Enjoy Every Moment!

It seems like almost every time I am out and about with my girls, an older woman stops us, puts her hand over her heart and says something like, "Oh your girls are so precious!  Enjoy every moment - it goes by so fast."  I know that this message is a good one and I am already painfully aware of just how fast time flies, but I have finally allowed myself to admit that this just doesn't work for me. In fact, it’s kind of annoying. This “carpe diem” message makes me sort of paranoid and anxious, especially during this phase of my life while I am raising young kids. Being told, in a million different ways nearly every day to “carpe diem” makes me worry that if I am not in a constant state of intense gratitude and delight, I am doing something wrong.


I think parenting young children (and old ones, I have heard) is a little like climbing Mount Everest. Brave souls try it because they have heard that there is magic in the climb. They do it because they believe that finishing, or even merely attempting, the climb are major accomplishments. They try because during the climb, if they allow themselves to pause and lift their eyes and minds from the discomforts, the views are breathtaking. They do it because even though it hurts and it is hard, there are moments that make it worth it. These moments are so intense and unique that many people who reach the top start planning to climb again, even though any climber will tell you that most of the climb is treacherous and exhausting.  My guess is that if there were people stationed, say, every thirty feet along Mount Everest yelling to the climbers -- "Are you enjoying yourself?!? If not, you should be! One day you’ll be sorry you didn’t!  Trust us!! It will be over way too soon! Carpe diem!" - those well-meaning cheerleaders might be thrown from the mountain.


Now I am not suggesting that the sweet old ladies who tell me to “enjoy every minute” be thrown from a mountain (well some days maybe some of them – just kidding – not really), but just the other day, a woman approached me in the grocery store and said the following: "Hun, I hope you are enjoying these moments. I loved every single second with my two girls. Every single moment. These days go by so fast."  At that particular moment, Madelynn had just pushed half of the canned vegetables to the back of their shelf, causing the ones nearest to them to surge forward and crash onto the floor. She also had just asked me for the 12 millionth time to buy her some candy, or cookies, or a toy; and somewhere she had found some pink feathers and had stuck them all in her hair, making her look just like a contestant from “Toddlers in Tiaras”.  This after we had just spent another hour plus in the pediatrician’s office with Isabella, who is still not “over” her bout with pneumonia/RSV and is now on yet another round of antibiotics plus a round of prednisone.  (Anyone who knows anything about prednisone and/or has children knows the joy of the drug’s impact on people, especially little ones.)  So, I just looked at the woman, smiled and said, "Thank you. Yes. Me too. I am enjoying every single moment. Especially this one. Yes. Thank you."


That's not exactly what I wanted to say, though.


There was a writer who, when asked if he loved writing, replied, "No but I love having written." What I wanted to say to this sweet woman was, "Are you sure? Are you sure you don't mean you love having parented?"


I love having parented. My favorite part of each day is when the kids are in bed and the Hubs and I sink into the couch to watch some quality TV, like “The Big Bang Theory”, and congratulate each other on a job well done. Or at least a job done.
 
Now I know some people will read this and might even post a comment that I am being negative or that I chose to be a mother, not once but twice, and that I also chose to stay at home.  The fact is, though, parenting is hard. Just like lots of important jobs are hard. Why is it that the second a mother admits that it is hard, people feel the need to suggest that maybe she is negative or is not doing it right?  Maybe the fact that she is willing to admit that it IS so hard means that she IS doing it right...in her own way...plus she happens to be honest.  I am reminded of the scene from the movie “Sex and the City 2” where Miranda and Charlotte are in the bar, talking about motherhood and how incredibly difficult it is.  “Drink!”  I got misty-eyed during that scene while most of the other women in the theater were laughing.  I got misty-eyed because I got it – and like Charlotte, I felt terribly guilty about admitting that sometimes motherhood just isn’t too fun.


The Hubs is a fireman and because it pays peanuts, he owns and operates a construction business on his days “off”.  His jobs are hard, especially in this economy, and he comes home each day and talks a little bit about how hard it is. I don't ever feel the need to suggest that he is not doing it right, or that he is negative for noticing that it is hard, or that maybe he shouldn't even consider taking on more responsibility. I doubt anybody stops by a jobsite to make sure he is enjoying himself.  I seriously doubt any of the senior firemen come to him and say, "This career stuff...it goes by so fast...are you enjoying every moment of it???? Carpe diem!"


My point is this: I used to worry (and honestly still do at times) that not only was I failing to do a good enough job at parenting, but that I wasn't enjoying it enough. Double failure! I felt guilty because I was not in parental ecstasy every hour of every day and I wasn't making the most of every moment like the mamas in the parenting magazines seemed to be doing. I felt guilty because honestly, I was tired and grumpy and ready for the day to be over quite often and because I knew that one day, I'd wake up and the girls would be gone, and I would be the old lady in the grocery store with my hand over my heart. Would I be able to say I enjoyed every moment? Nope.


The fact remains that I will be that lady one day. I just hope to be one with a clear memory. What I hope to say to the younger mama gritting her teeth in the grocery store is, "It's really hard, isn't it? You're a good mom, I can tell and I like your kids, especially that one stuffing candy into her pockets. Carry on, warrior goddess! Six hours till bedtime."  Hopefully, every once in a while, I'll be able to add: "Let me pick up that grocery bill for ya, sister. Go put those kids in the car and pull on up.  I'll have them bring your groceries out to you."


Anyway, clearly, “carpe diem” doesn't work for me. I can't even carpe fifteen minutes solid in a row, so a whole diem is pretty much impossible.


Now that I have thought about it, here is what does work for me:
A little Greek lesson: there are two different types of time. Chronos time is what we live in. It is regular time, it is one minute at a time, it is staring down the clock until bedtime time, it is ten excruciating minutes in the grocery line time, it is sixty-ish minutes at the pediatrician time, it is four screaming minutes in time out time, it is two hours until daddy gets home time, it is 72 more hours of prednisone time. Chronos is the hard, slow passing time we parents often live in.  Then there is Kairos time. Kairos is God's time. It is time outside of time. It is metaphysical time. It's those magical, almost miraculous, moments in which time stands still. I have a few of those moments each day and I cherish them.

Like when I actually stop what I'm doing and really look at Isabella and how much she is growing and changing each day. I notice how perfectly smooth her baby skin is. I notice the perfect curves of her tiny mouth and her brownish-greenish-goldish eyes, and I breathe in her soft baby smell. In these moments, I see that her mouth is moving but I can't hear her because all I can think is -- This is the first time I've really seen Isabella all day, and my God -- she is so beautiful. Kairos.

Like when I quietly watch Madelynn work hard to read a “beginning reader” book to her baby sister, showing her the pictures, and changing voices for each character, when neither of them knows I am in the room.  Kairos

Like when I'm stuck in chronos time in the grocery store and I am anxious and annoyed. Then I look at my cart and I'm transported out of chronos. Suddenly I notice the piles and piles of healthy food I'll feed my children to grow their bodies and minds and I remember that most of the world's mamas would kill for this opportunity - this chance to stand in a grocery store with enough money, albeit barely enough sometimes, to pay. Kairos.

Or when I curl up in my cozy king-size bed with the Hubs by my side and I listen to him breathing.  For a moment, I think - how did a girl like me get so lucky - to go to bed each night surrounded by this love, this peace, this warmth? Kairos.

These kairos moments leave as fast as they come, but I note them.  At the end of the day, I don't always remember exactly what my kairos moments were, but I do remember that I had them and that makes the pain of the daily parenting climb worth it.


So, fellow frazzled parents, follow me and carpe a couple of kairoses a day and try not to stress over the chronoses!  After all, it does go by fast! 


Until next time, peace, love, and (((HUGS)))

And Begin!

Well I finally decided to join the world of blogging.  Seems like I always have something ingenious to say (*snicker*) that perhaps will inspire, support, or at least provide a laugh.  When trying to decide on a theme for this blog, I had difficulty finding a real focus (*big shocker to those who know me*).  I thought about my life, my daughters, my experiences, things I enjoy, things that inspire me, etc. and I decided that I could blog about all of those things - whenever the mood strikes, whenever it seems appropriate - so forgive me if it seems random or rambling.  I must add, too, that writing has always been therapeutic for me.  I enjoyed writing even as a child, and have always found it useful in working through problems, explaining myself, or sharing my joys.  Somehow, some way, I got away from writing over the last several years and I just realized how much I missed it.  So, here I am and I begin with this little introduction, or rationale, if you will, and I will end this post with one of my favorite quotes - one that has been re-spoken and re-quoted a million times:


"Life is a journey, not a destination" ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson


(((HUGS)))

Talking to fish

Why yes, yes we are lake people, and yes, yes we do like to fish (some of us more than others), but this post is not about the little brownish-greenish things that swim in the lake and sometimes end up on our hooks.  This post is about my Isabella and the name that Madelynn bestowed upon the nebulizer because the mask is shaped and painted like a little fish with hopes of making the nebulizing process easier on little ones.

There is nothing more scary or more helpless feeling than when your child is very sick or hurt and there is nothing you can really do to fix it. 

One week ago today I was terrified. 

Isabella had had a cold (or something) pretty much nonstop for about two months.  She was on and off meds, she would get better for a few days, then she would be sick again.  One week ago today, she woke up congested - sniffling and coughing and throughout the morning she found it more and more difficult to breathe.  When she started gasping for air, even seemingly not breathing for seconds at a time, and panting, I packed everyone up and after dropping Madelynn at her grandmother's house, rushed Isabella to the ER.  Four excruciatingly long hours (a chest x-ray, a breathing treatment, a shot of rocephin, an inhaler, a follow-up appointment with the pediatrician for the next morning, and some prescriptions) later, we left with a diagnosis of "atypical pneumonia, RSV, and severe ear infections in both ears".  After going back and forth about admitting her, the doctor decided to release her to my care.  I was terrified, exhausted, and questioning his sanity.  This baby was still struggling to breathe and she was refusing to eat or take a bottle.  She had not had a wet diaper all day.  I knew she was on the verge of dehydration.

So we trudged home, and I rocked and held her all evening - all night really.  I shot her with the inhaler every couple of hours.  I watched her like a hawk.  Several times, I almost took her back to the hospital.  I even stayed in clothes all night in case I had to rush her to the hospital or even, heaven forbid, ride with her in the back of an ambulance.  I didn't feel safe.  I felt as if she might die.

Somehow we survived until morning and I took her, still struggling to breathe, still not eating or taking a bottle (I had forced a couple of teaspoonfuls of Pedialyte into her by syringe), and still with no wet diapers, to the pediatrician.  

Three hours (another chest x-ray, another breathing treatment, and more prescriptions) later, we were sent home.  I almost begged the pediatrician to hospitalize Isabella.  I was increasingly concerned about dehydration and her oxygen level only went from 94% to 97% after the breathing treatment in the office.  97% isn't awful but it is not the greatest either.  I was even more exhausted and still terrified.  The pediatrician did send us home with the fish, however, and the fish and its magical potion became my new BFF.

That afternoon, Isabella's breathing started to improve and she started to not be so lethargic.  She also started taking an ounce or two of her bottles.  By the next day, her appetite was still minimal, but she was smiling and even laughing and playing a bit with her silly big sister.  A few days later, she was taking solids again, though still only drinking a few ounces at a time.

Now, a week later, she is sleeping well, eating/drinking almost normally, and almost completely back to her usual self.  She still has a runny nose and has some coughing spells, especially in the morning, but she is a different baby than she was a week ago.  She still talks to the fish two or three times a day - and she hates it - either screaming her head off the whole time or resigning herself to it and passing totally out - but that noisy, ugly fish saved her life - that and a whole lot of mommy love and prayers!

(((HUGS))) ...............especially to my babies!    

Introducing........

Before, I go any further, I need to introduce two very special little people, especially because they will probably be a big part of this blog.  They are my world, my everything, and knowing them has changed me in ways I never knew were possible.

All rise for the Royal Highnesses: Princess Madelynn and Princess Isabella!

This photo was taken in November 2011: Madelynn age 4 and Isabella 5 months.

Obviously, these two precious little girls are my daughters and while they challenge me in every way, they bring so much joy to my life.  Let me tell you a little bit about them.  I will try to be brief, but like most moms, when I get started talking about my kids, I can go on and on.

Madelynn will be 5 in March.  I call her my little miracle.  I found out I was pregnant with her on my 29th birthday, just when I had almost given up hope of conceiving a child on my own.  We had been trying for a few years, off and on, with a couple of breaks to regroup, especially after a devastating loss in January 2004.  As a matter of fact, the Hubs and I were vacationing at one of our favorite places, Seabrook Island, and had spent the morning, first on an early morning beach horseback ride, then on a beach stroll discussing our options - our next steps - for having a child, on the day I got a positive home pregnancy test.  Needless to say, I was shocked when I saw those two pink lines and I proceeded to take countless more tests over the next several days, just to be sure it wasn't a dream.

Nine-ish months later, after a 4ish hour all-natural labor, Madelynn arrived.  I never knew such love, such strength, such exhilaration, such agony until that day.  Birth was an amazing experience for me - one I might talk more about later - one that showed me how much power I really have as a woman.

Madelynn was a challenging baby from pretty much day 1.  She had "colic" - she cried pretty much 24/7 for 3+ months, she didn't sleep, she constantly needed to be held, and pretty much any new situation or person or stimuli in general completely freaked her out.  Caring for her as an infant showed me again how much strength I truly possess.

To keep it brief, we will fast forward a few years.  We have had some easier roads with Madelynn.  She spoke her first word ("look") and then words and then sentences very early.  She walked right at 12 months.  She learned baby sign language at 12-ish months.  She very easily learned to potty on the big girl potty at 2.  She knew her shapes, colors, ABCs, numbers (in English and Spanish), and more before age 2.  At 3 she began writing letters, including her name.  At 4 she is beginning to read and writing more and more sight words.  I could go on and on about how incredibly smart and talented she is, as well as how caring, courageous, strong, and hilarious!  

Because of the issues Madelynn had as a baby, as well as continued difficulty with sleep, agitation, hypersensitivity, difficulty controlling herself, and high energy, the Hubs and I decided to take her to a doctor and psychologist for some testing this past Fall.  Long story short, Madelynn received a "diagnosis" of being extremely intelligent/gifted (*surprise surprise*) and of ADHD.  After my own exploration, I have decided that while she may in fact have ADHD, I believe she really has a Sensory Integration Disorder - which, by the way, is not a "real" diagnosis just yet and seems to be quite controversial in the medical world (which I don't usually fit into - will probably post more on that at some other time).  Because of this, we likely have a long road ahead of us with school and such, but I am prepared to support her and advocate for her any way I am able.

On to Miss Isabella, who was born in June 2011.  (I must note that the Hubs and I find it fascinating that Madelynn was born exactly a week before his birthday and Isabella was born exactly a week before mine!)  When the Hubs and I decided to start trying for another baby, we really didn't expect to be blessed with another one, after all of the difficulties we had before conceiving Madelynn.  At the very least, we expected it to take a long time.  We took the "if it happens, it happens" attitude and stopped birth control in the beginning of September 2010.  I saw those miraculous two pink lines again on October 2, 2010!  Again I was shocked beyond belief.



My belly - April 2011 (photo taken by Mandy Clyburn)

Today Isabella is 7 1/2 months old, she is doing the typical 7 1/2 month old things like starting to sit up on her own, and her little personality is beginning to blossom.  She is pretty much the polar opposite of her sister: laid back (though watch out if she is hungry or tired or not getting her way) and kind of lazy.  Where Madelynn has blonde hair and crystal blue eyes, Isabella has dark hair - almost black - and brownish-greenish-goldish eyes.  Like her big sister, however, Isabella is hilarious and beautiful, and she has the power to melt her mommy and daddy's hearts with her big smile and bright eyes! 

I never knew love until I knew these two little girls.

Well, I guess that is enough for now.  This is longer than I wanted it to be, but it is impossible to really abbreviate a description of the most precious gifts one could ever receive.

I close with another quote, authour unknown, until we meet again:

"No One Else Will Ever Know The Strength Of My Love For You After All, You're The Only One Who Knows What My Heart Sounds Like From The Inside."
(((HUGS))))     

On the great debate

I have always been intrigued by the great debate between women who believe that mothers should stay home and women who believe that mothers should work outside of the home.  Women on both sides are so passionate and the debate often becomes quite heated, even vicious, even among friends. 

I have been both a "working" and a "stay-at-home" mom and therefore, I have experienced both sides of the debate that moms endure all day, every day, both in the world and inside their own heads.  As someone who strongly believes that women should be empowering and supporting one another, regardless of choices, I felt compelled to comment on this great debate here. 

When I worked outside of my home, "Mommy Guilt" rode shotgun with me each morning, chiding me for dropping off my daughter at daycare instead of keeping her at home, and for rocking her the night before instead of preparing for work. When I got to work each day, "Mommy Guilt" whispered that a good mom would still be at home with her daughter, and when I returned home in the evening, she'd insist that a better Counselor would have stayed at work longer. When I would talk to girlfriends who stayed home, "Mommy Guilt" would say, "See this lady is doing it right. Her kids are better off than yours are." "Mommy Guilt" certainly had a lot to say when Madelynn's daycare teachers admitted that she had taken her first steps while I was working. Every night when I finally got Madelynn to sleep, finished cleaning the kitchen, read the latest counseling journal, and collapsed on the couch, "Mommy Guilt" would snuggle up next to me and sweetly say "shouldn't you spend some quality time with your husband instead of crashing?" Finally, before I fell asleep each night, "Mommy Guilt" would whisper in my ear, "you know the only way you will ever be a good mother is if you quit your job and stay home with Madelynn."

So now I'm a stay-at-home mom with not one, but two daughters. The thing is, though, "Mommy Guilt" stays home with me. These days I experience it less as a drive-by-shooter and more as a constant running commentator. Now it sounds something like this:
"Did you spend all of that time and money on a Master's degree just so you could clean the kitchen and play Candy Land all day? And how is it that you don't even do those things very well? Can you concentrate on nothing? Look at this mess! A good mom would clean more and play less. Also, a good mom would clean less and play more. Also a good mom would clean more and play more and quit emailing or facebooking or blogging altogether. Additionally, I've been meaning to ask if you're sure you feel comfortable spending so much money when you don't even make any. Moreover, when was the last time you did any volunteer work? What about exercising - shouldn't you be setting an example for your kids by eating right and exercising?  What kind of stay at home mom doesn't go to library story time regularly or know how to make a good meatloaf? Furthermore, nobody in this house appreciates you."  My favorite, though, is that when I finally do sit down, concentrate on one of my kids, and read a few books all the way through, instead of saying "Good job!" "Mommy Guilt" says, "See how happy your daughter is? You're home all day - why don't you do this more often?"  Of course, before I go to sleep every night she whispers, "you know, maybe you would be a better woman if you just got out of this house and got a job."

"Mommy Guilt" is like that scene from the movie Liar Liar in which Jim Carrey enters a bathroom, throws himself against the walls, slams his head into the toilet, and rubs soap into his eyes. When a confused observer asks what on earth he's doing he says, "I WAS KICKIN' MY ASS! DO YA MIND?"
I understand the act of kicking one's own ass. I do it several times a day.  What I don't understand is why some women insist on making everything worse by kicking each other's asses.  Don't we do this to ourselves enough?

To the women who argue vehemently that all "good mothers" stay at home: Are you insane? If you got your way, who would show my daughters that some women actually change out of yoga pants and into scrubs and police uniforms and power suits each day? How would my girls even know that women who don't feel like carrying diaper bags can carry briefcases or stethoscopes instead?  How, pray tell, could I tell them with a straight face that they can grow up to be whatever they want to be?

To the women who argue that all stay home mothers damage women's liberation: Are you insane? Aren't you causing some damage to women's liberation by suggesting that we all must fit into a category, that women are a cause instead of individuals? Doesn't choosing to spend your limited time and energy attacking "us" set "us" back? For argument's sake, though, what if you got your way and every mother was required to work outside of the home? What would happen then? Who would volunteer to help coach my daughters' cheerleading squads, host their class parties, go on field trips or wait with them in the parking lot when I am running late to pick them up? Who would watch my older daughter while the baby gets her shots? Who would knock on my door and tell me that my keys are still in the front door, the doors to my car are open, and/or my purse is in the driveway?  If every woman made the same decision, how would my daughters learn that sometimes motherhood looks like going to work to put food on the table or stay sane or share your gifts or because you want to work and you've earned that right; that other times motherhood looks like staying home for all of the exact same reasons.

I believe that no matter what decision a woman makes, she is offering an invaluable gift to my daughters and to me. So I would like to thank all of you because I am not necessarily trying to raise an executive or a mommy. I am trying to raise a woman - and there are as many different right ways to be a woman as there are women.

So, angry, debating women out there, here's the thing: my daughters are watching me AND YOU to learn what it means to be a woman. I would like them to learn that a woman's value is determined less by her career choices and more by how she treats other women, in particular, women who are different from them. I would like them to learn that their strength is defined by their character and their ability to exist in grey areas without succumbing to hiding their insecurities behind generalizations or accusations. I would like them to learn that the only way to be both graceful and powerful is to embrace the endless definitions of the word WOMAN - and to refuse to organize women into categories, to view ideas in black and white, or to choose sides and come out swinging.  Really - being a woman is not that easy, and it's not that hard.  I also feel the need to note that usually when someone yells about how much peace they have with their decisions, it just doesn't ring true. The thing is, if someone is yelling, I don't believe that they have it all figured out. I don't even believe that THEY believe that they have it all figured out. I think the truth might be that they are as internally conflicted as the rest of us about their choices, but instead of kicking their own asses, they have decided it would be easier to kick ours.

Which is tempting, but not too productive or healthy.

So, maybe instead of tearing each other up, we could each admit that we are a bit torn up about our choices, or lack thereof, and we could offer each other a shoulder or a hand.  Then maybe our girls would see what it really means to be a woman.

Peace, love, and (((HUGS)))