and learning and making and doing…. while you stay. Every day is painfully the same, like your own personal Groundhog Day, but with just enough change and unpredictability to make you feel like you’re never getting the hang of it. People are being promoted while you’re potty training.

We’re all fortunate to have the chance, the opportunity to know first-hand the kind of care our kids are receiving (which sometimes means we take full responsibility for too much iPad time). We know that not every mother or parent is able to have lunch with their child. We know that there are millions who say “Good morning” and then “Goodbye”, and we are humbled by this. But being grateful doesn’t always make it less hard. This is not meant to be entitled, we’re very aware that our position at home is not afforded to everyone. This does not dismiss our feelings, however.

This is also not an invitation, Mom Who Loves Staying Home, to shame or negate the feelings of the moms who don’t. Some women are incredible at it. We all know at least one, at least one HER, whose home is always clean, whose children are always dressed, who not only recognizes how important what she does is, but ENJOYS it. She’s calm, peaceful, instructive, stern without yelling, and apparently has 9 extra hours a day to cook, homeschool, take her kids on outings that don’t result in embarrassment and frustration, and teach them how to sew or dip candles from their own beeswax.

Very few are this mom.

I recently participated in a discussion with over a hundred women, many of whom gave up careers – or at least put them on hold – when they became mothers, and there was an overwhelming amount of admission that they are not fulfilled in their current role as a stay at home mom. Many felt like they were terrible SAHMs, that they never should have taken on the job. They were all plagued by loneliness, disappointment, shame, guilt, and constant feelings of inadequacy. They thought they’d be better at it, they thought they’d love it, they thought it would be different. But it turned out to be really freaking hard, and a hard job will get anyone down.

I’ve worked in retail, in restaurants, at a bank, at a job where I dug a ditch by hand and gave a miniature horse an enema. I completed two college degrees simultaneously in three years and maintained a 4.0 GPA. I’ve made boondoggle keychains with only inches of plastic lanyard. So I’ve done some tough stuff in my day, I’ve worked hard and I’ve seen the results. But when those projects or work days were over, I could walk away, go home. Now if I have a hard day, I’m still at work. When I go to bed, I’m still at work. When I get out of the house, take the kids to the library or the park, I’m still at work. During meals, showers, holidays and sick days… Stay at home moms are always at work. Always. The walls of home can begin to feel like the bars of a cell, the tiny people we care for our warden. We turn down lunch invitations because it interferes with naptime or the risk of a meltdown is too great. We cancel hair appointments because WE are our only childcare. Our prayer life suffers because the few moments of silence we get, we want to just breathe or read blogs. Sometimes we lose track of the days. Sometimes we stay in our pajamas for days on end. We get lonely. Really lonely. And if the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting to get a different result, then we are slowly going mad.

Too often we see the Ideal Stay At Home Mom, usually on TV, and let it affect us. We feel inferior, feel like failures. We see clean, open floor space on Fisher Price commercials and women sweeping fully dressed on Swiffer commercials. Moms who slowly and lovingly apply lotion to their smiling, accommodating baby on a perfectly-made bed. Snapshots on Instagram or Facebook of the only moment someone was able to get all the kids herded and smiling during their trip to the pet store. We see these images, then see what we are not. We try to speak up about how hard it is, and we’re met with “I wish I could stay home.” We’re told to keep a plate in the corporate fire or else society will move on and forget us. We’re left feeling drained, left behind, inadequate and messy. Our doubts often silence us and our shame keeps us lonely.

But guess what, Mom Who Doesn’t Love Staying Home – YOU ARE NOT ALONE. Not every mom feels this way, but a lot do. Thousands. The other moms you see at the grocery store in the middle of the day, fighting their toddler from tossing in everything they can reach? They’re probably having a hard time, too. The moms who homeschool? They’re probably exhausted, too. Not every job is perfect for every person, not because anything is wrong with the person. I’m a night owl who recharges from alone time and hates Minecraft. Does this mean I’m a bad mom? No! It means I have a harder time with some of the aspects of staying home with early-rising, Minecraft-loving shadows.  And I’m not the only one. You are not the only mother who is having these doubts and thoughts and longings for alone time and silence. Do not allow that idea to knock you down and shame you. Know that you’re part of a universal network of women who are struggling, who lose their tempers, who don’t derive all their joy from playing with Little People princesses for 9 hours straight.

You also can’t allow staying home to become your identity. I became a stay-at-home-mom at the ripe age of 21, a few months after graduating from college. That first year was the hardest I’ve ever been through. I had no idea who I was anymore. I went to Sears and bought elastic-waist khaki capris, t-shirts embroidered with flowers, and polos. I cut my long hair to my shoulders, I subscribed to Parents magazine, and I thought every day had to have a craft…. for a 6-month-old. I wasn’t me, I was pretending to be who I thought I had to be. But because I’m not a khaki-capri-wearing person, I was failing, floundering. I didn’t have any friends who stayed home, mostly because my friends I already had were still in college and definitely not having kids, but also because it was painfully obvious I didn’t fit in. I never wore my beloved heels, I only watched PBS Kids… I had forgotten to do what I’d loved before my precious firstborn came along.  Hobbies, nights out with the girls, internet friends…. anything we can do to stay connected to the outside world JUST FOR US is crucial. You may stay home, but you’re still valuable, you still have plenty to offer, and you still deserve new lipstick. You are still a wife, a partner, a friend, a daughter, a sister, and an all-around gem.

Despite what online comments hint at, you are not lazy and ungrateful. You’re exhausted. You’re drained. You’re putting everything you have into a job that doesn’t offer much in the form of immediate returns. You’re isolated. You’re broke. You’re in your pajamas at 3 in the afternoon. You’re always on call, never on break. You’re HUMAN. To never get tired while doing this job would require robotics… and even those would most likely get worn down or short-circuited by juice or pee spills.

Admitting you’re having a hard time does NOT make you a bad mom. If anything, you’re better for recognizing your limitations and being in tune with your needs and emotional state. No one loves doing the same thing, all day, every day, day after day. Prisoners are tortured by listening to music from kids’ shows on repeat. Seriously. It says nothing about your parenting abilities or love for your child(ren) that you break every now and then. It says nothing about your parenting abilities or love for your child(ren) if you’re in tears before 10AM. Fatigue is not the absence of love, it’s the absence of REST.  It’s okay to not love staying home. It’s okay to not find your identity in it. It’s okay to be honest about your feelings. It’s okay to be tired, frustrated, and even sometimes annoyed. Even if you made the person you’re at home with, you’re still individuals with different personalities, and they’re not going to always compliment each other. Not because anything is wrong with you, not because you’re momming wrong, but because you’re PEOPLE. Every single youth camp ever, by the 3rd and 4th day, arguments start happening. People start getting tired, they’ve spent too much time together, personalities clash, expectations aren’t met, and emotions are high. Wearing the Having-the-Time-of-My-Life mask gets tiring and true personalities begin to emerge. That’s just 4 days into camp. I’m almost 11 YEARS into being a stay-at-home mom. Trying to be someone you’re not, being surrounded by different people all day, always being needed… it gets tiring. Not because anything is wrong with me, not because I’m a bad mom, not because I love my kids less than anyone else, but because it’s a hard freaking thing to do.

Your kids don’t make you dislike staying home. It’s not your kids’ fault. Your kids are not worse than Mom Who Loves Staying Home’s kids. I know moms with kids wildly different from mine who are having a hard time staying home, and moms of kids who are a handful who have an absolute blast every day. Just as it’s not a baby’s fault when they cry, it’s not the kids’ fault that this is hard. Kids have needs, we can’t hold that against them. They need to learn things and we’re the only ones there to teach them. Kids argue, want snacks, get picky at mealtimes, need to be wiped, play loudly, and make messes. They worship us and want to be near us. They didn’t know life before us and didn’t give up anything to hang out all day with us, so we are their constant. We are their safe place. It’s not their fault, they’re not doing anything wrong by needing us. You didn’t go wrong somewhere. The JOB is what makes it hard. Remember that when it’s been a hard day, the kids are crying and fighting, you have a headache, everyone is hungry and you have to pee. Remember that when you’re cleaning up any number of bodily fluids. Remember that when they break YET ANOTHER picture frame. It’s not their fault this is hard. Don’t allow that resentment towards them to fester. We are humbly at home FOR them, and they need us. For better or worse.

Speaking of for better or worse, remember your husband, your partner, your other half? Hard days at work can sometimes cause some strain there. You’re exhausted and need to sit in silence for a little bit, and he’s missed you all day and wants to talk. You’re touched out and he wants to make out. You’re unhappy at home and he’s working hard to keep you there. A lot of the time it can feel like you’re in two different places, and sometimes you just are. It’s easy to resent him when he goes to lunches, leaves the house, enjoys a quiet car ride, and the kids behave better for him. But those things aren’t his fault. Keep in mind that as different as your days are from how they used to be, his remain largely the same. When you stayed home, he went back to work, to the same job at the same company in the same car with the same schedule. Coming home to a wife in a different role with a different energy level and different needs is going to be jarring, and will take a lot of time to get used to. It may take a really, really long time for him to begin to understand that you can’t just go to restaurants, you can’t just keep the house clean, and you don’t just sit all day watching soaps. Remember that his day is largely the same as before, and it will take time for you to both adjust to where you are now. Statistically, marital satisfaction is at its lowest when there are young children at home. It’s going to be hard on your relationship, and this is NORMAL. Remember that you’re on the same team, and hard days don’t mean you’re doing a bad job.

Remember that joke about sleeping while the baby sleeps, how everyone was trolling you when they told you that the dishes could wait because babies don’t keep? Ignore it a little. Just a little. Enough to do something for YOU. When I first became a stay at home mom, social media was in its infancy. I was lonely. I floundered for months until I found photography, which I credit with saving my sanity. It gave me something to do that I loved, that had an obvious result, something to stretch my creative muscles. With my third, I discovered online forums, specifically ones dedicated to women due the same month as myself. We swapped advice, birth stories, shared in the excitement and disappointment of the big gender sonograms… it was a circle of friends I never had to leave the house to hang out with. While we all can’t always afford a pedicure or a trip to Sephora, a new shirt, a road trip, or a date night, we can access Facebook groups. You can escape for a little while and laugh with other people without the hassle of putting on a bra. I have made legitimate, meaningful friendships with incredible women I never would have met without the internet. I play with makeup, because I like to. I watch Friends over and over, because I like to. I pull out my glue gun, I drink a Pepsi, I get something at the thrift store that I can make over, I just find SOMETHING that is for me only. It recharges me, breaks up the monotony, and unlike my lunch or my bed or the remote or my uterus, I don’t have to share it. Find something for you. If you have to let the kids watch Caillou to buy you some time with a magazine, do it. Just as you’re supposed to put on your own oxygen mask first on a plane, take care of you, momma, or there won’t be any momma left to take care of everyone else.

The best advice I ever received was from That Mom, who told me that the days are long but the years are short. I cried HARD when she said this to me. Not every day is a winner. Some days all we’ve done is survive. Some days I go to bed in tears, some days I’m up late giggling with the kids. The days are as varied as their personalities, and thankfully we do NOT have to do all of our parenting in one day. We’ll mess up, and we’ll get another shot. You won’t always be wiping someone. Some day you’ll go from talking about Santa to talking about sex. You’ll trade in your audience in the bathroom for a closed door. I cried when my firstborn started holding his own bottle, because there was something he didn’t need me for, and today there is so much more that he can do without me. I can be sad about this, but I can also be proud to know that he can do these things because of what I taught him. The Karate Kid didn’t know that the seemingly menial tasks he’d been repeating were preparing him for something bigger, and we don’t always realize that what we’re doing, saying, teaching at home is laying the foundation for an adult who can change the world. So we’re basically like ninjas, and that’s always cool. You won’t always be where you are now, no matter how many times you’ve repeated yourself or cleaned the same mess. Our kids will grow, their needs will change, and our influence will take shape.

There is no shame in changing jobs. Sometimes, for the sake of everyone, you just need to call it what it is and look for work outside the home. This is not quitting. This is not failing. This is not running away from your kids. This is shifting what you provide for them to an area you are more equipped or comfortable with. No matter what, being a mom is hard. No matter what, you will sacrifice and work hard. Find your gifts and offer them to your family without any ounce of shame at what it is you have to give or what you think you should have. Be proud of what you do for your family, no matter where you do it from.

You, Mom Who Doesn’t Love Staying Home, you are strong. You are ABLE. You are a good mother who loves her kids and sacrifices just about everything for them. You are making it. You, who feels so unappreciated. You, who feels trapped. You, who is overwhelmed. You, who is tired. You, who is lonely. You, who is grieving the mom you thought you’d be. You are not failing. You are normal, human, tired, giving, teaching, and caring. You’re a ninja, a safe place, and a vital part of your children’s lives. You are important. You are valuable. You are seen and you are remembered. You are working really freaking hard, and you will not always be where you are right now.

 

 

 

*** Please know that I am writing this from my own unique perspective and experience. I know that there are many stay at home dads out there, and I am not dismissing their sacrifice or hard work, but I can’t pretend to know what their position may be like. I am not intending to leave anyone out, only offer encouragement to those who may be in a place I can empathize with. I love my kids and this is not a popular feeling to share, so be kind.

Raising the Difficult Child – Consider the Dandelions

I wrote a concise little blog on this topic a few months back, but now I really feel like I can go a little deeper into the issue. I am no parenting expert, nor do I believe there is only one, specific, unwavering way to raise children. But I DO have a difficult child, and am learning quite a bit in the process of raising – and loving – him. I’m not naming names, but let’s just say it’s not the oldest one, and it’s not the youngest one. I’ll leave it up to your imagination. He has always been difficult. I remember our pediatrician trying to tell me in between my desperate sobs that some babies just don’t need as much sleep. He rarely napped and didn’t sleep very long. This was particularly frustrating when I compared him to my firstborn, who slept 14 hours straight at night and took 2-hour naps. I remember the night he discovered he could escape from his crib, because he did it more than 30 times. That one, single night. This was particularly frustrating when I compared him to my firstborn, who climbed out once and was so sad to have been in trouble for it that he never did it again. I remember the first time I punished him and he laughed at me. This was particularly frustrating when I compared him to my firstborn, who is so sad to have disappointed me that I rarely have to punish him. This difficult child of mine (who shall remain unnamed, remember, you’re still guessing at who it could possibly be) is stubborn, willful, volatile at times. He is easily angered, easily frustrated, and easily entertained by acting on any impulse he has. Covered in scars and dripping with swagger, he is unmoved by the concept of cause and effect. I’ve said it before that he knows about gravity, he just doesn’t care. He climbs walls, he leaps from furniture, he talks back, he gets into trouble at school, and he is extremely difficult to parent. This is particularly frustrating when I compare him to my firstborn, who is compliant, people-pleasing, a teacher’s pet, and pretty easy to parent. You can probably guess what the first thing is that I’ve learned in my journey of parenting a difficult child: you can’t compare. Comparison is the thief of joy. In parenting ANY child, comparison will only leave you frustrated and doubting yourself. One of the best days I’ve had as a mother was when the lightbulb went off, when it clicked that my two boys are different people. The more I compared the unnamed mystery wild child to the older, tiny-adult-like child, the more I was setting us both up to fail. He will never be his older brother, and that is a GOOD thing. He is unique. I don’t need two of the same kid. God spent a lot of time making him, with intention, and it was high time I started appreciating him for who he was, rather than getting frustrated at who he wasn’t. Milestones, demeanors, and reactions are as varied as likes, dislikes, and fingerprints between two same-gender siblings from the same gene pool. Wild.

Another thing I’ve learned while parenting my difficult child is that it sucks. This echoes my sentiments from the previous blog, yes, but allow me to elaborate: it really sucks. It’s hard. It’s exhausting. It’s EMBARRASSING. It’s isolating. I cannot tell you, dear reader, how many books and blogs and journals and wise sages I’ve sought in my attempts to tame the unruly beast, all spanning different belief systems, based on different foundations, and implemented in different ways. But the one common thread is consistency. Be consistent. If it was against the rules yesterday, it has to be against the rules today, no matter how tired you are. But oh, Lord, how tired we are. How truly, bone-achingly exhausted, drained, depleted, worn we are. Every single incident, every single day, in the hopes that it will someday *click* and he’ll get it. It can make a mommy numb. It can make a mommy dejected, make her feel hopeless. Afraid to leave him with a sitter because his behavior is embarrassing, afraid to go to the splash pad because he may act up, it leaves a mommy feeling alone. Tears over what’s happening and fears over what’s to come, parenting a difficult child is, well, difficult.

The final, most important, most incredibly hard thing to grasp that I’ve learned while parenting this difficult middle child of mine (don’t act surprised, you knew it was him all along) is that it is not my fault. No argument that was ever presented to me in college has ever made me think more about nature vs. nurture than raising a strong-willed child. Sure, there are kids who act a fool because of their parents’ foolish ways, but having this handful has given me a new, more sympathetic perspective. Not every kid who talks back or doesn’t listen or has a moment is the result of bad parenting. The mom you’re judging is likely nearing dehydration from all the exasperated tears she’s cried. We know our kids are rough, it’s not something that escapes a parents’ attention.  Not every difficult child “needs to be set straight”. How do I know this? Because I’m a good mom, dangit. I know I am. I do everything I’m “supposed” to and then some. He is loved, disciplined, fed well and put to bed on time. We engage and take an interest in him, he is physically active, intelligent, and socialized. And yet he acts like a real butthead sometimes. He will always have a consequence for his disobedience, yet he still chooses to disobey. This is particularly ENCOURAGING when I compare him to my firstborn, who is from the same gene pool, is of the same gender, and is raised in the same home with the same rules, love, and attention. Two wildly different fruits of the same tree prove to me that the roots aren’t to blame, it’s just how the fruits ARE. He just IS how he is. It is no fault of my own, it’s only up to me to adapt and learn what he needs and marry that with what is expected of him. And THAT is nearly as hard as not blaming myself for my child’s behavior. I’m a good mom. This is not a cop-out, it’s a revelation. The sooner we can let go of the guilt, the sooner we can address what REALLY is causing behaviors and deal with them with an appropriate amount of attention. It is not my fault. As I sit here, my face red and tear-stained, debating just giving him an iPad for a few minutes of peace, I notice a dandelion and feel God speak to me. Dandelions are weeds. Unsightly and dreaded by gardeners. They’re stubborn, unruly, and difficult to get rid of. The more you tug at them, the harder the fight, and the more likely you are to find more dandelions next week. Just like my difficult baby. He doesn’t fit into what would be considered ideal, pristine. No one WANTS dandelions, they just pop up. But consider them for a moment. Difficult, yes, but vibrant with color. They stand out instantly not because of our feelings towards dandelions, but because they are different, bright. Dandelions can provide healing and nourishment. They undergo marked transformations, and are the stuff of childhood wishes. They spread their seeds with the wind, quickly, and all too soon are gone. Just like our difficult babies. Stubborn, tough, and not “ideal”, but beautiful in their own way, quickly-growing, and valuable. My dandelion literally grows like a weed, but he is also incredibly intelligent, creative, talented, funny, thoughtful, and can be painfully sweet. I can compare him to roses, tulips, or lilies, and he will always fall short, because he is a dandelion. Or I can appreciate his vibrancy and his limited time with me and be happy I have a flower at all. What if we all saw our own dandelions not for the pain and hassle they cause, but for the wishes we can make upon them? Hang in there, you, me. We’re not alone, it’s okay to admit we’re struggling. Having a hard time doesn’t mean we love them any less, or that we’re not doing a good job. It just means our precious little ones act like buttheads sometimes

Planting Time

“It’s just a season.”
I hate this phrase. I hate it because it’s usually accompanying a really tough time, and the phrase, while meant to encourage the sufferer that their woes are temporary, often feels flippant, cliche, and dismissive of how horrible the trenches can be. Because in the middle of a season, it doesn’t feel like a season, it feels like forever.
But it’s true. Heck, it’s Biblical. “For everything there is a season, a time for every activity under heaven.” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, in case you’re wondering.) It’s scientific, too. Strawberries aren’t meant to grow in winter, snow isn’t meant to fall in summer. There are seasons for sowing, seasons for reaping. There are seasons for enjoying the spoils of a season spent working, and seasons for huddling and weathering the storms. Seasons where everything is in bloom and seasons where everything appears frozen and dead.
Seasons do not appeal to me, for the most part. I don’t like change. I like control, and I can’t persuade a season to stay, or to stay away. The beginning of every season is exciting, a new start, a change in perspective. Fall boots and Starbucks! Pedicures and ice cream trucks! CHRISTMAS!!! There’s always something to look forward to when a season changes. But then the allergies kick in, or isolation sets in. We’ve been cold and shut up inside with short, dark days or sweating for weeks during the never-ending summer days. Seasons always last just a little longer than we’d like them to. And with “seasonal” fruits and vegetables being grown and manipulated to be available year-round, indoor pools, and Peeps being sold during holidays other than Easter, the lines get blurred and we get bored. Quickly.
My season right now is one of planting. It’s a hard season. It requires lots and lots of work, time, attention, sacrifice, and sweat, with no indication of how the harvest will turn out, no taste of reward just yet. I have young children.
For a while I fought the season. We drug our children along with us and asked them to adapt to our schedules. We tried to plant during the wrong window. Since before we even began dating, I worked alongside my husband in ministry. If there was an event, I was there. If there was a girl in tears, I was ready. We stayed up late getting our calendars to look the same, dreaming up more ways to reach our students and spend time with them. I started wearing down, but there was no way I was going to admit I couldn’t do it all. I tried. Hard. I fought tired, hungry kids and schedules that were happy to eat me alive without a blink. I tried to be available to everyone, all the time. I scoured the internet for advice on being a ministry partner and a mother, I asked every pastor’s wife I knew, I cried, I begged, and I darn near collapsed every time I heard “It’s just a season.” I remember the disappointment, the near grief I felt when I thought I’d found a book that would give me the answers, only to discover upon reading it that nannies and babysitters were what made motherhood and ministry possible. I want to raise my children the way that God seems to think I can, the way He called me to. It was time to recognize that I couldn’t serve everyone else’s families while I served my own in such an important capacity. It was time to accept my season.
My calendar began to gradually look different from my husband’s. It’s still strange to me that there are new students who I don’t know, events that I don’t attend, sermon series that I don’t hear. Every now and then, someone will make a comment about my not being there, and it hurts, but I know I’ve made the right decision. I simply can’t do it all. And if I miss this season of planting with my children, I will not see the harvest in the next. God has called me to ministry, I just had no idea that ministry would be at home, and that three children could take up more energy than 100.
The best part about seasons, despite the fact that I can’t control them, rush them, or pick and choose what can be accomplished in them, is that they’re not permanent. We don’t live in the south pole. With babysitters not being an option, I can’t go to the movies right now. I can’t attend 99% of the things I’d like to. I can’t be by my husband’s side in ministry (although I’m learning that behind him in ministry is just as important). I have to turn down invitations and opportunities, friends and family. If a kid is sick, I stay up and stay home. It can often feel like a winter season, where nothing much changes, where I live in near isolation. But I am planting, planting, planting. Working the soil (complete with fertilizer, since one is still in diapers!). Learning how much water each one needs, giving each one the right amount of sun, nurturing growth, taking setbacks personally. I am a child gardener, throwing myself into the task of growing healthy, prosperous people. No matter how long this season lasts, it absolutely will not be forever, and will likely be over before I feel like I’ve had the chance to do my best.
Ministry or not, mother or not, we’re all in seasons. And we’re all in different seasons at different times. It can get really depressing really quickly to compare my sowing season to another’s reaping time. It can get really discouraging to try and live in a season other than my present one. Some days feel like they’ll never end, some days I even resent this season. But it won’t last. None of this life is permanent. Seasons come and go, seeds are planted and seeds grow. Harvest, winter, planting, growing… it’s all one big, ever-changing cycle that will continue whether we want it to or not. The sooner we (I) embrace our (my) season, the more effective we (I) can be in it. In the winter, we can rest and know that the sun is coming. In the harvest we can see the benefits of our hard work and understand how everything we did was so important. Dear friend, whether you are a parent, a single person, struggling or thriving, take heart and know this time will not last. There are plenty of other seasons ahead for you, and the change in season is not BECAUSE of you. The seasons change without regard for our feelings, but how often we allow the seasons to rule them. Embrace your season. Accept that it is only a season. Get the most out of your season. Know that each one prepares you for the next. Anticipate change even in the most monotonous of times. And if you don’t see me, it’s not because I didn’t want to be there. I just have a crop I’m tending to at home.