Buckets

Mommy self esteem is an important thing, you know? Everyone loves to capitalize on a Mama's frail sense of self esteem, especially on the parenting side of things.

 Seems like someone is always penning an article on working mothers (WM) vs. stay at home mothers (SAHM). I am still mystified as to why they present it as a "VERSUS" argument--but that is a whole other can of worms for another day. Like all things in life, it gets polarized into one extreme or another.

Option A: The snazzy stay at home Mama who is trendy, gorgeous, has a pottery barn home, an urban farmhouse garden, perfect unvaccinated homeschooled children in flawlessly ironed clothing, surrounded by every pinterest idea you, the SAHM reader,  have pinned to a board entitled "What I would do if I had less children and more time."

or

Option B: The frumpy disgusting housewife with a messy house, a dirt plot full of dead vegetable plants, messy unsuccessfully homeschooled children, a daytime soap opera habit, wrinkled clothes, surrounded by a mish mash of projects that you, the SAHM reader, have pinned to a pinterest board entitled "Pinterest FAILS, LOL!"

Those seem to be the options pitched at my head every time I open a parenting magazine. Unattainable perfection or miserable failure. If you don't reach one, you are clearly, the other.

And since being a stay at home mom is tough work, you can imagine what the odds are on which camp you identify most with when the self esteem monsters are chomping away at you.

Even if staying home is where you actively, willingly, CHOOSE to be each and every day...

Those self esteem monsters can still get to you. And if you are surrounded by working mamas who work all day and do the SAHM thing, better than you can, in less than four hours...well... it pricks the parental pride a bit.


I confessed to my sister on the phone just the other day:

"Sometimes 1:30pm hits and I look back on the day so far and think, what have I really done today? I've wiped four butts and made macaroni and cheese.... thats about it." 

I assured her that I washed my hands between each of those activities.

She gave me a sympathetic laugh.

"No really" I say, "sometimes I wish I had a 9-5 job that I could rock the socks off the way you do. Especially on those macaroni butt days...."

My sister sighed and said that some days she wished she could stay at home nurturing a passel of sweet babies.

Then she told me about her work day, which involved dealing with a grown up in the midst of a temper tantrum.  Lets face it, grown up temper tantrums are worse than toddler tantrums... so I conceded the pity point for the morning. All though I still would not mind a day in her shoes...even with the grown up fit pitching, especially if it meant I could eat a hot meal without getting up once.

I'm sure its normal to wish for a freaky friday swap every now and again. Life is exhausting, no matter what side of the fence you are on.

J and I usually sigh and say "the grass is always greener on the other side" when we encounter friends that have spent the first 6 years of their married lives traveling the world being all artsy fartsy, while we spent the first six years birthing a preschool. They sigh right back and say they wish they had their own brood of goldfish cracker fiends.

I'm not a big fan of that saying, "the grass is always greener on the other side," even though we bandy it about the house from time to time. It just seems to say it best, no? There is a reason its a "saying" after all. Yet I dislike it since its smacks of "I hate where I am at in life and things looks better across the fence line, but I am sure they are ticked off and miserable too so we might as well stay here, discontented with life as it is." Depressing, but we still say it all the time because on some days...it works to soothe the occasional ache.

A few weeks ago, I stumbled across an easier slogan to swallow. Not sure if someone posted it on facebook or if it was some marvelously scrolled chalkboard artwork on pinterest, but the words hit home loud and true:

"The grass is always greener where you water it."

It was a quaint cheesy remedy that I wanted to grab hold of. Or rather, it made me want to grab a bucket and drench the blades around me. Cover my space with the richest, greenest grass that even the emerald hills of Ireland would envy.

This made more sense to me than aiming my bucket at some far away land and using all my mental/spiritual/emotional energy to heave as much water as I could in that direction, hoping a few drops would one day land there, all the while standing on parched earth.

Dumping the water right where you stand seems a no brainer.

But what about dreams?

Childcare is not a glamorous job, no matter how cute the midgets are. Poop, vomit, spaghetti messes, laundry---it ain't pretty.

But the way I see the job and my life...that makes all the difference in the world. It makes it a work of art. Probably some weirdo modern splotch of "who would pay money for that??" kind of art...but ART just the same.

I may not be working my dream job as an editor at a publishing house, but my jobs the past few months have been awesome. Here are just a few...

Dino Wrangler

Pirate Queen

Cowgirl paintball gun fighter

Enchanted Fairy

Oak Tree--- (ok that one sounds boring, but it wasn't. I had lots of cute boys climbing all over me)

T Rex

Astronaut Dentist (VERY tricky work fixing teeth while maintaining the helmet in place so you don't get "space sucked" out into the blackness)

Movie Director

Carpenter & Termite Killer

Iron Chef

Vampire Bat

Princess who needs a Knight

Princess who is secretly a Knight

Ninja Warrior

World's Best Secret Kiss

Wendy Moira Angela Darling

Noah's Wife

A Female Honey Badger

----------------------------------------------------
Suck on that, Random House!

Fighting evil, nurturing goodness, fixing things, being creative--- not bad at all.

You know, my sister also does all those things in her own way (She really is the Dino Wrangler/PirateQueen of the Photography/ Graphic Design World).

Its all about where you water most. :)

No matter how much I secretly wish I could be SAHM option A with the perfect hair and the fabulously run home, I know that its just not me. The Princess Ninja has no time for that, you know? To be honest, I don't want to waste my water buckets on that sort of thing. My cracked, exhausted, mismatched water buckets...they want to invest their water in something else.


I hope when my little men are all grown up they look back on their childhood and remember the messes we made. Those gloriously fun sticky icky messes of playdoh and paint and baking dishes in the sink. I hope they recall that a pile of laundry sat in the same basket for three days because Mommy preferred reading Magic Tree House books under the table fort to folding shirts and underwear.

They can look back and remember the occupational hazzards of those tender growing up days..... even the bad days.  The ugly messes that have nothing to do with cute fun or playdoh or innocence.

Oh do I hope they remember the bad days with the ugly messes.

Those awful days when I fail them miserably and beg their forgiveness.

The days they saw me confess to feeling eaten up by those self esteem monsters but chose to stay by their side and love them.

I hope they remember those bad days just as much as they remember the good days.

 It will give them a bit of grace to hold onto on those future bad days of their own with my grandchildren.

When they feel like ripping their hair out and crying from sheer sleep deprivation, I hope they remember J and I in the same position... a memory like a hug saying, 'we've all been there son, remember?"

They will recall their Mama, SAHM Secret Option C: a feisty Mom who loved her boys fiercely, played hard, worked hard, never provided matching socks, made a mean bowl of chili, fumbled with her own frail humanity, lived off an IV of grace and never hesitated to apologize to her kids or be vulnerable about her own brokenness.

Maybe if they remember that, they will feel safe enough to surrender their parental pride, pick up the phone, call us and say "WHAT AM I DOING HERE?"

Maybe it will help them slay their own self esteem monsters a bit more easily and they can just focus on being the King of Camelot or a Shark Hunter instead. 

That is a well invested bucket of water indeed. 

A patched up rickety bucket with a purpose. 

Tumor

Dear Son,

You were only a few days old, the first time I noticed it.

The small round lump in your neck.

Your beautiful, soft, sweet smelling neck.

No bigger than a small grape, I rolled the pad of my thumb over it a few times and wondered why your lymphs would be swollen.

In my postpartum delirium I did not even pause to question myself. I kept on enjoying the wonder of you. Memorizing the sweep of your eyelashes, adoring the fullness of your cheeks and kissing those ten silly toes. Soaking in the newborn freshness of you while you slept on my chest or nuzzled close to my side.

You.

Miraculous, captivating, you.

A few days later I sat nursing you on my bed. Daddy walked in and we spoke in hushed tones about our day. I remember looking down to turn you over and catching sight of something strange. I placed my hand on your neck and gasped out loud. That small lump had grown in a matter of days to span the length of your neck from chin to collarbone.

How can I adequately explain my fear in that moment? It was mind numbing. I was utterly terrified.


Did I question what God was doing?

Yes, I did.

Did I let my mind drift to all the awful things this tumor could signify?

Yes, I did.



You know sweet boy, Daddy was never afraid?

He kept reminding me of that morning all those months ago when he stood in church and heard God speak to his heart about our fourth son. He reminded me that your name was whispered then, as he stood silent in the pews of the church where your Mama was raised. Daddy had no idea you were in my womb at that very moment. I had only just discovered you that morning and the beautiful wondrous secret of you had yet to be shared. Daddy had your name in his heart even as I carried you, freshly knit and unbeknownst to him.

You can bet that Daddy did not let me forget it.

He never doubted. He remained firm and secure. He knew God had a plan in all this, no matter what your diagnosis was. He knew that God would never leave our side or allow you to slip from the palm of His mighty hand.

So Daddy held me in his arms as I held you and we prayed for you. Your Daddy always leads me closer to Jesus, always.  Even though I felt afraid, I followed him to the place we needed to be most in the whole world. At the foot of the throne, asking Jesus for His grace and mercy.

Those first days and weeks were frightening at times and encouraging at others.

You looked so small on that hospital bed. They used an ultrasound wand on you that looked like a miniature hockey stick. You were so mad at the cold gel and the nurse who peeled away your little gown, exposing you to the frigid air. "Mad as a hornet, cute as bee" she said.

Finding out you were living in pain was one of the worst days ever. We began working hard with your therapist to bring you comfort. I have to tell you, watching you smile for the first time once the cloud of pain had lifted...oh my boy...  that was heavenly.

Do you know what I am thankful for today?

Your tumor.

Your awesome, miraculous, spectacular, gift from heaven tumor.

Thank you Lord, for blessing my son with his tumor.

Even though it brought you pain and discomfort, your tumor saved your life.

That outward sign of something gone terribly wrong allowed us to act quickly and intervene.

Early intervention, they call it.

Intervention to stop the myriad difficulties and challenges that would have snow balled into your life.  

Syndromes and lists of potential -isms. A daily dragon to battle all the live long days of your life.

But that awful blessed tumor sounded the alarm.

Some days you love your therapy--- other days it is a struggle. We work hard together, you and I.

Every day that passes I see progress of one kind or another.

Your tumor suddenly dissolved over Christmas. The muscles in your neck are gradually loosening. Your therapists now expects a graduation day later this year.

THIS YEAR.

If this had gone unnoticed for a few months or a year, it would have been a lifetime of struggle. But it was not months or years, it was days. And because it only took days to find, we will celebrate your graduation this year.

Years from now when we sit together on our porch or gather at the kitchen table and you begin pouring your heart out to us, those age long questions about life and God and faith, falling from your lips--- Where is He leading? Where am I going? What should I do? What is God doing?

I'm sure you'll think I'm crazy, but I may not be able to help myself...

Forgive me if I reach out and ever so gently, place my finger on the right side of your neck? I'm just reminding myself, and perhaps you too, of His ever mysterious ways, working for the good of those who love Him.

Love,
Mama

Traits and Chapter 8

If its one thing I never do…its make a New Years Resolution.

Its not out of any bah-humbug grumpiness or snobby superiority.

To be honest, I am a pretty impulsive person. If I see something that I want to do—I just go for it. A great motivator and a recipe for disaster all rolled into one inherited family trait.

Case in point, a class trip to the Miami SeaAquarium back in my early elementary school days. I raised my hand to volunteer during the big killer whale show. The trainer called on me and brought me up to the side stage next to the tank. I stood on the rubbery mat portion next to this very sun tanned, wet suit wearing trainer. I recall peering down into that blue oh so blue water and watching those whales swim back and forth. I kind of tuned out the conversation until I heard the trainer say something awesome.

“All right now. What I need for you to do today is jump in the tank.”

The audience giggled since clearly, the trainer was joking, expecting me to react with a vigorous negative head shaking or a loud exclamation of “NO WAY!”

But through the giggles came one very loud, very familiar voice….

My mother… the ever present chaperone, a permanent fixture for all school outing from pre-k to senior year of high school. Quite necessary for the preservation of my life and for the sanity of all other adults in charge of me.

She was SCREAMING one word…it had a nice echo in the dome of that amphitheater...

"Noooooooooooooooooooo!!!”

You see, the minute the trainer said the words “jump in the tank,” I was all ready bending my knees to jump in. My mind had activated imagination mode and I was all ready picturing myself in that tank, swimming with shamu and balancing on that black and white nose while riding around the tank.

Mama knows her daughter well. She knew I would literally “JUMP” on this trainer’s offer.

This story has held true for me through the years. I’d like to think that I have matured a bit in this department and have learned to “look before i leap.” Maybe I have learned a bit…but the deciding factor that pulled the reigns in on my out of control spontaneity was the answer to my mother’s prayers…my husband J.

Oh how my mother loves him.

He keeps my feet planted firmly on dry land while encouraging me to accomplish my dreams in a safe, rational, orderly way. I help him loosen up and have crazy fun when he needs it.

What a team I tell ya, what a team!

So back to the New Years Resolutions….

They are just not in keeping with my personality. I am always trying out new things so there aren’t many new things I must resolve to do.

But this year I have decided to make a resolution of sorts. (Though to be fair, its just something I am picking up and it happens to be January).

My two goals for the year:

1) Memorize Romans Chapter 8.

2) Learn to crochet in honor of my great-grandmother Meme.

Right.

The Romans 8 thing stems back to a sermon we heard at church a few years back. Our Pastor asked us, “How many verses would you have hidden in your heart if you suddenly no longer had access to a bible?” I remember blinking in surprise and thinking, “I’d be in trouble!”

How much of the word would I have hidden away to comfort me, guide me, or anchor my soul to Him
during a time of trial?

Thats where Romans 8 comes in. Have you read it?

Its the anchor.

And this year I am going to memorize it and recite what I know so far, each day at lunch. Maybe the kiddos will pick up on it too? I think if the Bear can manage to memorize a bazillion animal species he can remember the verses his Mama repeats at lunch every day.

Then there is the crochet thing.

You know I am just drowning in spare time these days.

ha!

I wanted something to do with my hands while my boys are working at their play doh or legos or lincoln logs. A mindless busy work, but still beautiful and something I can bless others with. And because...I miss my great grandmother.

I was blessed to have her in my life for 18 years. Our birthdays were two days apart and we were known to rock a shared birthday cake at a family party or two.

We did not get along too well the first 16 years since I had an affinity for lizards, dirt, pranks and daredevil schemes (see: shamu above). At least, I thought we did not get along….

Now that I am a mother, I look back and realize that while she did like to fuss and cluck at me…she really loved me.

I remember how nice she always looked. Hair like a football helmet. Not a single strand out of place. Nails always polished a nice peachy sheen. Pant suits. Lots and lots of pant suits. Clean, tidy, organized…and not afraid to party. :)

Every once in a while she would surprise me by doing something totally goofy and fun. She agreed to put on a clown costume one year for halloween, suggested by my mom at the last minute. Five minutes before we were to walk out the door and into the neighborhood, she agrees and dons this hideous polyester footie pajama. It came with a metallic wig.

METALLIC.

16 years of that sort of thing. Super organized, predictable day to day order and then...the unexpected element that would put the great in "great grandma!"

She suffered a stroke and was blind the last two years of her life. I used to jokingly say to her that she liked me better when she couldn’t see how untidy and messy I was. Because we were quite suddenly, inexplicably closer than ever. A light turned on in the darkness.

During junior year of high school I would drive an extra thirty minutes out of my way after school to the nursing home just so I could hold her hand and listen to her talk.

I learned so much about her that last year. She told me a few stories she had never shared with anyone else. I don’t know why she chose to tell me of all people…but I am glad she did.

Yeah, she loved me a lot.

I loved her too.

Have I mentioned yet that she was the craftiest person ever?

She knew how to sew and knit and crochet. She would make such beautiful things. I used to love to watch her work. She made a pair of little snowmen once for my mom for Christmas. I used to hold them every year when we took them out of storage and run my fingers over the loops and hooks.

After she died I would run my finger over those loops and feel a bit closer to her.

So in her honor, I am picking up that heavy crochet needle and learning this new art.  If I can make three things before the year is out, I’ll consider it a success.

Hand in hand with this learning of a new code and a new rhythm, I want to tell my boys all the stories I know about Meme.

So that when they run their hands over each loop and hook of my handiwork, they will remember her. Stories about their blue eyed great great grandmother, the rigidly organized party animal who would surprise her family with something zany from time to time.

Hmmm…you could almost call her occasionally spontaneous?? :)

Happy New Year.

This one time, at the Doctor's office...

The baby has the croup. He sounds awful. Heart wrenching, wrist wringing, panic inducing, AWFUL.

I phoned the pediatrician first thing this morning, loaded the four boys into the car and off we went to see our favorite Doctor in the whole wide world.

Have I mentioned that our pediatrican is a ROCK STAR? He is amazing. I really appreciate him.

The boys each received a doctor kit for Christmas so they were pretty pumped about going to the office with some of their tools in hand. We rode the elevator up to the fourth floor with our usual system. Baby in the pram, Babe hanging onto the left side, Cubs and the Bear hanging onto the right side. We look a bit like a chem lab drawing, multiplying hydrogens all clumped together. People either laugh or shake their heads when they see us coming.

The two nurse receptionists at the office are very kind and patient, crucial qualities in their line of work. They noticed the boys decked out in doctor gear and commented right away.  The youngest lady cooed at the Bear, "Ooooo, are you a Doctor?" The Bear slipped the stethescope from his ears, "Excuse me, can you say that again, I didn't hear ya?" he asks. "Are you a Doctor?" she repeats.

The Bear shakes his head and laughs, "No silly, I am not a doctor! I am just a kid PRETENDING to be a doctor with this kit my Mom got me for Christmas. Trust me, I don't have a license to give you medicine. I am JUST. A. KID."

You can imagine the ensuing laughter. We made our way into the waiting room, a few other parents were all ready seated. I parked the pram and sat down. The three eldest boys attacked the waiting room toys. An elderly lady across the room shook her head after a few minutes of watching us and she voiced aloud, "I don't know how you do it. I just don't know how you do it," one silver eyebrow was arched up as she said it. I smiled and gave a pat answer from my arsenal of typical rejoinders...something like "I love them a lot" or "I don't care if the house is messy" or "Huh? What kids?" or something like that. I just know that I did not voice my actual thought of "WOMAN, I AM HANGING ON BY A THREAD, MY KIDS ARE SICK AND ALL MY PANTS ARE WRINKLED!"  I definitely did not say that. Whatever I said resulted in a slight smirk from her and a snort from the mom next to me. Must have been of the sarcastic come backs I guess...

Well, Cubs and the Bear are trained to listen to adult conversation and they piped right up and began to recite our daily schedules, leaving this woman with no unanswered questions over "how we do it."

A few minutes went by and my mind started drifting to other things. I felt exhausted from the night before and to be honest, I checked out for a bit there.

When I snapped back to attention, a little girl stood in front of me. No parent in sight. Blue eyes, chubby cheeks, blonde ponytail caught high on her head. Purple dress, green coat, grey tights, and sneakers that were once a pale yellow color and are currently that inexplicable shade of color and health code violation known as "preschool sneaker."

"HI" she yelled.

"Hi." I can't help but smile at her. She had instant likeability.

She points a finger in the baby's face. "WHATS HIS NAME?"

I tell her.

"Huh. Wellll, he gets me. We have a connection. He understands me." Her arms are swinging back and forth, the cotton of her dress is swaying a bit.

The Bear hears a small child using full sentences with a decent vocabulary and he comes running. Moth to the flame.

His eyes are wide and he sticks out his hand. "Hi!!' He introduces himself. First, middle and last name. She reciprocates with all three of her names and adds a pretty, "Pleased to meet ya."

The Bear launches into a full on introduction of all his brothers. He is the pefect gentleman. He is utterly charming. He is talking waaay too much, as usual.

But then again, so is this little girl. In fact, they are both speaking rapidly to each other at the same time and both seem to be in possession of an adult sized vocabulary.

At one point the Bear exclaimed "this is all so ludicrous!" and she giggled a bit before purring, "you are sooo hilarious."

They were pleased to discover that they had eached turned five within the past few weeks. They chatted away for quite some time...

"Our baby is very sick. We brought him here to get a diagnosis and some medicine."

"Oh, I all ready got my diagnosis."

The Bear nods, "Hmmm. What could it be?"

"I have boogers and I am SPUNKY."

The Bear laughs and slaps his thigh, "Oh, you are such a funny, awesome girl. Do you know that?"

"Yes, I do!"

They keep talking at one another. I watch as he draws closer and closer to her side.

He is soaking in her warmth. He is completely captivated by her.

She is not oblivious to that fact.

Little Miss Sassy pants starts flirting more and more with my son.

Evetually, the connection is too great, his excitement builds, I can almost see his heart pounding through his t-shirt, love and adoration are shining in his eyes and my son is unable to refrain from telling her, "I have been waiting for you my whole life."

Yup.

That is what he said to her.

"I have been waiting for you my whole life."

Well....

My eyebrows crashed into my hair line.

The mom next to me giggled.

The little girl let out a wistful sigh.

Her mother walks in, having just finished checking out with the nurse receptionist and offers little girl a lollipop.

"Can I have sugar this early in the morning?" she asks.

Cubs nods his head, eyes bright, "you can have sugar ANY TIME of day."

The Bear can't take his eyes off her.

They begin chatting anew and eventually there is no choice but to physically remove them from the room so that we can each go about our busy day. The parting was not easy. Sweet sorrow you might say.

He misses her....or so he says every minute on the dot for the next forty-five minutes.

I catch him smiling a secret smile.

"Mom, wouldn't it be great if I saw her again when I am a big grown up?"

The romantic in me nods. "Yes...it really would be great."

"Don't forget to remind me about her, ok Mom?"

All right baby Bear, this is your reminder.

The day we took your baby brother for a check up because of the croup, you fell head over heels for a little girl named Megan Anne.

She wore a purple dress and you wore your heart on your sleeve.

You waited five whole years to meet her. :)