Mother's Day

I meant to post this last night but got distracted. I wrote this two years ago and thought you all might enjoy it. I'll write about my Mother's Day today a little later.

Mother’s Day

Tomorrow is Mother’s Day. Today I find myself pondering what the perfect Mother’s Day would be. If I just respond, “Whatever,” to the question, “What would you like for Mother’s Day?” that is exactly what I will get. My husband Bob is great with specific instructions and big hints; spontaneous altruistic shows of affection are not his strong suit. And since my kids are still preschoolers, consider this my wish list.

I’ll start with what I don’t want: to plan dinner, prepare any sort of meal, load or unload the dishwasher, wipe down tables and counters, cook special food for kids because they won’t eat what we eat, wash or fold laundry, dust, vacuum…any form of cooking or cleaning really. I don’t want to pick up or organize toys into their rightful bins; I don’t want to put clothes back into drawers after my four-year-old Bobby has recklessly tossed them in the air. I don’t want to set foot in a grocery store or run a single errand because “I’m in the neighborhood.”

I don’t want to search for socks or shoes for four individuals, when they should be in the same place I’ve designated for the past year. I don’t want to hunt for at least three pacifiers before we go out in public, assuming my 20-month-old Devin will lose that number in a two-hour period. I don’t want to address the rude know-it-all comments from well-meaning strangers that my child is too old to have a pacifier. Back off, lady!

I don’t want to do anything responsible: apply sunscreen, wear a hat, take a vitamin, drink at least eight ounces of water, or count a single calorie. I don’t want to be prepared: Devin needs a fresh diaper? The kids want a snack? Bobby needs a change of clothes? Too bad; I left the diaper bag at home. I don’t want to complete any task remotely disgusting: changing diapers, taking out the trash, or finding the root of that funky smell in the car. I don’t want to do anything that requires money, especially paying bills, because the last time I checked, my wallet had $1.72.

I don’t want to utter the phrases, “Get off your brother,” “Leave the dog alone,” “Not in the mouth,” or “No more screaming!” at the top of my lungs. I don’t want to be the chauffer, cook, maid, or referee. In a nutshell…I want a break from my daily life of stay-at-home mom.

What I do want is quite simple: peace and quiet, to just relax for once. I want to take a walk along a nature trail so that I can be alone with my thoughts. I want to sit on the dock by the lake at sunset to take in the serenity that passes me by every day. I want to drink half a bottle of red wine and eat a delectable dinner, followed by something chocolate, of course. Most of all, I want to just “be.” No to-do lists. No mommy responsibilities. Is that so much to ask?

The next morning I am awakened at the late hour of 9:00am by sweet voices chiming, “Happy Mother’s Day,” as they carry in a bountiful feast. A tray holds a stack of pancakes decorated with strawberries in a lovely star pattern. Additional fruit and warm syrup are in their own containers, and coffee just how I like it is set next to me. Memories of all those breakfasts in bed we had with my mother on her special day come flooding back. In between gobbling down bites quickly and kids climbing over me, I smile at the start of our family’s tradition.

When I finish breakfast, Bob whisks the tray to the kitchen while I shower and get ready for church. The sound of the vacuum cleaner running in someone else’s hands is sweet music indeed. For once I take my time with my morning ritual, savoring each step that makes me feel more beautiful. I pick out a blouse in my favorite color red and a skirt, which I hardly ever wear. I’m actually feeling pretty.

At church Bob takes on the duties of caring for Devin who falls asleep for the first half of the service and fidgets the second half. I can listen to the sermon for once. The priest prays for extra patience and wisdom for all of us caring for young children; yes, we need it. After the service, Bob watches the kids while I chat with some friends. I manage to have two real conversations without being interrupted by, “No, only one cookie” and “Just a minute!”

Since it’s a very windy day, our neighbors are flying a kite when we return. How fun to watch a meadow of kids chasing a darting dragon. When the boys begin to get fussy, Bob recruits them as helpers building the new playground. I’m free to just write. He tends to feeding and changing the kids while I settle in for a mid-afternoon nap, not because I’m especially tired, but because I can.

When I awake, the electricity has gone out with the storm, along with any plans of a nature walk or sunset viewing. Bob scrambles to feed dinner to two kids who only eat warm meals. Without electricity, their choices are cheese sticks and PB&J. Oh wait--we have no bread! I resist racing in with solutions and read the paper instead. He borrows a few slices next door and takes Devin to bed early.

Tucking Bobby in, I read two of his favorite books, which he has memorized now, but it pleases me to see him following each word with his finger and “reading.” Before long, he will be reading on his own, and I’ll know my influence will have been a big part of that development. I kiss him good night and “I love you’s” are exchanged. I come down to a delicious meal prepared on the grill and a candlelight dinner with my husband. No electricity has its perks. We toast to the perfect Mother’s Day.

The next morning I am awakened at 6:45am by Devin, who is running around carrying a poopy diaper. In the process, he smears a portion on our nice clean sheets. I’m awake now! By 9:30am, I’ve run two loads of laundry (of course, the sheets); fed, changed, and clothed the kids; unloaded and loaded the dishwasher; vacuumed up bits of cereal from the couch; taken out trash; sorted recycling; and packed a picnic lunch. In a way, it’s back to the grindstone, but today I have a fresh perspective on why I’ve chosen this lifestyle.

For Mother’s Day, I thought I wanted a day off from my kids but what I really needed was a vacation from the work of childcare. Without the demands of cooking and cleaning, I was free to enjoy those magical moments with my children I easily miss. And I was able to recharge and focus on my needs as a woman. My goal now is to make every day Mother’s Day by intentionally celebrating butterflies and making time for bubble baths.

The Back-up Plan--Review

First of all, I want to thank Knoxmoms for coordinating an event where I could get a Moms Night Out for FREE. Though Jennifer Lopez's new movie, The Back-up Plan, was not on my must-see list, who can argue with free? 35 attendees were also treated to a drink, popcorn, and a BPA-free sippy cup. I am grateful to have been among them.

However, honestly, I wasn't too impressed with the movie. It had its moments of laughter but was a pretty standard Hollywood cookie-cutter flick. They poked fun at the typical parts of pregnancy, childbirth, and parenting with few original ideas to get a laugh. They explored the scary parts of becoming parents including the financial commitment. And they mocked natural childbirth and breast feeding. Having had three natural births, I had to roll my eyes at their interpretation of it. Drums, frantic screaming, women swaying in the background--where do they get this stuff?

One of the Knoxmoms talking about it afterwards put her finger on it: "The creators of this movie must not like being parents; so much was negative; how sad for their kids." In the movie, there's a father of three who describes parenthood as "aweful, aweful, aweful, aweful...and then an amazing, magical moment. Then back to aweful, aweful."

I'll admit I like hearing other parents struggle with parenthood because it is hard, but I would argue "aweful" isn't an accurate description. I'd describe it more like a see-saw. I've found raising kids is a constant balance of changing poopy diapers / soothing away a boo boo with kisses; reprimanding defiant behavior / snuggling up with a favorite bed-time story; refereeing over a coveted toy / instilling values when they're not looking. Up and down, up and down, but everyone should be having fun--ok, most of the time.

So Hollywood, if you can make a movie like that, then I'll give you a standing ovation. As for this film, if you really want to see it, wait for the free codes at Red Box and rent it then.

What did you think of the movie?

Last Firsts

One of the greatest privileges of parenthood is witnessing your child experience something for the first time. In the early months of life it seems there’s a new “first” every day. Even the somewhat mundane firsts can seem mystical to a baby. Sharing many of these moments has taken on special meaning lately, since it struck me Brooke’s firsts will be my last firsts.

When she’s eight months old, I begin the task of trying to savor each of her firsts as they happen. Pictures and video are important, but this time I want to really soak in the magic of the moments. In October Brooke rides on her first tractor, sees her first goat, agonizes over her first ear infection, spits out her first antibiotics, and dons her first Halloween costume. Then one day two more big firsts not surprisingly coincide: exploring a giant leaf pile and bathing in the big tub.

Once the large maple in our front yard has turned a beautiful crimson and begins dropping its leaves like jewels, it’s time for fall’s right of passage. The boys go right to work making the pile as high as possible. Though I place Brooke ten feet from the action, she b-lines her way to the center of the flurry. She doesn’t seem to mind leaves thrown in her direction or the feeling of the soggy mass beneath her. Brooke proves bold and inquisitive.

Playing in leaves is an autumn pass-time not to be missed but so is the bath afterwards. I admit poor Brooke has not had many baths yet since she’s only now getting into the messy aspects of life. We’ve bathed her in the blue bathtub in the kitchen sink up to now, but tonight I’ve decided it’s time for her new digs. I forget about bath toys or anything other than shampoo and her towel; she doesn’t know to miss them. The look on her face as she slaps the water is pure joy. She splashes with one hand, then the other, then in front of her. And the space…she can finally move in all directions and stretch out--Wow! Hey, what’s this shiny piece? Oh, hey Mom, you’re still here? Check this out! Splash, splash, splash. I’m watching her discover the properties of water for the first time; I’m not sure who’s more mesmerized—she or I.

The months march on and with them more last firsts. She feels real cotton in the field for the first time, meets her first cousins, touches her first snow, gets her first close-up of Santa, discovers the joys of unrolling toilet paper, tastes her first chocolate fountain, and revels in her first frenzy of Christmas morning. Each day she tastes a new food or texture--a whole new world beyond mushy apples and sweet potatoes. Her eyes delight with each new discovery and say, “What’s next? Bring it on!”

Unfortunately Brooke endures her first allergic reaction and overnight in the hospital as well. Watching a penicillin-induced roving rash and swelling virtually attack my baby is a first and hopefully a last for me. I witness her first look of betrayal as she realizes Mom has allowed yet another stranger in a white coat poke her. And I for the first time imagine how tragic it would be if she suddenly stopped breathing. For 24 hours I don’t leave her side.

Thankfully kids are so resilient and in no time, Brooke is back to checking off a long list of firsts. Eleven months of age is Brooke’s time to move from crawling to standing, from cruising to walking. Every day I’m trying to capture another mobile milestone but she’s wary of my camera. “I will not perform on cue!” her face reads. Honestly it’s hard to determine what actions “count” for walking. When she rocks back and forth with a slight shimmy forward…is that her first step? Does leaning for Daddy and bracing her fall with a step count? Does she need to take three independent steps before we can consider her “walking?” I’m just grateful that I’m here to witness her skills and confidence blossom.

Bob has a very different take on my sentimental journey of “last firsts.” He’s focused more on the “last lasts.” When is the last meal Bobby will limit himself to pasta, chicken, and baked beans? When is the last time Devin will wait too long to go potty? When is the last time he’ll wake up next to Brooke after Mom brought her into our bed to nurse? The last diaper, the last nap, the last…hey, I’m in no hurry for those things.

It seems developing skills happens so slowly at the time…until you look back at a year and wonder how quickly it disappeared. Turning another page on the calendar reminds me one of the biggest last firsts is upon us: her first birthday. Am I ready to kiss my baby good-bye and begin a new era with a toddler? Even if I’m not, what difference does it make? Her growing up is not something I can stop or even slow down. No matter how many photos or hours of video I take, I can’t freeze time.

Rather than get choked up about this reality, I focus on the fact that life always changing is one of God’s greatest gifts. Imagine if we were stuck in time, like an eternal Groundhog Day or 50 First Dates. It might be cool for a while but then it would become maddening. The song that plays in my head while I write this is Turn! Turn! Turn!: To Everything There is a Season by The Byrds. That song makes me smile remembering good times, infuses me with the strength and confidence that I can endure just about anything for a short time, and gives me hope that what is yet to come is even brighter than I can imagine.