The Art of Asking

Well it's week 28 for little Joel (almost 29!) and week 3 of bed rest for me. (Read why I'm on bed rest here) Everything has slowed way down. I'm so thankful that resting seems to be working its magic although it's becoming increasingly difficult to stay in a constant state of relaxation. (Who would've thought?!) My doctor's visits so far have been nothing but positive and that helps me keep sane.

I've had some rough moments, like a few days ago when the wires got crossed on who was picking the kids up from school. Turns out no one. After my daughter calls innocently asking who is bringing them home, I hung up and just started getting ready to go get them myself.  Even though my mind is telling me to call someone, my strangled independence is looking for the car keys. Luckily, I couldn't find them. So I called John at work and thanks to his sister  the problem was solved with relative ease. But for some reason that just really got to me. Maybe it's hormones, maybe its just feeling out the frustrations of not being able to do much. I finally convinced myself it wasn't a big deal and that my helplessness is only temporary. Soon a new baby will come and I'll have plenty to do and I'll be longing for the rest I am getting now. For the time being, I have this little reminder of why I have to keep still.

My daughter picked this out as a Christmas gift, how sweet is that?

It's such a weird feeling that I can go back to sleep after the kids leave for school if I want to. It's a little hard to walk away from a pile of dishes or toys or clothes that I'm used to putting away. It feels against my nature to let the kids watch hours of tv after school or not really have a plan for the week. Not to mention, having to re-prioritize my pre-baby to do list. "Re-prioritize" meaning these things are probably not going to happen before he comes.

So I just keep looking at this little figurine on my mantle and telling myself: "I'm doing what I need to be doing right now." Not only for me, but for the little boy depending on me to take care of myself. Bed rest or not, people prosper when we take care of our needs.

I think as mothers (or any type of role where we are primarily serving others in a high capacity) certain personalities take a backseat and tend to forget about self care. It's not intentional, it just kind of happens. We just keep pushing and somewhere we cross a line and if we do it for long enough it can be somewhat destructive or at best unhealthy. Being a young mom, I've experienced the downside of not taking proper care of myself more often than not.

For the better part of my 20's I was so thirsty. Literally. I would just forget to drink water or anything really. This sounds insane but it's true. I would experience fatigue and not understand why I was so tired until John started asking, "What have you had to drink today Jenn?" I would think about it and I couldn't remember anything. Now chances are I was not so busy that I didn't have time to grab a bottle of water, its just that it became a bad habit. I just got used to depriving myself of it. As I matured and became more in tune with my needs, I realized what should have been obvious and the huge difference staying hydrated makes in how you feel and your energy levels. As you can imagine this made me a much more pleasant person to be around and a better mom to my kids.

That started opening me up to looking at other things I could do to care for myself. Like eating right or exercising or taking down time. It was sort of a fascinating time for me as I learned more about my needs and how it made me a better caregiver when those needs were met. And yes I'm making this sound entirely too easy.

Since I'm not allowed off the couch all I do is take care of myself. Or ask other people to. If I need something upstairs someone has to get it for me. If I want a meal more complex than a bowl of cereal someone has to make it for me.  I'm barely allowed to refill my own ice water if someone else is around. "What do you need? I'll get it!" While I'm forever grateful to my helpers, its hard to always ask something of others. Guess my dream of living at Downton wouldn't be so fun after all.

Breakfast in bed anyone?

A hard slow lesson that I'm learning is that asking for help is an integral part of taking care of ourselves. It's not something that I'm used to doing or particularly like doing. It just so happens that this was one of the things I was working on with my mentor before all this happened.  She has to constantly remind me that communicating our needs and even our wants is a sign of mental health and wellness.  Apparently, somewhere along the path of motherhood I fell into the lie that I needed to be self sufficient and asking for help somehow meant that I was incapable or couldn't handle things on my own. Plus, I hated the thought of inconveniencing people.

Then I found out that maybe we're not supposed handle it all on our own and that sometimes people need to be "inconvenienced" with the problems of others. It reminds us that we're all finite and helps to get us outside of ourselves. Whether it be some kind of physical ailment or stress or emotional heaviness or even just a bad day, we weren't intended to shoulder the burden by ourselves. We thrive the most as individuals in connection and community and sharing life. That includes joyous times of celebration but also meeting everyday practical needs and then right down to holding someone's hand while they grieve.  So this practice of sharing life together isn't limited to birthday parties and baby showers but includes car pools and listening at the end of a hard day and funerals and depression and times where it feels like we need help to hold our heads above the water. 

But when we act like we don't need or want help when we really really do, we aren't doing anyone any favors. There are people who genuinely need to help for their own sake. It's a win win. Then in the future, we may get the blessing of returning the favor. Not because a return favor is expected but we all know we have certain people who we ask for help. It's usually people who we have a give and take relationship with, not someone who appears to have it all together and never ever needs help. That's no fun. Asking for help is just as much a spiritual act as giving is.

This is what I'm thinking about when I am lying around all day and being waited on. It's ironic how life throws us situations where we get to practice riding a wave that we usually prefer to observe from the shore. The sooner we learn to ride it out, the less chance of being caught in the undertow. Hope I still feel this way come week 6.

More to come,

Jenna

oh! and here are a few things from around the web that inspired me this week, happy reading!

"No You're Not a Real mom Because Your House is Messy"  By Lauren Hartman

"The Spiritual Discipline of Learning Nothing" over at Chatting at the Sky

This *free* ebook: "A Little Salty to Cut the Sweet"  by Sophie  Hudson has helped keep my mood light all week. She chronicles stories about her southern family with a witty style that will make you grin while you read. 

and last but not least...

How adorable is this nursery via Apartment Therapy? Someday soon I will be allowed to decorate again but this is how I will cope in the meantime

Update on Baby Joel

Its been a week officially since I was admitted to the hospital. I was unsure whether or not I should write about it and told myself I would take a week to process everything. If I still wanted to blog about it at the end of a week, then I would.

Two Sundays ago, I was having a normal 'prepping for the week and dreading it at the same time' kind of evening. I hadn't done anything particularly out of ordinary and, other than an achy back, felt ok for being 26 weeks along with baby number three. I'm rounding out that middle trimester where you usually feel as good as you can while you tote around another human the size of a butternut squash inside of you. Anyways, I am walking up the stairs to go to sleep and by the time I reach the top my back is shooting pain so badly I can barely make it over to bed so I can lie down. I call for John and he makes the executive decision to call the squad while I'm freaking out and wincing in pain. They were there in less than 2 minutes. They escort me down the icy steps and into the ambulance. On the way to the hospital, I'm panic stricken to say the least. The fear is probably worse than the pain at this point. The EMT tries to make conversation with me to keep me calm but  all I can do is brace myself and give short answers.

Once at the hospital, I'm taken straight to labor and delivery. "Say the word 'baby' around here and people jump." the EMT said as he wheeled me to check in. By the time I'm in an exam room, John is there and another wave of pain is washing over me. I see a nurse, my doctor comes in. They run tests and take blood and listen to Joel's quick little heart. Next thing I know I'm signing papers and they are starting an IV.

"Wait, wait." I'm thinking. "This is where you tell me these are normal pregnancy pains and I'm a hypochondriac. Give me some pain meds and send me home!"

"You're being admitted" the nurse explains. "It's possible you're at risk for preterm labor."

I'm still in shock. Denial even. She said 'possible.' My first pregnancies were smooth sailing and this one is supposed to be the same.

John and I don't talk really except with our eyes and the occasional hand squeeze. It's going to be ok, he's going to be ok. I'm glad we are here. Glad we are together.

He stays with me through the night as they start me on some medicine that will slow the contractions. Which I'm still doubting and hoping that's not what the pain is, but then another one comes the fourth or fifth since I've been here. When it finally dies down and the medicine kicks in its around 3 am. I think I slept. I don't remember. The side effects are taking over, nausea and drowsiness and double vision. A small price to pay if  it is contractions.

I do remember the nurse waking me. She is sticking me with needles and taking my blood pressure and moving the monitor around my tummy to hear Joel's tiny heartbeat echo through the room. That sound is like a lullaby that soothes my fears. Each kick I feel helps me relax. People are praying for me, I can tell. My mom is on her way to sit with me and possibly help with the kids for the next few days. I am always comforted by her presence conflicted with the idea that this is serious enough to call in reinforcements.

I stay here in this place of doubt, hope, denial, fighting to stay positive amidst all the questions and fear. I'm constantly trying to decode what the doctors and nurses are saying. I feel like I have the flu. My mouth is so dry I can't eat.  They give me steroids to develop Joel's lungs. I can't sleep. They give me sleeping pills. I have nightmares and hallucinate. I want the lights on but I can't see and when I close my eyes I see things I don't want to. Like dark clouds rolling over my head or something looming beside me. When I squint I know it's just the incubator that is set up in the room.

I peer through the glass to the empty little bed and hope and pray there will be no use for it. This is just a practice run. This is all just precaution. After all "Say the word 'baby' around here and people jump." Right?

Finally it's Wednesday and they have taken me off the medicine, they let me take a shower and I'm feeling slightly human again. Yesterday, they told me there is a 50/50 chance I will still make it to full term and talk like I can even go back to work soon. I'm thinking I might take the rest of the week off or something. The doctor who admitted me wants to run one more test before I leave. This test sounds like the only sure fire way to know whether or not I'm in preterm labor.

"Why are they just doing this now?"  I think as they are prodding me one more time. "I'm fairly sure the test will be negative."

The test takes an hour to come back and I'm expecting the doctor to pop in be delighted that it was negative and tell me to pack up and go home. That all this was overkill and you can never be to careful when it comes to preterm labor. I'll accept her apology for putting me through this and the next time I see her in a room like this she will be delivering my baby at 40 weeks. Maybe I'll stop for a green smoothie on the way home.

When she comes back a little over an hour later she wastes no time telling me the test was positive. I am in labor. She's going to send me home on bed rest and hopes I make it a few more weeks. The longer the better obviously. She says good job for coming and knowing my body and she's so glad they caught it early enough.

I am floored. I am still floored one week later. Things could be worse, yes things could be a lot worse. I'm not the first woman to be put on bed rest or go through a preterm labor scare. Not the first to wonder how things will go at home, wondering how our little family of four will work if I'm barely allowed off the couch. Not the first to want to call her doctor over every little pain or concern.

But it is my first time. I'm going to allow myself a certain amount of reasonable unease. Enough to keep me on this couch for 6 weeks or however long I make it. Beyond that, I have resolved to think positive and keep my mind busy. I'm going to write blogs and journals and read every book I've ever wanted to. I will craft and watch futile yet entertaining series on Netflix. As many as I want at the same time. And I'm not going to research preemies or preterm labor or really focus on anything pregnancy related. When all else fails, I will call one of the many people who have been supportive to me through this and I know I can count on them to remind me of my purpose.

This purpose is really in no way different than any other time in motherhood. I am protecting and nurturing a little life that I carry with me everywhere I go. Even mothers of grown children will tell you, this is still their purpose as a mom. Protect and nurture. This is a literal acting out of noble motherhood, with all it's sacrifices and heart wrenching love. I'm giving up my body and my privileges and my day to day agenda for someone else for a few weeks. But in essence, don't we do that everyday as mothers without blinking? And really its not just mothers. This experience is teaching me well that crisis brings people's true values to life and its a beautiful, humbling thing to be a recipient of.

My doctor said she wouldn't wish bed rest on her worst enemy. Well. It's only been a week so I may be jumping the gun by saying that I want to learn all I can from this experience. I am already learning to just say yes when people want to help or offer you support. I'm learning that my husband is way more amazing than I ever give him credit for. I am learning to let go of my way and my expectations and realize how little control I actually have over my life. I'm focusing on savoring  little moments of joy and storing them up for when I am struggling through my long quiet day.

I'm also just trying to take each day as it comes. At the end of this I wont look back and regret that I didn't worry more or rack my mind with all the possible outcomes. No. One step at a time. Today is a good day: I slept in to a perfectly unreasonable hour, baby Joel is kicking the laptop as I balance it on my tummy, and I'm looking at my first ultrasound since the hospital. The technician said it looked perfect.

Sharing this story in such detail was not something I intended to do. It just sort of came out when I started typing. Like I said, I was not sure whether I would. As I sit here and edit and muster the courage to hit the publish button my inner critic starts piping up as it often does. More than ever, now is when I have to tell it to be quiet and let people in. I have received so much support from those around me who already know what is going on and I just have this sneaking suspicion that this is one of those times when you can't have too much of something. There's no such thing as too many people who care, too many prayers, or too much love. Thanks in advance from the bottom of my heart.

Jenna

p.s.- I'll keep you posted. (Probably a lot more now since I'm tethered to the couch:)

Receive

So the holiday stress has set in and I'm realizing this because I'm binge eating Rolos wrapped in red and green foil driving down the road. I'm coping with the trip I just made to Target which is supposed to be therapeutic under normal circumstances, but it's insanely crowded on a Wednesday night. I'm wading through the crowd for shoes to go with my sons outfit for his Christmas program and matching accessories for my daughters outfit and snacks for their class Christmas parties and teacher gifts and and our own kids presents (presents that I will later buy online because I vowed not to brave a crowded store around Christmas time because that is asking for stress, yet here I am) All through the store, I'm subconsciously thinking of this dinner and that gathering and my mile long to do list. Did I mention my oldest daughter's birthday party is this week? She's 11 years old,  how is she 11? She's one those lucky kids born within a few days of the 25th. To top it all off, I'm pregnant and tired and whiney. I'll need a nap before I can even finish writing this.

I tell myself every year I will not get stressed out because I cannot be divided into more than one piece no matter how much I would like to be. There is still only one me that can only do so many things at once. At Christmas more than any time ever, why is it so hard to just be in one place at one time and just enjoy it? Everyone is in hurry up mode, everyone is rushed and stressed and looking overspent. You can just see the blankness in peoples eyes as they dart from store to store, speeding through one lot to the next. It's that phased out look...going going gone. Just like our money. This feeling of being spent, it's contagious, have you noticed?

How can one keep Christmas simple? Is this even possible? There are a few things I try to do to help cut down on stress:

Online shopping? Check.

Minimize the amount of commitments you make? Check.

Plan ahead, make lists? Check.

Keep your eye on the prize: remember the reason for the season? Ugh.

No matter how I might try the stress always seems to creep in. The philosophy to a simple Christmas should be the same as any other time we want to enjoy life more and stress less. Slow down. Take time to stop and smell the roses. Take joy in the ordinary. Do less in the name of wholeness. Strip life down to what really matters and focus in on that. At Christmas time this minimalist philosophy seems next to impossible. All the hype can sweep you away before you even put up the tree. 

Before I get too Scrooge like, let's back track to that almost Christmas birthday 11 years ago. I remember I was about to burst with expectancy. I was scared to death not knowing what the future held and how this little life would make her way into the world.  A part of me has always identified with Mary, Jesus' mom, because I think she must have felt the same. Alone and ashamed; silently judged as a too young mother yet feeling like I held a secret inside that was both sacred and full of new life.

But once that little baby came, nothing else mattered. There was not a single present under the tree. I don't even think there was a tree. No big meals or parties. Yet there was so much joy and raw emotion. Celebration and hope. I was left wondering how such a regularly dysfunctional person could ever do anything to receive this amazing gift. Come to find it's grace, just pure life giving grace.

Maybe that's the point of all of it. All of our effort in trying to create a perfect Christmas fails every time leaving us overwhelmed and overspent; reminding us of our humanity. Our American culture says more, more, more. We train our kids from early on. We have so much yet so little at the same time. We lose sight of life abundantly because we are too busy trying to create our own life with the tangible. Then there's that little baby, who came in the humblest of ways, reminding us that less is more and that He is the gift if only we will receive. He offers things we could never imagine or create of our own resources. Things like peace and joy despite painful circumstances. Things like hope when there's no light we can see no matter how hard we squint to see it at the end of the tunnel. Things like life, a full life, where our heart is drawn to things that really count. We've heard it said, he is both the gift and the giver. 

Yet there's no guilt here from the giver. Nothing expected in return. You don't have to show up anywhere or give a reciprocal gift or even get dressed up.  It's already been given, all that's needed of you is a simple, "Yes. I want that." It seems too easy, right? Too good to be true. Just a simple yes; like a child shredding through the wrapping paper experiencing the simple unadulterated joy of receiving.

So as we count down the days to Christmas and the stress mounts I will participate in all the normal holiday happenings. I will go to Christmas plays and parties and dinners. I will wrap presents and unwrap presents. I will cook and craft and check things off the list.  I will hide that stupid Elf one. More. Time. (really I love you Elf, but creatively placing you in a different position 25 times? You're not all that magical.) I will drink cocoa and listen to carols and watch all our favorite Christmas movies.

excuse my back row blurry Christmas program pic :)

But all the while, I'll try to remember the night that a child was born and the world held still. I'll try to remember the child within who just needs to receive and say: "Yes, I want that."

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas,

Jenna

Small Things>Great Things

It's been so hard to write lately. Every time I start I scrap it before I reach a conclusion. Then I get to the point where I can't even start. I blame it on the paralyzing cold, or the loudness of my cooped up house or all the thoughts and plans of holidays and parties and things to come.

I just keep waiting and hoping for a brilliant or at least mediocre topic to muse on to pop into my head, along with a nice catchy title of course. Then there's this nagging little feeling that always tells me  that I need to be doing something. The notion to be productive outside of my daily tasks of raising little people, being a connected wife and friend and taking care of myself. That's about all I can squeeze in these days and for some reason I always feel the pull to do more, be more, give more. Like I should volunteer here or there, or go back to school or start a non profit organization so that I can pass out blankets and roast turkey to all the freezing homeless people with their fingerless gloves outstretched as I drive by day after day. 

Part of the problem is that I'm a feeler. I've always known this but only in recent times have I understood how this impacts my well being. My mom always referred to me as sensitive or tender hearted, this is a description I have learned to grow into. Of course, this has its good and bad trappings. When I experience the world around me, I personalize almost all of it. I have empathy on the downtrodden, I identify with the depressed, I imagine myself in the shoes of the minority. It makes my head hurt just thinking about it. Sometimes I let this tendency overwhelm me and then feel guilty for not doing more. As if I could solve the problems of the world in one day if I weren't too lazy to get up off the couch. This is a delusion, I realize. To say that the need, even that which I encounter on a daily basis, far exceeds my resources would be an understatement. 

I was talking about this with a friend who is in a similar life season. She said she gets this nagging "do more" guilt trip in her head all the time too. Sometimes it even sounds like this: "You are a believer, you should be a servant to everyone around you all the time." She used to try and satisfy this voice. Until one day she told it to shut up. (Wait. You can do that?) Yes, you can she reassured me and then she said was already a servant. That she, in her everyday life of loving and forgiving and trying again, was doing everything she needed to do. She didn't have to start a charity or move to another country or do anything other than to tell that little voice to zip it. 

There is a tension here though. Because I truly admire those people are who making "big" changes or sacrifices to make a difference in the culture around them. For some reason I always forget that these admirable things take time and almost always start small. I just look in awe at the end result and skip over the fact that maybe this started out as a prayer under someone's breath or dream in someone's heart. In my generation's obsession with instant gratification I can't say that I'm all that interested in the prep work, I just want to get right to the good stuff.  

But we know it doesn't work like that.

Feats of this sort are comparable to a good meal. First you have the recipe. I don't know about anyone else but my food always turns out better if I actually sit and read through the recipe a couple times before I even get to the kitchen. This is especially true if it's my first time making something. Do I have all the ingredients? Is my 13x9 pan clean? Do I know this technique or should I watch a you tube video on it first? Then comes the chopping and the measuring and the timing. Then sautéing or broiling or baking. It always amazes me that pulling together a few ingredients and techniques can produce endless combinations of enjoyable sustenance. The lovely science of cooking can be so satisfying.

But I've also had many kitchen failures and dishes that turned out to be rather inedible. Cue the take out pizza or the Chinese food. This can be frustrating. Next time hopefully we won't use baking soda instead of baking powder or add so much salt. We will follow the recipe more carefully and be more thorough. Or if it was bad enough we might decide to never ever make that dish again. (I did not make these pies or take these pictures. Thank you internet.)

We might have a big love in our hearts but often even in the small ways we fail to carry it out. We aren't the hero or the saint that we thought was driving our plan to save the world. We are human. We have wrong motives. Like creating an acceptable image for ourselves or trying to please others or the God that already loves us as we are. In reality, we can't even be nice to our spouse in the morning. We yell at our kids. We aren't dependable friends. We have limits and when we reach them it usually manifests into something ugly in our lives. It's a good thing the world doesn't depend on us to save it. Not that you need to be free of flaws to do anything worthwhile, otherwise no good would ever be accomplished in the world.

Maybe that's why small is ok. And maybe while we are raising our families or going to school or working our same boring job day in and day out, God is preparing us in ways we never thought. Aligning us with people who need to be in our path. Sharpening and balancing out our passions. This process can't be one that's rushed and we can't opt out. Like those simple recipes with a few fresh key ingredients, the ones we learn by heart. We make them time and again. With practice, we perfect them and even learn to embellish them. We can then use them as building blocks to create something substantial and enduring. 

But I don't ever want to seem like I'm waiting to get to that sweet spot in life. I know that spot will only be sweet because of this one and the one before and the one before. Because a lot of times the story doesn't come until you're in the middle of writing it.

Then the questions looms: what if I never do anything great? 

To that question I would have to ask another: what or who defines great to you? 

Once we have the answer to this, we don't need to fear an unproductive life. If I find this a reoccurring question in my heart or always feel the need to be doing something 'important' maybe my answer isn't what it should be. If my honest answer makes me feel small, it's time to change that. I think that's where my friend gathered the courage to tell that little voice to be quiet. 

As we head into the holidays this is especially important to remember. This time for celebration and rest and focusing on what's truly valuable is often overwhelmed by busyness, stress and over consumption and silent competition. Let's do ourselves a favor and not over do it. Let's give the gift of our presence and our joy in the moment. This can only come when we define greatness as small and everyday. When we gather around tables with family let's not judge greatness with a ruler that we wouldn't want anyone holding up to us. Let love find one another wherever we're at in life. There's no need to impress anyone because all they really want is acceptance. And really, demonstrating love and acceptance to people is the best impression you can make on another life.

Photo credit

~Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours~

Jenna

The Phases of Motherhood

This post has been hanging out in the back of my mind for awhile now. It just wont leave me alone so I guess I'll write it even though I feel under qualified and under researched. I would've liked to have taken a poll from friends and acquaintances, all in different stages of being a mom to see what kind of new things I could learn. But if I ever want to see this post actually come to fruition, that will have to wait a bit. So you have to do with my own thoughts/experience about the phases we go through as moms.

As parents we are usually thinking about the phases and growth our children are going through without much thought about our own life stages. For our kids, we expect the standard cycle of newborn, toddler, preschooler, child, pre teen, teen, young adult and hopefully, eventually mature adult. But adults go through stages (and stages within stages) too although they may not be as clearly outlined. Lately I've been thinking a lot about how my mothering shifted and changed over time. (Now I only have ten years under my belt, so older moms bear with me and please feel free to add any valuable insight!)

My experience is slightly different from most I would say because I started out bearing the name "mom" before I turned 20. So I was immature and knew pretty much nothing about putting someone else's needs before my own. I can remember how jolting this was at first and how hard I fought to hold on to my independence. I did not want to give up the life I had before I became a mother. I still wanted to go out with friends every night, go to parties and clubs, and dress like I had no business dressing, mama or not. After I realized that this old life just wasn't meshing well with my new role I calmed down a bit. After getting married and committing to be at home full time I entered the phase I like to call "The OCD Phase."

Entering this phase was not intentional in the least, like I said at this point I knew zero about being a mother or that I would even go through phases. However, something unexpected happened to me that first year with my lovely baby girl. I didn't realize it at the time but we had become woven together like the threads of a piece of fabric even though we were not physically joined anymore. Once I opened my eyes to it, I began seeing bits of my Creator sprinkled all over this new creation like fairy dust. I was so enamored with her, I became obsessed with her and the part I played in her life. Everything was about her. My identity melted into hers and hers into mine. This blurry line between the two of us meant that some of my own insecurities fell onto her. She had to look perfect all the time, she was so beautiful and amazing to me I wanted to make sure no one else missed out because she had food on her face or her clothes didn't match. That meant I needed to be the one to do everything for her. My husband, my mother, other meaningful helpers that I should of taken advantage of were often met with, "I can do it." Even if I was exhausted, "I can do it."

This drive for perfection was partly the culprit for continuing to stay home and also choosing homeschooling for her early years. This meant a ton of one on one time for me and my daughter. I know this played a part in developing her into the strong and confident little woman she is today. However, on the down side I also unintentionally transferred some of my well intended yet perfectionist tendencies to her and on some days her strong will can resemble defiance. (Shocking, I know, a pre teen showing defiance?!) But that's ok. She is human and I know that now.

Somewhere along the way I began to grow tired and ask myself "why?" As she grew, I became more secure in my motherhood and loosened up a bit. About that time, the birth of my second child came came crashing into reality. With this tiny man child came a whirlwind blowing across life that I'm not sure I have ever quite recovered from. He stole my heart as it stretched wide enough to accommodate him. You never know the love you can pour out until it is required of you. Even with the stretching, this little superhero seemed to take off running from the womb. He was and is constant motion. His energy never wanes and I am constantly playing catch up.  This tiny man has the stamina and determination of a soldier, only he takes orders from no one. Once he mastered the run I was chasing him everywhere, through the grocery store, across the entire acreage of the zoo, and even out the front door into the street a couple of times.

With this whirlwind known as typical boy stuff, I entered the phase of burnout. I could never parent him the same way I did his older sis because I just couldn't catch him. People gawk when I don't make him sit at the table or put him on a leash (which I tried, I honestly did, and it lasted all of two seconds). There was and is no pushing perfectionism or unrealistic expectations onto my son even if I had the energy to. Potty training and learning shapes and working through his temper would all just come in their own time not because that is the healthy approach but because there was really no other way. So admittedly, I kind of just gave up. Which had it's pros and cons. Pro: I lowered my standards and became more flexible. Not in pushover way but in a way that has made me better at choosing my battles. Con: I became critical or doubtful of advice or parenting articles/books and generally held disdain for those who were still in the stage I was in previously. Not to mention the fact, that it seemed there was no advice or technique that would work for whatever his current dilemma was. "Oh, explaining all the good this nasty cherry medicine will do for your child convinced her to take it? Mine spits it back in my face even if it's in a vat of chocolate. What's that? you potty trained in three days? Mine took two years and I still have to beg him to go." I had to figure out discipline and development and ways to relate to him pretty much from scratch (and still am). This meant a lot of trial and error, leaning more toward error on most days. Too much of this trying and failing and negativity combined with the burnout of chasing a toddler tornado day in and day out left me feeling kind of hopeless and not really enjoying motherhood as I did before (if you couldn't tell from my above cynicism).

While this was a quite a heavy season for me, it was also a slow springboard into finding my way back to "me." This is where I am at currently, and when I say slow, I mean slow. So slow I really cant even pinpoint when it first started happening or why. I think it came in bits and pieces.  At first the paints and canvases started to come out again. Splashing and swiping and creating across a perfect blank white was so therapeutic to me. Then came the writing, instead of just pulling out the journal when I needed to vent, I wrote to express all kinds of things. Descriptions and drawings and ideas and dreams filled the lines of my journals again.  I started paying attention to myself and
allowing feelings I had always pushed away because "good mothers don't feel like that." I let go of my identity in reference to someone else and started to re-form my own.  I also started to make room for relationships. Not just play dates where we only talked about kids, but real live conversations with other women who were going through the same thing I was. I also experimented with being a student to people who were in a totally different stages of life.  I let myself have friends and mentors and stopped saying, "I'm too busy." I got really interested in the concept of community and how that grows us as individuals.  I let myself become passionate about something outside my sphere of comfort and it led me to fly around the world to Bangkok, Thailand to work with girls caught up in the sex trade, an experience I would trade for nothing and can only wish to match in the future. (Here's an awesome blog that tells all about it, if this piques your interest!) All of these things gradually built into me, not just as a mom but as a woman. I'm still reaching out and climbing that mountain of self discovery daily.

For those of you thinking, well all that sounds wonderful but it also sounds a wee bit on the selfish side. After all, isn't motherhood a ministry of sacrifice and service? I would say that's only part of the equation. I actually see so much more of that selfish teenager rearing her ugly head when I don't make room for myself in motherhood.  Something it took me way too long to figure out is that taking good care of others requires a stable person, aka someone who takes care of themselves too. Some one who has sensible boundaries and at least a semi firm grasp of their own identity. If I want that for my kids, I have to first be that myself.  Leaning into my own individuality has also given me permission to see and appreciate my children's individuality. I can like them, not just love them, and anticipate what the future of motherhood holds for me instead of dreading it.

I still have days where I let my inner critic peek through or I meander down a path of feeling discouraged because nothing seems to work. I have however come to the realization that maybe parenting isn't about finding things that "work." After all my children aren't robots that I can program to be a certain way. Just because I plug in certain techniques doesn't mean they will respond the way I hope they will. They are humans with free will and unique personalities that have shown through from the moment their newborn screams pierced the air in the delivery room. Even though they are still learning and developing, they are their own little people and the part I play in that is transforming with each phase that they pass through. And it's perfectly o.k. to figure things out as we go. And to have fun and make messes and do things the "wrong" way. It's o.k. to say, "I'm sorry, lets try again." And it is more than o.k. to let go of the fear that drives us into gloomy or defeated places as moms and to take steps away from it. Your husband, your kids, and generations to come will thank you for it.  Here is an article that I often refer back to because it resonated with me deeply during a time when I was feeling frustrated that I couldn't run off and be an artist or a missionary. It helped me articulate those frustrations and begin learning how to balance motherhood with passion, a dance I am still learning the steps to.

I hope this stirs some thoughts about your own journey through motherhood, it always helps to recognize where we have been and where we are, holding onto to the hope that we are always changing and evolving as caretakers to our precious little ones, but more importantly as women. I love to know that I'm not just raising my kids but that they are also raising and maturing me. I know there are lots of other phases, probably even some in my own life that I haven't realized. From empty nesters, to mothers suffering loss or parents of children's with special needs, to raising multiples or families with six or seven kids, our experiences are all so different and unique yet tied together with the common thread of love. We all want to be the very best we can for our kids. We need grace and understanding and encouragement for each other in this sisterhood of being called "mom." Because we are all in different places at different times with different children. Compare, contrast, get advice, yes, but most of all fuse the mothers around you with courage and strength and assure them that they are doing just fine, whatever phase they might be going through. 

Thanks for reading today,

Jenna

Losing the Hurry Up Habit

Shew. It has been a crunched couple of weeks.

I volunteered for lunch duty all last week and let me tell you, one little itty bitty hour can make an amazing difference in your day! In this case, I was losing an hour that would have otherwise been free time. So for that reason among others time has felt a little slippery as of late.

It feels as if I can't catch up or take the time for self care to write or sleep or just be. I always feel a little un-grounded when there is no white space in my schedule.  It feels like I'm running in circles all day, checking off box after box, until I am completely depleted and fall into bed only to get up and start the whole process again. It feels like there could never be enough time in the day to fit what needs to fit.

If I live like this for any extended period of time, I find myself rushing and hurrying even when it's not necessary. I feel like I am always on the clock and always need to be prepared. I think part of this is due to having young children. They will make you crazy. You are always having to anticipate their next move so they do not injure themselves or anyone within a five foot radius. They may eat something poisonous or climb a bookshelf or escape out the front door. You must constantly be on guard. I may be exaggerating, I often do, but at any rate this makes me want to always be two steps ahead. Yet sometimes I find myself thinking, "What's the rush?" I first started noticing this when my oldest was constantly asking me, "Mom, is there time to ___?" I would think, "Were just going to the park/for a walk/some other leisurely activity, yes there's time, why is she asking me this?" Oh. Probably because I seem like I'm always hustling to catch the next flight or something.  Then the youngest child has zero concept of time, in his world there is always time.

Time is funny like that. It has always been a boggling concept to me. I hear the clock ticking in my ear as I type, the clacking of the key board filling in the gaps between the seconds.  Sometimes the hands on the clock seem so unwilling to move, like they just won't budge no matter how many times you glance up at them. I suppose that's when our mind is in anticipation mode, like waiting for the work day to end or for a party to start. Yet other times we lose track of those spinning hands altogether and wonder how the seconds, minutes, hours, have escaped our grip as if we had actually had one to begin with. This is usually the result of hustling through our days, never slowing down. In retrospect, time just shrinks. The mere idea of the past just makes time feel like sand slipping through our fingers. I think of the first year of a baby's life. Some of those days seem excruciatingly long, but when you look back it's always, "where did the time go?"

Then there are times that are neither here nor there, when we are so aware of a particular moment that time seems to stand still. We wish we could hit the pause button and hold on to that moment forever.  We can revisit a moment so often in our heart and mind that it stays with us forever. I suppose the smartphone and the ability to take a picture of any given scene throughout the day has capitalized on moments like this. There are some pictures I look through that make me laugh out loud every time I look at them and some that make me shed a tear or two every time I see it.  But even then, nothing compares to being in that moment with all your senses present and experiencing the full emotion and wonder of it.

I was lucky enough to have one such moment with my little guy the other night. Although, it definitely didn't start out too special.

He was having a rather difficult time settling after a busy day.   He had been walking all over downtown with dad, to orange leaf and the spray ground. It was one of those times where trying to wear your child out backfires into a sleepy, grumpy fit before bedtime. He is stiff as board as I carry him up the stairs, protesting the entire way. "I'm not sleepy, I'm not sleepy!" After wrestling him into some mismatched pj's, he refuses to lay in bed but insists on continuing his fit on the floor directly beside his bed. I try to hold him, soothe him, get him to put his little arms around my neck. He wants no part in cuddling at the moment. After trying to persuade him for a few minutes I can see my efforts are getting me  nowhere. Normally, at this point in the game I would sadly say, "Okay, have it your way," and walk out of the room in hopes that removing his audience would make the tirade cease. Really, this is my white flag move, I give up, "just cry yourself to sleep on the floor" I think.  But for some reason, even though I was quite exhausted myself, I just stop. Instead of trying to tune into my "parenting instincts" (aka how I could manipulate him into sleeping) I try instead to tune into his feelings.This can be such an easy thing to forget to do in the heat of a power struggle with a little one. More often than not, I am focused on "winning" which usually results in a prolonged conflict.

"I know you wanted to stay awake and finish your movie," I whisper into his ear as he is face down screaming into the floor. "I know you don't want to go to bed right now.

"No I DON'T!" he confirms. "I don't want to go to bed, I'm not sleepy!"

I put my hand on his back and try to soak in the frustration he is feeling right now. I know he is tired and his little brain is having trouble switching off.

"Let's talk about your day," I offer. "You had so much fun with daddy. Did you run through the water together? Was it cold today?"

 I rub his back. He is still crying but less defiant. I feel him relax just slightly. I help him turn over.

I look in his eyes,"Were there other kids playing in water too?"

"Yeah..."His bottom lip quivers but his words fall short. More tears.

That's when the fireworks start sounding the end of the baseball game across the river. It's Friday, so I know it will be a long show. I ask if he wants to see them. We watch out his window looking through the tree that sheds little yellow leaves all over our back patio. His little head with his little boy smell falls to my shoulder.

 "What flavor did you get at Orange Leaf? Chocolate?" I continue our conversation from earlier.

"Nooo, I got orange," he whimpers.

"Did you put gummy worms on top? Sprinkles?" I ask still hoping to engage him.

The fireworks still booming in the background.

"Mom, I can sleep through the fireworks if you sit with me.."

"You can?" I turn from the window and place him in his bed.

He nods, "If you sit with me.." He says and he snuggles down and closes his eyes. Before I know it, his breathing slows and he is completely passed out. I am utterly relieved.

Yet for whatever reason, I have this new found patience and instead of crawling into my own bed or camping out in front of Netflix, I just stay. I watch his little chest rise and fall. I brush his still baby soft hair across his forehead. I take in all his little features and just pray that I can capture this moment forever. That I can have the stillness of heart and slowness of deed to find more of these moments. I stayed by his side relishing in this small victory of peace for what seemed like hours. Maybe this doesn't seem like a big deal, but have you ever rocked a fussy infant to sleep and just felt the pure satisfaction of their own peace? If so, then you can relate!

In the last year or so I have been trying to practice the art of going slow, especially when it comes to my kids. I got so tired of going through life wishing it away. Tired of counting down the hours until my husband would come home, desperate for relief and the company of another adult. Wishing the weekend would come, only to have it whiz by in a blink. Hoping the next stage of childhood would hurry up because I wasn't enjoying the current one my child happened to be on that much. Rushing through errands and cooking and cleaning and bedtime stories just so I could get to the next thing on the agenda. (Sleep!) Learning the art of slow, intentional living was foreign to me. I had no idea where or how to start, only that I needed to.

How do you slow down time?

How many moments of bliss, like the night of the fireworks fit, had I missed because I hadn't taken the time to notice that they were there?

Is it too late for me already? Can I re-learn how to look at those hands whirling around the clock?

I know I am not alone in this quest and am so thankful for the resources that helped me answer these questions. I still go back to their words and drink in their blogs like water on a hot day. The first one is Hands Free Mama (if you read parenting blogs/books at all I am sure you are familiar with Rachel Mary Stafford, who is coming out with book #2 next year).  Rachael's philosophy is all about letting go of the distractions in our life, be it our phones, our calendars, or even our overly critical perfectionist preferences so that we are wide open to receive all of life's little blissful moments. I have gleaned so much from her words as she shares her own personal journey of slowing down.

The other advocate of slow living that I really enjoy reading is the poetic Ann Voskamp. In her book "1000 Gifts" Ann learns to count the simple joy filled moments through her day and jots them down in a gratitude journal. By purposefully increasing her gratitude, she learned how to see life through a different lens and look for these moments as if she were mining for rare gems. (Side note: I don't always agree with Ann's theology, but since she is such a fabulous writer I overlook it:)

So, if you have ever asked yourself any of the above questions or even just feel like time is not your friend, you could benefit from the wisdom of these ladies. I know I have, but I still have a long way to go. It's so easy to rush through life and never take the time to notice all the beauty and joy that is lying in wait for us. I hope that once I practice it enough, it will become second nature to me and I will no longer look at the hands on the clock with dread. I can slow the rush and put down my distractions and stop being so preoccupied with what the next moment might hold. Instead, I can be fully present in each moment wondering what gift may await here and now.

Take it slow today,

Jenna

Be Yourself, Everyone Else is Taken -Oscar Wilde

Why is it that when you are expected to do something that is creative in nature the process naturally stalls (even if those expectations come from yourself)?  I was afraid of this. In fact, it was one of the excuses that always held me back from starting a blog. That I wouldn't be able to think of anything to say. Let me rephrase that: that I wouldn't give myself permission to say the things I'm thinking.

It kind of reminds me of design school.  Especially this certain class where the final project was to draw up rough blue prints and a furniture layout, complete with swatches of upholstery and samples of paint colors. Sounds fun right? I thought so at first. But then there were all the rules and the grading scale. Was this design well thought out? Was it cohesive enough? Original enough? Did it serve its function as a living space as well being aesthetically pleasing? Would the instructor agree with my selections? Because there were so many colors and patterns and textures to choose from. It was quite overwhelming. I remember not being totally satisfied with my end result. It was at this juncture that I begin to doubt I would really love this as a career as much as I thought I would. I’m sure I would have made a fine interior designer but I'd always know where I get to have the most fun is within the walls of my own home. No rules or anyone’s design sense matter but my own.

Okay, that was a long metaphor. All that just to say, freedom of expression is a beautiful thing.  I am re-learning how to exercise that creative freedom as I share what I write with others. There’s this little book I've been reading that has been helping me along tremendously. It came via recommendation by one my favorite authors so of course I am soaking in every word of it like it’s truth passed down from God. The name of it is “Writing to Find Yourself: Learning to be more authentic through the art of writing” by writing coach Allison Vesterfelt.  This is just a short 100 page ebook, but I am taking my time working through each of the challenges she gives at the end of the chapters.

The chapter I’m currently on is about learning to speak up. Allison talks about struggling to tell her husband that his dieting and daily weighing in are causing her to be self conscious about her own appearance even though she is at a healthy weight. She wasn't expecting her husband to quit dieting, she was actually quite proud of him, she just needed to be heard. She didn't want her honesty to take a toll on his progress. 

I can identify with her through this chapter a lot because I’m the type of person who tends to keep her opinion to herself or at least waits until I feel I have something of weight to offer to the conversation. Like most introverts, small talk is difficult for me and something that I have to practice just so I can be socially acceptable. I also really dislike confrontation or stepping on peoples toes. I always try hard to filter my words, and when I don’t, I obsess over how the receiving person perceived what I said. “Oh, I hope I didn’t offend so and so…” This can be a little annoying in my brain, I have to admit. Half the time I don’t know whether I’m sensitive or just egotistical! Usually I have to convince myself that I can’t take back what I said and chances are they didn’t give what I said a second thought. And more often than not, that is the case.  Other times, if I do say something  notable, I don’t even notice it unless they come back and say “hey, thanks for saying this or that, it really helped me/encouraged me/made me see things in a different light. (Okay, this doesn’t happen everyday but it has happened before!)  So really the obsession over when to say or when not to say something is usually in vain and is caused by over thinking about how people might react. 

Allison says it this way: "Something profound is happening to me as I’m learning to own my own story without asking others to own it for me.  I’m discovering I’m stronger and more unique than I ever imagined. I’m discovering there is room for me. I’m beginning to see how my thoughts and ideas and opinions aren’t nearly as important to the world as my voice is- the words and images and stories that make up who I am.”

I love that. Because it takes the pressure off to say just the right thing at the right moment. When I am focused on my voice, instead of the right thing to say, my most authentic self gets to come through. Being present is more important is more important than trying to maintain my like-ability. I keep picturing a necklace (my beautiful friend, who happens to have a very flowing creative spirit, made these). What is special about it is not just one bead in particular, but they way they compliment each other when they are strung together.

Think of your favorite author or storyteller or even your favorite character from TV or a book. Do you like that person for just one of their view points or one famous quote that they articulated? I would say, its a safe bet, that you like them because of their bottom line. Because of who they are as a whole being. Because of how their past and present, imperfections and triumphs, strengths and weaknesses all run together.  

 
So just to clarify, this is not about bashing everyone around you with your point of view on things. I still think wise people choose their words and don’t always have the loudest of voices. I value silence and listening immensely. It is more about just giving yourself permission to be just that: yourself. To be all of you, flawed and filled with beauty all at once. You are not the same as everyone else, regardless of whether you think you are or not, and it would be quite a boring world if you were or if you always had the perfect thing to say.

I think that perhaps this kind of openness can be a struggle for creative energy or even just expressing ourselves in general. Vulnerability is hard work. We have to own the fear.  It takes practice to take down the mask.  It also helps if we have a safe environment at first.

I have a complicated past that sounds a little like it could be story line for Parenthood or one of those shows we all love about dysfunctional families. Sometimes I’m ok with my story and other times I subconsciously tuck it away. I guess it just depends on who is around and how safe I feel. But I feel most at home and most like myself with the people who know my past baggage, or better yet lived through it with me. They knew me then, they know me now and they accept all of me. 

I am slowly discovering that the key to creating a safe environment for myself and others is to be brave and take off my mask first. Or at least simultaneously. And really both parties benefit from this. I mean think about it, who are the people you feel the safest around? The most like yourself around? It's most likely the people who don't hide their own junk, who let you in on their downs just as much as their ups. When you aren't afraid to own up to who you are, you invite others to do the same. They may or may not accept the invite, but at least you offered. And if they do accept, you have just taken the first steps toward building an authentic relationship with someone. 

I’m thinking of a particular relationship in my own life, where it just seemed like there was some sort of block or negative energy between us. I couldn’t pinpoint the reason and it really kind of bugged me. Then one day, she hinted at something flawed in her past, or maybe just something she was insecure about. She was getting tired of holding up the mask. I found myself validating her and relating to her by sharing a similar experience. All of the sudden, there was a slight shift between us. It's not always this easy and I'm sure there will be other obstacles to overcome.  We may not be “bff material,” but that invisible wall came down. And that made me happy.

Maybe you are reading this and feeling like you don't have any or enough of those safe relationships in your life. Friendships where you feel accepted and known. Accept this as an invitation to be yourself, share your flaws and take off your mask. It takes time and effort but is well worth the process. You may be surprised how people react when you stop asking permission to be yourself. And if you're lucky enough to have plenty of these friendships, be that safe place for someone else. Because we could all use that freedom.

Thanks for reading today, have a great weekend!