Post Category → motherhood

first [and second, and third…] babies.

I was changing the wash over to the dryer this afternoon, and thinking about my two new mama-sisters. I thought about the things I should make sure to say to them, things that made a difference for me as I found myself suddenly up to my eyeballs in mothering. (Because there’s no “I’ll just get my feet wet” approach, is there? As much as people try to say, “I’ll start with a house plant, then work up to a cat, then a dog, and then maybe…” well, it’s just not the same. It’s always a sudden plunge into the deep end of the pool.)

So I’m going to say those things, but I’m going to say them here. It’s been awhile since I wrote much about mothering in general (as opposed to the very specific interactions I have with my three treasures), and perhaps there are other new mamas who would like to hear this, too. (And maybe not-new mamas? We all need refreshers along the way.)

In no particular order:

Food to eat and clean clothes to wear: this is your new to-do list. These are the things that truly matter, so save your energy for these. And we’re simply going for clean and healthy — NOT fancy.

You know how “clean the living room” always meant a deep-clean? Well, for the next little bit, “cleaning” can mean vacuuming and a quick dust of the high-traffic areas. Ignore the rest. (I didn’t really understand the importance of Spring Cleaning until I had Jameson. Turns out I had been spring cleaning every week, but that doesn’t work so well with a baby in tow.)

Mama always said she gave herself 6 months before she expected to really be into any sort of “new normal” routine. Well, maybe you’ll be amazing like Mama, or more not-super-hero like me: I give myself 9 months. Okay. Maybe 12. At any rate, NOT a few weeks, like I sort of expected.

I also give myself 9 months to naturally regain a pre-baby weight. Nine months to get there, nine months to get back. (When I get to 9 months and still have an extra 10 pounds, I start to actually cut out cake for breakfast. Ha!)

Read Nancy Campbell. NOT parenting articles by popular gurus. And maybe that’s a little radical, because certainly there is plenty of good advice and some decent ideas out there, but mostly not. And mostly stemming from a carnal impulse, rather than a God-seeking one. Nancy is the real deal.

This counts. These months of what seem like small things that make you just cry and cry? These are genuine sacrifices. This is genuine seed-sowing. The house not being quite to your standard? You’re laying it down for the least of these. Letting other things go and reaffirming that this baby, this husband, these people are more important? Legit.

If you’re feeling frustrated by your baby’s demands because you can’t keep up with life’s demands, cancel life. I’m not encouraging flakiness, but on the other hand, don’t feel bad about having to call and cancel because the baby needs you. (And maybe, just maybe, the person on the other end of the phone needs to know that someone out there values their baby. Maybe it’s another mother, and you just gave her permission to cancel, too.)

It’s true that a little bit of crying won’t kill your baby. But neither will holding your baby. Follow your instincts. And if the crying is killing you, well, that matters.

Recognize what a big transition this is. Don’t make yourself feel badly with “But I only have one and she has ten…” NO. This is a challenge. Own it, and get grace for it. Your life just changed radically, and Jesus wants to meet you in it.

Nurse your baby. That simple action miraculously cures so many ills—hunger being only the most obvious—for baby and for you.

*****

Love that baby, cherish that baby, and remember that whatever you do unto the least of these, you’re doing unto Him. He deserves your very best.

…and know that He gently leads those with young: His is a throne of grace for every mothering need.

november 30

Well, I sort of fizzled out with my post-a-day. I guess Thanksgiving that turns right into several days of babies being born, immediately followed by let’s-deck-the-halls will have that effect on regular posts.

But before I fall asleep tonight, before the whirlwind excitement of December with young children arrives, I just want to pause and notice this:

20121130-231653.jpg

See, in mere months she’ll be further along on her big-girl way. In just a few years, she’ll have changed altogether. But right now, there are still traces of my sweetest baby girl. Like these bedtime moments, when she falls asleep nursing, when her little fist is curled and resting on my chest, when her soft cheeks are rosiest and kissable. I slip her into my bed, tuck her in, and she sleeps, happy to be near me.

I love you, little girl.

november 5

Listen.

That’s the word that I finally heard as I sat in quiet this evening. Listen.

Some days, I’m a chicken with my head cut off, dashing, darting, furiously trying to stay ahead. Most days, I’m more like a bulldozer: not especially fast, but not especially interested in doing anything other than moving ahead, so step aside. Hardly any days do I resemble a listening follower, much less a listening mother.

Listen.

I sit in silence, a flickering candle, Beatrice nursing, then falling into deep sleep. I reflect. There is a Voice speaking to me, trying to get my attention, willing to give wisdom and guidance. I hear that Voice, quiet, politely trying to interject. Do I listen? Not always.

I quench the Spirit.

Quench the Spirit.

And oh, that makes me sad. Really, really sad. God Himself wants to speak eternal perspective and the power of grace! He does! Will I listen??

Speak, Lord, for Your servant is listening. Listening.

And these precious little ones, so in tune with the little details of their little lives — they need me to listen, too. Their eyes are wide, their ears aware, their hearts absorbing. I glance towards the back of the van and see Jameson looking out the window — eyes practically pulsing with the speed at which he’s absorbing this world around him. What does he see? What is he thinking? What does he want to say? Listen.

See that boy, being amazed by the simple miracle of eggs + high heat? Be like him. Slow down. Listen.

And say yes.

bits

I really, really love the windows in my house. Right now, I’m sitting at my kitchen table with a bank of windows to my left overlooking a tree-lined field, and in front of me, another wall of windows offers views of the far-off Adirondacks. The grass is as green as ever, the trees are muted golds and coppers and reds, and the sky is gray. Autumn is an indescribable show of beauty, and these windows allow me a front row seat. I’m thankful.

Last week we did the Great Clothing Exchange. I actually didn’t mind, since I was getting very itchy to go through the bins and get rid of extra clothing that didn’t get worn much. The part I did mind, more than usual, was the sadness of packing away yet another year of growth and childhood. William is proudly wearing size 4’s now — the clothes Jameson wore our last fall and winter in California. But Jameson was a big boy then, and William is still just little — isn’t he? Is he actually this tall, this thin, this lacking in any baby fat? I see him wearing these clothes, and I still just can’t believe that he’s not really a baby at all. Sweet William. Little man Jameson. Beatrice, toddling around. So big.

We’ve had several regular days of school and chores and being home in the last few weeks. Often, the boys and I have cleaned up from dinner, lit a candle, and pulled out a few games to play around the table. The games are fun, but being with them on a quiet evening, in the warmth of our house? Priceless.

Last Friday, we read the very last chapter of the Little House series. I didn’t anticipate how sad that would be for me, either. But it was. I closed the book, and my eyes filled with tears. Not because I’ll miss the saga of Laura and her family, but because a whole chunk of Jameson and William’s childhood is behind us. I don’t even know when we began reading those books, but most likely, I’ll never read those books again to little Jameson and William at naptime.

I know. Sentimental much? Yeah, a little.

So today we started All-of-a-kind Family — the story of an early-1900s family with five girls in New York City. Oh, I love those books so much! I can’t wait to read them and have the boys love them, too. Of course, today they were a little stand-off-ish. They really love Laura and Ma and Pa, and aren’t too sure about all of these new names and characters. But they quietly listened along, slowly figuring out who’s who. About halfway through the first chapter, William raised his little hand and, in his adorable quizzical way, asked, “So, Mama, is Henny not a chicken?” Ha! Oh, these kids. Their little minds are just the funniest, most amazing things.

Tonight, soup made from leftover pot roast. On a day like today, there simply must be something simmering in a pot on the stove. Or, at least, it certainly aids in coziness.

jameson: six

This boy is six.

SIX.

We celebrated his birthday on the actual day (the 15th), but then had a “big” birthday party this past Saturday. This was his first big party, and BOY was he excited! We decided on a knight theme, and then had so much fun finding plates and stickers and prize gifts with knights and castles. In classic Jameson style, he had every moment of this party mapped out in his mind — knew just how he wanted this and that to look, what games he wanted to play, and even drew an elaborate tunic (after a style he noticed on Guy of Gisbourne, which I sadly did not have time to execute). Planning, preparing, and celebrating with Jameson is just so much fun.

And that fully-clad knight in the photo above? Well, that’s how he appeared in my room before dawn the morning of his party. So much fun.

He’s also tall and lanky. He constantly acts without thinking, yet is extremely thoughtful. On his birthday, he blessed me by making my bed. (Since my sisters are wondering: Yes, I had to go back and re-make it before actually sleeping in it.) He’s full of life and brings that vivacity with him, everywhere he goes. It’s amazing. His humor is developing into that of a young boy — teasing, sarcastic, puns, you name it. He loves to talk about what it will be like when Jesus comes back, and about heaven. Will he go back to being a baby in heaven? Does it rain there? Hearing him practice piano is my recent favorite thing. Having someone play the piano while I’m washing the dishes — even if it just Hot Cross Buns — is such a blessing, and he loves to play. He’s also catching onto the reading thing, breezes through math, and could care less about proper penmanship. He’s super sharp, and hears and remembers everything I say — with the grand exception of, “SIT ON YOUR CHAIR, YOUNG MAN.” That one thing gets repeated at every meal, numerous times. Oh, he makes me want to pull my hair out, and then laugh until I cry. He is a great, great kid.

I’m trying really, really hard to just stay in the moment. To give myself completely to the things God’s asked me to today, but can I just say, the end of this past summer has been sad for me? My firstborn son enjoyed his last truly little boy summer. And he was the best little boy.

Jameson, you make me love being a mama.

a little bit of everything


Beatrice, out on Kevin and Liz’s boat

July 17th is a big deal this year: Beatrice is eleven months old today, and next month, we start counting by years. We are all so in love with this happy, spunky, silly girl. The feeling is mutual, of course. She loves her brothers and adores her daddy. The funny thing about being the mom is that love is simply assumed. She crawls after the boys and works so hard to get a laugh from Ryan, but me? She just knows I’m here. Being a mama is such a privilege.


Watching this afternoon’s storm come in

It’s raining.* This is also a big deal. Our grass is so dry that walking on it hurts. Worse, crops are dying of thirst. Needless to say, the sound of rain as I woke up thrilled me. I do not begin to have the emotional stamina and resiliency needed for farming, but the closer I get to my local farms through greater dependency on them for food, the more I get to share in those ups and downs. Hats off to them.


Pretty breakfasts are one of my favorite things

I got to read through Animal, Vegetable, Miracle again, since one of the moms groups at church decided upon that book for a fun summer read. Second time through, I caught little things I missed the first time. One thing Kingsolver pointed out was that while Good Eating is full of positives in many cultures (think Provence, Tuscany…), Good Eating in the States is a food culture of negatives: you can’t have dessert. Drink skim milk. Low sodium cold cuts for you. Freezer meal while your family eats KFC. And largely, I think that’s true. If my friends and I have a conversation about healthy eating, what gets talked about? What we can’t eat. I realized that part of what I’ve so enjoyed about creating a home for my family has been defining a good and positive food culture. Instead of depriving ourselves of yumminess and calling it healthy, we’re eating delicious food that celebrates taste and health. Guess what? God wants us to be healthy, and He didn’t bother creating a Crystal Light plant in the Garden of Eden — so maybe there are actually yummy ways to be healthy. Right?

Of course, that idea of “good” being a concept riddled with negativity made me think about so many other things. How often does our meditation on a “good and holy” God turn into thoughts of what isn’t holy instead of what is? After mulling this over for weeks, and thinking about how I want to live a life of “I get to!” in front of my kids, I read C. S. Lewis’ words on the subject. He, naturally, says it much better than I ever could:

If you asked twenty good men to-day what they thought the highest of the virtues, nineteen of them would reply, Unselfishness. But if you asked almost any of the great Christians of old he would have replied, Love. You see what has happened? A negative term has been substituted for a positive, and this is of more than philological importance. The negative ideal of Unselfishness carries with it the suggestion not primarily of securing good things for others, but of going without them ourselves, as if our abstinence and not their happiness was the important point. I do not think this is the Christian virtue of Love. The New Testament has lots to say about self-denial, but not about self-denial as an end in itself. We are told to deny ourselves and to take up our crosses in order that we may follow Christ; and nearly every description of what we shall ultimately find if we do so contains an appeal to desire. If there lurks in most modern minds the notion that to desire our own good and earnestly to hope for the enjoyment of it is a bad thing, I submit that this notion has crept in from Kant and the Stoics and is no part of the Christian faith. Indeed, if we consider the unblushing promises of reward and the staggering nature of the rewards promised in the Gospels, it would seem that Our Lord finds our desires, not too strong, but too weak. We are half-hearted creatures, fooling about with drink and sex and ambition when infinite joy is offered us, like an ignorant child who wants to go on making mud pies in a slum because he cannot imagine what is meant by the offer of a holiday at the sea. We are far too easily pleased. [more…]


Pirates, sleeping in our very own yard!

Today I dropped off my IHIP — required by the state of NY for home schooled children. All spring and summer, thoughts about next year’s school has occupied a place on the back burner of my mind. Now, heading into summer’s end, it’s time to move thinking into planning. Not that first grade is terribly complicated or taxing — but still, there are priorities to sort and Big Rocks to put in first, because how quickly our jars fill with the pebbles of life.

I’m thrilled to have the opportunity to teach Jameson at home. The further along this road called Family that I find myself, the more I realize how much there is to reevaluate, and how much lives outside the box. Another brief side note Kingsolver makes in her book is the observation of the school year: children originally had the summer off because their families needed their help during planting and harvest. Yes. School doesn’t need to rule our lives; it should fit into and enhance our lives. That made me stop and ask: How do our children fit into this family? And how does school fit into that? We have the incredibly daunting responsibility of shaping and equipping children to become young men and women of ethic, honor, and function. I’m so very thankful to know that God has called us and God has anointed us in this endeavor.

*I wrote this post this morning, and then the rain returned in force this afternoon. Hopefully the farmers were blessed, and the people in Potsdam certainly had a fair share of excitement!