This Minute

Waiting for my boys to get themselves ready this morning, I randomly checked in to one of the blogs I periodically read - Antique Mommy.

She told a beautiful story in her post yesterday, and I thought I’d share it here. A lovely reminder for us parents to notice the miracles in our lives, allow ourselves time and space to relax and enjoy our children and ourselves, and to do our best to live in, and for, this minute.

Back Off, Mama.

So, we all know it is quite normal and natural for a baby, a toddler, even a preschooler to swear allegiance to his mama and shun the attention and love of others, including the source of the other half of his DNA. As I noted recently, it’s Mommy. Mommy. Mommymommyomommy. All the time, and therefore, not Daddydaddydaddy.

Except of course when I am not around and then Casey is more than happy to hang with his dad, behave for his dad, take showers read books and go to bed on time no problem. Which is why, I believe, Daddy is getting frustrated with the Mommy thing. And I’m starting to see that he’s not just annoyed, the repeated rejection is beginning to hurt. 

I’ve been dealing with it all just like any “Good Mommy” should by modeling extreme patience, heading off conflict because I know I can do it swiftly and spare us all, and generally swooping in and smoothing things over when a certain someone is melting down (you’ll have to guess who…maybe not who you think…wink wink) and making everything better. I’m a Super Good Mommy.

Right?

Well, it just occurred to me that maybe I’m being just a little too super for my own good - for all of us in fact. Is it possible that my swooping and smoothing is fanning the flames of Casey’s burning desire for only Mom? Would it be so bad if the little man had to melt down just a little (or a lot), giving Dad a chance to try out and hone his own skills at preschooler damage control? How might I (get ready, this is a good one) use my time differently if I were not doing the Good Mommy routine all around the clock.

It’s time for Mama to back off a little. Create some space for Dad to get in there and take the lead. Develop some new routines and rituals that are just for Dad and Son. We’ll have to force it at first. Tomorrow morning I’m going to head to a coffee shop and catch up on the work I didn’t get done this week (having these amazing revelations can really distract you from the task at hand). By removing myself from the Saturday morning equation, it will be easier to get the Dad/Son ball rolling (like I said, he’s all cool with Dad when I’m out of the picture). Eventually, maybe I’ll be able to just stay in bed while they do their thing.

This backing off has another dimension. Anyone who knows me, even casually, has probably had the “pleasure” of hearing me go on at least a little about how being a mom and wife takes up all my time and space and (even though I love my family dearly) I never have time or energy to take care of myself or pursue any interests, passions or hobbies outside of my family responsibilities.

Poor me.

Or is it stupid me? I just realized that when I try to be Good Mommy all the time, I am on autopilot. And in that mode I am putting everyone else in front of me. Not recognizing my own needs, and ironically, not noticing Casey and Tom’s need to forge their father-son bond.

If it was a snake, it would have bitten me.

Crazy how I can get so wrapped up in the stories that run circles in my mind. What I should, could, would be doing with my life as a mom, wife, woman, human, employee, friend, daughter, etc. These powerful thougths are doing their best to keep me from realizing Truth even when it is right there before me.

But I’m getting better at this stuff. And I’m starting to hear the calling from my heart that tells me there are different ways to think and act and love. It’s a sort of soft voice right now, but the more I shush the noise in my head, the more I will be able to hear that voice, calling me ever closer to find my true sacred self.

 

Sift What’s Worth Keeping

I have a vague understanding and a somewhat hesitant acceptance of the “fact” that everything happens for a reason and whatever your circumstance, it’s exactly what you need at that moment. Doesn’t mean you always like what the universe is handing out at any given moment, but you can trust that it’s all part of the grand scheme of things.

But doesn’t it feel awesome when you totally recognize that what you’re being handed is exactly what you needed…and it feels great and fills you with energy and love and power? I had that yesterday.

With all our travels lately, we haven’t been to church in weeks, but the topic of Sunday’s sermon was titled “Happy to be Alive” and I felt a pull to be there. Even on a lazy holiday weekend, when it would have been easier to bag it and make a big pancake breakfast instead, I wanted to go.

So we went. Casey eventually allowed us to leave him in the Jr. Preschool class and we slipped into seats just as the service was beginning. The minister, Rev. Robert Schaibly, opened the service with this well-known, anonomous quote:

A friend is one to whom you can pour out the contents of your heart, chaff and grain alike. Knowing that the gentlest of hands will take and sift it, keep what is worth keeping and with a breath of kindness, blow the rest away.

Was he looking right at me as he delivered these words? Did he see how I caught my breath on the last phrase? How could he have known that I needed this, really really needed this?

 

These beautiful words so elequently articulate a piece of me that I am both great and terrible at. Kindness is an attribute that I long to be known for. My great wish is that people who know me, or people who meet me, would think of that small word as the one they’d choose to describe me. Kind. And it’s the one thing that I want for my son more than most anything else. Kindness. That he would be kind, and that the world would be kind in return. In some ways, I am awesome at kindness, and at the same time, well, not so much.

 

Just as Rev. Schaibly breaks his sermon into three main points (maybe I’ll post more about “Happy to be Alive” later), my reaction to this bit of wisdom hits home on three levels:

1. Toward my child. Sometimes I even surprise myself at how much patience and kindness I can have for another person. Especially a three-year-old one. Aside from a few brief stints over these almost three years, Casey is a mamma’s boy, and he needs me, wants me, and clings to me. Even the sound of my name, “Mommy, Mommy. Mamma. Mommy, Mommy, Moooooommmmmyyyyy,” is a comfort to him as he repeats it endlessly (while I am two feet away saying, “Yes, baby, what? What do you need sweetie? Hey Case, what’s up? Babe? What do you need?). How do I (almost always) stay calm, attentive and kind through his sometimes wild and, quite frankly, often annoying behavior? It’s because I am holding on to the grain - his laugh, his sweetness, his sensitivity - and letting the chaff blow away (the mood swings, the whining, the mind-numbing repetition of my name).
2. Toward my husband. When you sign on to love and cherish and share your life with someone, you better have in mind this concept of sifting. Before I go on, I must say that I am a lucky woman and snagged myself one heck of a husband. My baby’s daddy is a keeper, and it was this quote that reminded me to continue to love, cherish and sift, as long as we both shall live. Without saying more than I’m ready to share about my relationship with my husband, let’s just say that it was perfect timing to be reminded that for any quality of his that clashes with one of mine, he has two qualities that mesh. And that with the gentlest of hands I must hold my marriage close to my heart, and treat it with absolute kindness.
3. Toward myself. Ahhh, this is another tough one, but I’ve been picking up signals for all over the place, that I have a lesson to learn. I must treat myself as I would my dear friend. Choose loving, kind and encouraging words to whisper into my head and my heart to drown out the mean, discouraging stuff that I would never think to utter out loud to another person. Recognize the grain of me and let the rest fall away.

When I heard the words spoken, I knew they hit home for me. But what I’ve just put down in my own words has been sort of simmering below my surface, waiting to bubble up. These words have helped me to continue to open my heart to myself, and to my loved ones. Even as I write this, I am thinking about how the impact of these brief words continue to radiate outward - to my family, my friends, coworkers, even random strangers.

 

How powerful it would if we all learned to gently sift out just what’s worth keeping.

Collecting

Last night at dinner, Casey noticed his reflection in his spoon. It was fascinating to watch him explore - he’s upside down on the inside of the spoon (”all messed up” as he described), and that wasn’t to his liking. But he had such fun with the back side, turning the spoon around and around, making “angry goat face” and cracking up. We both cracked up at our distorted images and funny faces.

I resisted the urge to run upstairs and grab the camera to document this moment of silliness and joy that we were sharing. Instead, I just let it be. I even resisted the thought of recreating the whole thing later when the camera was handy!

As a collector (through my life so far I’ve collected everything from seashells to cow figurines - I’ve stuck with the former but given up the latter), my inclination is always to capture and save things that I love. This applies to interesting rocks on a trail to intangibles like my son’s facial expressions at the dinner table. But I’m often wondering how much I’m missing, or how much more I could experience the moment, if I wasn’t so concerned with holding on to it forever.

So last night was another baby step toward staying in the present moment - being aware of life as it is actually happening. And, okay, since I have this blog, I can still write about it and am, in a sense, collecting that memory, but maybe in a way that helps me both enjoy the moment and learn from it.

What Happened on Vacation (and Why it Matters Now That We’re Home)

Tom and I are back from a two-week vacation in Italy. A welcome break from our everyday routine, and our first long break from Casey (he was extremely well cared for by Tom’s parents and brother while we were away).

So, that explains the long break in posts, since we had a couple of very busy weeks leading up to the trip and then the trip itself. If you want to know more about our adventures, you can visit the Pinit Family Travel Blog, which Tom is working on updating with our journal writings and photos from the trip.

There’s much to say about taking a vacation - the time away from work and parenting duties gave us a chance to focus on each other and ourselves - but I can sum it up pretty well by saying that I feel rested, and I feel… a shift.

First, I’ll talk about rested. The pace of small-town Italy did me good. All along the trip, as well-planned and thought-out as it was, we had lots of time to just wander around, searching for who knows what, and really only needing our watches to make sure we didn’t miss a dinner reservation! And I got pretty comfortable with taking two hours to eat a meal at a restaurant. In most, there is absolutely no rush to get you out and turn the table, so you actually have to sort of beg for the check when you’re ready to go.

It’s that feeling of relax-ed-ness that I want to hold on to back here at home. Allow myself to take the time it takes to do what I do, whether it’s at work or at home. Let go of impatience, and practice being more aware of what’s going on in the present moment.

And that brings me to the shift. It’s still a very subtle feeling, and I’m not sure exactly how to explain. But it starts with the notion of “allowing myself to take the time.” My ongoing struggle with taking care of myself is on the downhill, and I am sensing a new era arriving where I put a real value on my own need to nurture myself.

Since we’ve been home I have made this real by:

1. Buying a new facial cleanser and headband so I can give my face a proper scrub each night before bed (Zits, you are history!).
2. Getting up before the boys and doing a 20-minute yoga routine and eating my breakfast alone on the porch.

This list will continue to grow, but it’s a start. I’ll continue to post about the shift. And for those interested in more discussion of self nurture, please visit my friend Savannah’s blog, Mindfully Mothering, and scroll down to her posts about the Self Nurture Challenge.

Ciao for now.

~Kirstin

Metaphor Man

We got back late last night from our trip back east to visit friends and attend a wedding. In the space of the four-day trip, Casey ate an astounding array of foods including lobster, beef jerky, and hashbrown potatoes smeared with peanut butter. He woke up on Monday morning with poop in his pants that he said was like a chicken strip.

What he meant by that, and how this metaphor occurred to him is something of a mystery to me, but it kills be every time I think of it.

Who is this person?

Nights like these, I wish I were a poet, because ordinary sentences and paragraphs can’t capture what I feel about being a mother to my son. Who is this child? I see him unfolding before my eyes, and I am washed over by wonder at his personality, his humor and his heart.

He is sensitive and receptive.

He is funny and creative.

He is caring.

I am just blown away by how much person has developed in his two, going on three, years.

This is where I wish the poetry part could kick in, because the list doesn’t at all convey the feelings I have felt from being part of his life. What metaphor could possibly describe it? What rhythmic string of syllables could match the way my heart beats love for him?

I can’t look at a “dandy flower” or a dump truck without my heart skipping for a second, thinking of the joy he finds in simple discoveries. I can’t describe that knot that tightens in my chest when I hold myself back from interrupting, just so he can try on his own. And I can’t tell you what it’s like to spend those last few waking moments with him, before he gives in to sleep and his body relaxes into dreams.

Chocolate Haystacks

Our “Friday Fun Night” activity this week was something I thought of on the fly on my way to pick Casey up from daycare on Friday afternoon. Chocolate Haystacks. A little edible project that even a two-year old can help with in a significant way. Here’s the “recipe” we used:

• 3.5 cups of puffed cereal (we used Kashi’s 7 Whole Grain Puffs, but Rice Krispies would work just fine)
• 1 cup of broken pretzel sticks
• 12 oz. semi sweet chocolate chips
• 1/2 cup peanut butter (or another nut butter)

There’s plenty of room for improvising - you could add some chopped nuts or dried fruit, but we kept it pretty simple.

Casey helped break up the pretzel sticks into small pieces. And he was in charge of the buttons on the microwave. You just zap the chocolate in 30 second intervals until it’s melted, and then add the peanut butter and give it 30 seconds more. Little Helper dumped in the pretzels and cereal, and I mixed it up.

Drop the mixture in little mounds (I used a scoop, or just use tablespoons) on cookie sheets, and pop them in the ‘fridge until they are set. That takes only 10 minutes, so by the time Casey was done licking the chocolate spoon, he could move on to the real thing.

Fun, easy, simple project for your family fun night. Enjoy.

Finding Joy in the Misery

The last two weeks have been a challenge. First my grandmother’s funeral and then, of course, I got a bug on the way home and was sick for a week. On top of that, Casey has developed a case of separation anxiety, so daycare drop-offs have been bad.

When a co-worker asked me this week how I was doing, all I could muster was a weak “fine” - followed by an explanation of how it feels to have your child’s fingers pried off of you each morning as he grabs on to you for dear life. This guy’s rather spiritually in-tune, so we had to do a little analysis of the whole situation. Why is my overall mood tied to my son’s mood, and is there a way to be “more than fine” even as my child struggles?

That conversation stuck with me - who am “I” if my mood and identity are all tied up in my child? Am I capable of having thoughts and feelings independent of my motherhood? But I just kept coming around to “it is what it is.” My child hurts, I hurt. My child is happy, I am happy. My child achieves, I achieve. I’m sure there is a healthy line to be drawn, but for now, I’m just accepting this.

And then it came full circle. I ran into “spiritual guy” the next day. He had also continued to contemplate the conversation. His conclusion, similar, yet slightly more inspiring than my “is what it is” …

Your feelings about Casey’s anxiety are there because you love your son. And you telling me that was brilliant. I saw the love you have for Casey and that inspired me and gave me joy because I felt that love.

Basically, soak it up baby. You love your kid. And even in trying times, that love is a source of inspiration, strength, and joy. What a beautiful perspective to cultivate. Finding a sense of contentment and happiness in the midst of struggle. After this week, I think I am a wee bit closer to that kind of joyful living.

Roots and Wings

My great-grandmother passed away on Wednesday, and I’m back home now with my family for a few days.

Grandma was 102, and while she was alive, she enjoyed such a long, rich life with her husband (married 50 years before he died in 1981) and three children and their families, which gave her 4 grandchildren, 7 great-grandchildren, and 4 great-great-grandchildren. She also was very close to her three sisters and their families too. And was remarkably healthy for all those years.

So after 102 years, she called it quits and died quietly with a son and daughter-in-law at her side.

Since I have known her all of my 32 years, I have lots of memories of her - she was a totally fun person to be around and had this fantastic belly laugh that would go and go and then tail off to a kind of high hum. She taught a lot of us grandkids to play Euchre. She baked. She told the occasional off-color joke.

But she also gifted me a bit of wisdom that has carried me through my life’s journies, which have taken me far from my family and the small hometown where I grew up. On a visit home after I had graduated college and moved away, she asked me if I was homesick. My honest answer was yes. To which she replied, “Don’t be. You just go do what you want to do and don’t worry about us.”

This advice has always seemed so profound, coming from a woman who had stayed “pretty much at-home” most of her life (as far as I know anyway). But she still understood a person’s need to stretch and grow, and she understood that the stretch just might go beyond the county line.

So I think about my family, and in particular the mothers in my family, who have had the strength to raise us up with a firm foundation of faith and good sense, and the deep deep love that wanted us to spread our wings and follow our hearts.

The holding on and letting go that parents must do through the lives of their children. It’s sort of parallelled in the way their children and grandchildren (and for the really lucky ones, great and great-great grandchildren) have to hold on to the roots of what they taught us, and then let them fly on their wings when life comes to a close.