Worms in the Fridge

Have you ever noticed that some of the realities of marriage and motherhood aren't exactly what you would've expected??

I think I may have bemoaned the worms in the fridge before... it's one of those little things that are a part of being married to my fisherman husband that I have to put up with. Honestly, though, the positives of my marriage (especially when he comes home with fresh fish for our supper) far outweigh the revulsion I feel at the wriggling contents of that little green styrofoam container I force myself to ignore whenever I'm hunting up supper ingredients. So, I overlook it (but not really).

But, there are other things about motherhood that really aren't my cup of tea. One is the ever-growing list of 'rules' I have to follow now that my boys are growing older. I can't kiss them or tell them 'I love you' in public because it makes them feel uncomfortable. (Fortunately for me, affection is okay at home.) I try to accommodate their quirky disdain for motherly PDA, but honestly... I hate it. And every so often, I slip up. Last year, on the last day of school, I unthinkingly kissed my oldest son on the top of his head as I left the classroom and said, "see you later on, honey." His ears blazed bright red and I knew I'd embarrassed him. Oh, well. (What can I say? I love the kid.)

Now, I'm in the strange situation of having to back off from sports, something I've always shared with my oldest, because as he grows older (and lets face it, as his skills improve) he's outgrowing his mother's ability. It's hard for me, because I want him to outgrow me -- especially in his areas of talent.

But, I'm just no good at being a sideline parent.

So, today, he's asking me to come outside to play soccer with him. Like a good mom, I'll strap on the sneakers and head out. It's fun to get out there and play a little, something I'm still allowed to do when no one is watching. But it will make it tough tomorrow, when he goes to practice and I'll be expected to fade into the background.

I'm already missing the days when he'd turn to me for approval when he made a great play. But, now it's all about Dad and coach. It makes a mom feel a little lonely.

I don't mean to wallow or anything. I mean, I'm happy that the boys are independent and strong. After all, that's what I'm raising them to be. But, just like no one can tell you how much your love for your newborn infant will overwhelm you, nothing prepares you for the times in your child's life when you will be made to feel extraneous.

sigh

I guess life is change. And my oldest, especially, is growing up.

So this Midwest Mom had better just take a deep breath and get used to it...

... just like the worms in the fridge.

- Midwest Mom

Dilly Dally: Tales of a Lady in Waiting

My three-year-old is testing my patience.

Daily.

Okay, maybe it's hourly.

She must have been listening back in April when my mother came to visit. During a dinner table discussion of appropriate manners, my mother shared a bit of her family history with my brood. "When I was a child, my mother told us that my Grandmother's Grandmother was a Lady-in-Waiting for Queen Victoria."

I heard the Lady-in-Waiting story often when I was growing up. My daughter did not ask her Nana what exactly a Lady-in-Waiting was. But apparently she liked the sound of it so much that now waiting is all I ever seem to do. After all, there is a family tradition to uphold, right?

Sadly, my patience is not as boundless as it might be.

Here is a partial list of the tasks that cannot possibly be done in less than 30 minutes and without an elaborate cajoling ritual...

• Choosing clothes/Getting dressed for the day: First we must have a "favorite colors" guessing game or a "guess what shirt I'm thinking of...?" game. Then comes the "I need you/I don't need you" tug-of-war.
  
• Putting shoes on: Oh, and they're slip-ons, by the way. God help us when it's time for tie shoes. And we can't forget the issue of matching shoes to one's outfit. (Gah!)
  
• Brushing teeth: She must brush, then I must brush. "First, count to 19," she will say before handing the brush to me as I slowly pull out my rapidly greying hair.
  
• Getting into the car: Not getting to the car... just into it. She has to do a super-jump and climb into her car seat, smoothing the back of her shirt just so. Otherwise, she will spend the entire ride complaining that it "frickles."
  
• Getting out of the car: Frickling is not a problem getting out. We are usually searching for a lost item before getting out -- a marble, barrette, or toy. Today it was a bit of plastic from a juice box straw wrapper. She's meticulous... I'll give her that.
  
• Putting on a jacket: Here we fall victim to "I'll do it myself" syndrome. Even the zipper. It takes For-Ev-Er.
  
• Choosing a book: I love to read to her, but often 20 minutes of looking will have her settling (finally) on a book with 6 pages.
  
• Any meal: She just wants to talk to whomever is at the table. She's a social girl... that is, until dessert is served. Then she's full (except that she has room for dessert.)
  
• Bedtime: Tonight I was kissed by no less than three dogs, two bears and a blankie. I then had to fight for a kiss from my daughter playing "you can't find me" under her bedsheet.

Let's face it, by the end of the day, I'm exhausted. My sweet, darling girl has figured out how to monopolize my time and attention as often as she can. I get exasperated with it, quite honestly. I wonder when she will ever just stop playing all the time.

And then I think, What Is Wrong With Me??

She's three. And playing your way through the day is what age three is all about. It's also about asserting your independence (which has issues of its own -- trust me.) But mostly, it's about operating on your own "schedule" and doing things in your own time.

Since the boys are so independent, I guess I had forgotten that.

And then something happened yesterday while I was planting my garden that made my parental hypocrisy meter top out. I was planting a bed of Basil when my daughter came up and asked me to play soccer. "After I'm done with these Basil plants," I told her. She waited. She made conversation. She made up a game to make the waiting go faster, which I played with her as I planted. Finally, she left for a few moments and returned.

"Are you ready to play now, Mommy?"

It hit me that I was "playing" in my garden while she patiently waited for me, doing whatever she could to spend time with me. (And also, I am an idiot for making her wait like that.)

So I stopped planting, and we had one heck of a backyard soccer game. Of course, she had to blow a whistle and say, "Argh, he's in the stretch, there's the pitch!" and pantomime a swing for the fences before every kickoff. (Apparently, she's a pirate baseball-playing soccer player??) We also had to establish before kickoff exactly who would be allowed to score the goal. And afterward, she would shout, "SCORE!" and do that breathy crowd noise thing. And despite my sham sorrow at losing yet another point to the masterful mistress of soccer, I did my best to hide my tears, extend my hand, and say, "good game." And then we'd start all over again.

We played for a long time, but it was fun, so that makes it time well spent. In the end it was my own little Lady-in-Waiting who taught me a lesson about patience and being considerate. And about making time to play.

I wonder what my daughter's Grandmother's Grandmother's Grandmother would think of that.

- Midwest Mom

The Deep Well of Motherhood

What is the source of a Mother's courage? Of her strength? They come from somewhere deep inside all of us. They come from the care and support we give to each other. They exist without intention or recognition; we do what we do simply because we are Mothers.

When a new Mother is expecting, she waits and dreams about the future. She wonders and worries if her baby will be healthy and whether she will be any good at the monumental task of mothering. Facing feelings of fear and choosing to educate oneself in response are acts of courage, the first signs of what is to come. We watch every bite of food and drink that passes our lips, forgoing medicine because of its effect on the baby, shifting our focus from our self as one person to two as we metamorphose into Mothers. We are tested to relinquish control and to trust in new ways as our bodies grow and change.

Once our children are born, we grow with them, teaching and tending. Their victories make our hearts leap and their challenges gnaw at the pit of our stomachs. We carefully foster our child's sense of self, allowing her to experience the world in its variety. We learn to step aside, to allow our child to bask in success without having to share the spotlight. We learn to let go, to let our child fail or succeed all by himself, so that he can own his achievement. We pick up our little girl and dust her off and set her on her way again, knowing that in doing so we empower her to do the same for herself down the road. We listen, we advise, we enrich. It is the mission of Motherhood, our calling, our vocation.

At the beginning of the journey, the first test of our Mother's courage, we face the unknowns of labor and care for our newborn child. Sometimes, we face much more. My husband's cousin was diagnosed with breast cancer while her youngest son was in the womb. She delayed treatment until she could be assured her baby would be safe from its effects. Her son never knew his mother without cancer, and although her battle ended when he was only five years old, she would not have changed her decision to bring her vibrant, healthy boy into this world whole. That is bravery, sacrifice, strength.

Many Mothers dream of adopting and patiently wait, enduring the scrutiny of strangers and repeated disappointments so they can give a child a loving home. They nurture their adopted children in a way the circumstance of birth would have made otherwise impossible. Often, they rescue and give children who have been abused, mistreated, or neglected the gifts of acceptance and love. Adoptive mothers are courageous volunteers, displaying a brand of dedication all their own.

The courage of a mother can reveal itself in the face of loss, when we lose a child whom we have not even been blessed to know. Mothers don't like to talk about the pain of miscarriage, but it remains even years later. I can testify to the truth of that. But we do not let it beat us; we face that pain and move forward. After my own miscarriage, my spirit was crushed under the weight of a sadness so profound it is difficult to describe. In time, I became pregnant again and gave birth to my second son. I was so grateful for another chance, another child to love. He was my miracle. Only later did my husband admit that he considered the way I carried him and loved him and was renewed by him an act of courage. I never thought of it that way. I was just his Mother.

Mothers often have to hear life's most difficult truths from the mouth of a doctor. Our child may have Downs Syndrome or Autism; she has suffered a stroke; he has a seizure disorder. A doctor informs us that our daughter or son will not walk or talk or eat or learn the same way as other children. And though the truth of that shatters a part of every mother's dreams for her child, we gather ourselves up and move forward. We patiently teach, we become unpaid speech therapists and pediatric nurses. My sister spent seven years of her son's life sleeping on a chair in his hospital room and could put in an IV when no nurse on the floor could. Mothers can be the best, most courageous advocates and the foremost experts on their child's condition. Mothers of the sick are, to my mind, some of the most self-sacrificing courageous creatures ever created on this Earth. Yet, if you admire their endurance and strength, often they will shrug it off as nothing special. It is special.

Mothers give and derive strength from our networks of support. We help guide each other, we listen to each other, we appreciate each other. What is it about Mothers that makes it possible -- despite the chaotic nature of our own lives -- when another mom is in trouble, to respond without question? When my young nephew passed away, my girlfriends set aside their own schedules to cook for my husband and the boys, to babysit when needed, so I could fly across the country with my infant daughter for his funeral. Those girls, my fellow moms, were a part and source of my strength. They eased my burden and made it possible for me to comfort my sister, a mom facing what no mother should ever have to.

But even when the situation is not difficult, but everyday, Mothers are courageous. Single mothers bravely balance work and their child's care, never letting hard work or a hard life make them hard individuals. We need to recognize the difficulty of what single moms do, with little or no backup. It is, in my mind, superhuman.

Elderly mothers, our grandmothers, can face pain, illness, and loneliness while their children live their busy lives. We should honor them and support them. We should visit them and send them cards that say, THANK YOU for being the amazing woman you are. My own grandmother has a brilliant sense of humor and a full, throaty laugh. She is an artist and taught me how to cook. She is a vibrant woman who has lived a full, courageous life, surviving the Depression and war, loss of siblings, children, husband. She deserves honor and love and care.

And my own mother, who has so often faced trouble with a quiet, prayerful faith that leaves me in awe of her stillness, has a reserve that I will never possess -- a grace that should be cherished. Her three daughters are all mothers now, and she helps us and listens to us and guides us to make our best decisions. She takes care of her health meticulously, which takes some measure of inner strength. For a year, she has endured Graves Disease without allowing it to shatter her sense of purpose or self. She is my unwavering friend. She does not just have strength, she embodies it.

There is no Mom I know, no family I know, who has had an entirely easy life. That's not what life or Motherhood is or is meant to be. Instead, Motherhood contains unspeakable joys and the deepest sorrows. It tests the core of who we are. It defines us in many ways. It changes us.

When I am honest about my own mothering, I must admit that I fail as often as I succeed. I am not as patient as I should be. I am temperamental. Sometimes the effort to deal with a situation creatively proves too much for me. But no Mother is the perfect Mother. I believe learning from my failures is a part of the journey. Facing my weaknesses and trying to do better next time is a part of the process. Continually learning what I can to be a better parent, accepting that I sometimes need help, taking time to reset and recharge, all help me to be a better Mother -- not perfect, but better.

Sometimes, I have to dig down for the strength to begin again.

Fortunately for me, the well of Motherhood is deep. From it, I can draw strength and endurance and courage. From the example of the women around me, the other mothers who are a part of my life, I can find renewal.

Maybe that's why I am taking the time to appreciate the power and wonder and courage of Mothers and of Motherhood itself today. With Mother's Day on the horizon, it seems like the perfect time.

To my fellow Moms, I wish you warmth and joy and continued strength in the coming year. Thank you for all you do, and Happy Mother's Day.


- Midwest Mom

Resilience

resilient: adj. capable of resuming its shape, position, etc. after being subjected to stress, elastic. [from the Latin, resiliens, resilire, to spring back]

I often say it is my goal to raise independent, resilient children. As a Mom, though, it's hard to gauge how resilient I actually am.

At first, the relentless physical and emotional demands of caring for a tiny baby, of being responsible for his well-being, even feeding him from my very self, was a shock. It took a good six weeks for me to come to terms with the fact that motherhood was a 24 hour per day job. Until I did, resilience eluded me.

But with time and help, I adjusted. That first stretching into the new shape of motherhood almost broke me, but didn't. To my surprise I found I had a stronger, more flexible core than I imagined.

I have come to love being a Mom. And I have learned that this process of stretching, reaching, snapping back occurs on multiple levels over days, weeks, even years. Every childhood phase, medical scare or job worry pulls at me. In time each stress passes. I adjust and make my way again.

My life as a Mom has its undisputed high points. I had a few moments on Easter day when I stood fully in the warm sunbeam of familial love. When I felt the perfection of the day and of our life. It couldn't have felt better. What a contrast from those first difficult days.

There are lows as well, sometimes right on the heels of the highs.

On Monday, I was pounded by relentless waves of bickering. The children clawed through their last day of vacation by finding innovative ways to annoy and betray one another. I grew tired of the rancor. It was an assault to my spirit and my senses.

The sole piece of mail I received that day was a one-line rejection of a resume I had submitted to a local non-profit. It was for a job I knew I could do, was excited about, was hopeful for. Despite my skills, background, and stellar references, they didn't even interview me.

Talk about bruised pride.

It was a sad end to a difficult day.

I fumbled my way through supper and put the children to bed. My husband, seeing my disappointment, was quiet. He brought me tea and asked about my plans for the evening.

I was nestled in a blanket in a cozy corner of the couch, but three full baskets of clean, unfolded laundry glared at me from across the room. I gave them a nod, "tackle those, I guess."

"Nonsense. Wait here." Moments later, he left the house.

It was the nudge I needed to give myself a reprieve from the housework. I looked over the letter again and took guilty pleasure in finding a spelling mistake.

I was content with the quiet until my husband returned. "You need a distraction," he told me as he popped in a DVD.

It was Beverly Hills Cop. He knew just what would brighten my mood. Vintage Eddie Murphy.

I was so grateful for him. We talked into the night and I confessed my feelings.

The worst part of it was that I knew at least ten different ways I would have been able to help this non-profit do its work more effectively. He listened carefully and told me it was their loss that they hadn't given me a chance. The fact that theirs is a cause I care about just made the rejection harder to take.

It has forced me to face the question: How resilient am I?

My caring spouse gave me a pretty good bounce back in the attitude department. But the professional side remains unresolved.

I am a woman of action, impatient with waiting for others' approval. Maybe it's time to make my own opportunities. I may have been stretched, but I haven't shattered, right?

So I'll take some time to rethink, reset my priorities, and make a plan of action. Through the process, maybe the way forward will reveal itself.

There are times when I want to break instead of springing back.

Then I tell myself today is not the day for breaking.

It's not what Moms do.

- Midwest Mom

The Power of Change

It takes a lot of courage to release
the familiar and seemingly secure,
to embrace the new.
But there is no real security in what is no longer meaningful.
There is more security in the adventurous and exciting,
for in movement there is life,
and in change there is power.

~Alan Cohen

My twenty-year high school reunion is coming up this year, so I've been spending time catching up with old friends on email and facebook. We're planning a summer trip to the old homestead to participate.

The reunion gives me cause to reflect on where I started and where I am now. It makes me wonder whether the woman I am now bears any resemblance to the seventeen year old girl I was when I graduated.

Some things about me have changed very little. Back then, I was a stubborn, shy, intelligent girl who loved to write. I had a few close friends rather than many. But I laughed a lot, loved sports and adored my Dad. Those things haven't changed about me.

But some things have.

There are the surface differences. My hair now is less like a fluffy pile of feathered wonder and more like a good pretzel -- golden brown with a healthy dose of salt up top. My body shows the signs of having borne three children. My hands are the evidence that I'm raising them.

There are also changes it would be hard to pinpoint in before and after photographs.

I know who I am now and I'm not afraid of what other people think. Back then, I spent a lot of time being afraid. I wanted to do everything right in others' eyes. Now I just do what I feel in my heart is right.

I've learned to trust my inner voice. Back then, I was more likely to trust the guidance of others -- I didn't even know what my inner voice sounded like. It's shocking to realize how much influence other people had over me in my decisions about friends and boys, even what to wear. But, those days are over.

I am more forgiving of other people's faults now, more compassionate, more generous and understanding. When you're a mom it's part of the job description.

I'm more politically Liberal now. I probably always was. I just couldn't find expression for it until college and afterward. Now that my core and I are on speaking terms, it's easier to keep my beliefs in line with my politics, and vise-versa.

I have followed a winding path to get where I am -- through college and graduate school, living in Michigan, DC, Russia, New Hampshire, and Illinois, working, through friendships and relationships, through heartbreak, disillusionment and disappointment, growth, rebirth, love, and marriage, bearing and raising three children. But I'm grateful for the path and happy with the destination -- this place, this day, this family.

I am not who I was. But I am satisfied with who I am.

It makes me wonder what kind of transformations my high school friends have gone through, what challenges they have succumbed to or overcome? The historian in me wants to know it all, to trace the pathways of their lives. The friend in me wants to be introduced to the new people my old friends have become.

Maybe that's what reunions are meant to do. Maybe they aren't about the 'glory days' so much as they are about using them as a starting point for new relationships. I hope so.

In a weird way, I guess that means I'm looking forward to this reunion.

How completely unexpected.

How unlike me.

How exciting.


- Midwest Mom

Giggles

My 6 year-old is one crazy kid. When he gets excited, he gets LOUD! His teacher even wrote it on his third quarter report card. I think she called it "enthusiasm".

But we have our quiet moments, too. He likes nothing more than time with Mom or Dad without all the distractions of the other kids.

This morning he came to visit me before his sister and brother woke up. We watched Curious George together.

He got the giggles.



Giggles turned to chuckles.

Chuckles burst out into raucous laughter. All because of a cartoon monkey.

This boy reminds me that sometimes life is just simple. And it feels so good to let yourself go and feel the joy of it.

That's a pretty good lesson to have learned by 7:30 in the morning.

- Midwest Mom

Nobody's Perfect: Teaching Kids about Mistakes

My husband is a perfectionist. He admits it, usually with an old-dog-new-tricks shrug. In his line of work, perfectionism serves him well. In other parts of his life, though, it can be tough to be so exacting. Life isn't an exact science.

Our oldest son has inherited this personality trait. He is driven and persistent. He is also fierce and unrelenting at times when he wants things to be done a certain way. My mother has told me that he is "Type A".

All I know is that he puts a tremendous amount of pressure on himself and has an amazing inner drive. But his constant pushing for perfection can sometimes be a problem.

I remember getting a phone call from his teacher back when he was in first grade. The class had been playing a math game, and my son had gotten a problem wrong and was out of the game. He fumed. Later on, he got a paper back that had been corrected. He had left the punctuation off of a sentence. He simmered. Finally, when he raised his hand to answer a question, he barked the answer at the teacher. She called him on it, and he boiled over. He didn't like mistakes. Their existence rocked his foundations.

I'm glad she called me about it. What happened at school gave our family a way to talk about making mistakes and use them as a chance to learn. That small episode turned out to be an opportunity for growth.

My husband and I have tried a few strategies that have really worked.

Talk and teach openly about making mistakes. Although we have always encouraged our children with positive reinforcement, especially when they had difficulty, we realized that we never really used the word mistake with our children. We treated small struggles individually and rarely generalized to teach the concept: we are human beings and all human beings make mistakes.

Admit our own mistakes. My parents were the unquestioned authority in my family growing up. But to teach our children about mistake-making, my husband and I have had to come down from our parental pedestal at times. We decided to try and admit our mistakes as they happen -- from humbly admitting that we forgot an appointment to bravely apologizing to one of the children when we have wronged them. [Trust me, the apology part is harder than it sounds. A true apology includes an honest effort to make amends. We decided that modeling was the best way to teach the art of the apology. Especially tough on proud Mama, I tell you.]

Forgiveness and Love go Hand-in-Hand. As a family, we believe that mistakes don't erase the love we feel for each other. So, when we have an argument, we make a point of airing our feelings and making friends again before we move on. Sometimes that takes time, but not as much as you might imagine. When my son is having a hard time forgiving himself, I reinforce that no part of my love hinges on him being perfect. I love him even with his flaws, not in spite of them. That doesn't mean I have no expectations for his behavior or that a mistake can no longer be called out. But it does mean that my son will always be my son. Sometimes he just needs to hear that.

Emphasize our humanity. There are no perfect people. When my son first started resisting the idea that any mistakes were ever acceptable, we asked him to come up with the name of even one person who never made a mistake. He said Jesus. Okay, he had us there. But in trying to give us the "right" answer, he actually opened up a great way for us to approach the concept of our common humanity. We talked about our faith in a different way than we had before. It was a great learning opportunity -- for him and for us as parents. As time has gone on, we have talked about other special people -- scientists, sports figures, national heroes. All one needs to do is open a book to find out that Einstein failed out of school or that Babe Ruth had a problem with his temper, or that Abraham Lincoln got in trouble for laziness because he read instead of doing his chores. Seeing "great" people as human has helped.

Mistakes are Opportunities to Learn. If we think about failure as an opportunity to build a skill or solve a problem creatively, mistakes become easier to handle. Sometimes in life, we make "silly" mistakes -- like when I hurry and put my keys in the fridge and the cream cheese in my purse, or when my son focuses on getting a math paper done as fast as possible and doesn't pay attention to the plus and minus signs. We look for the lesson: slow down, stop and think, re-check your work. If bigger mistakes are made, like hitting your brother because you want a toy, we look for the lesson, too. People are more important than things. We re-focus and try again.

Teaching about mistakes is something I'm sure we will continue to work with as the children get older and as the consequences of their behavior become greater and greater. I like that we are working on it together. It may be true that I am learning as much as he is.

We have noticed that the lesson is sinking in. My son told his sister the other day, "It's okay. We all make mistakes. You just have to try to learn from it." I smiled when I heard it.

Maybe I should call his First grade teacher and say thanks.

- Midwest Mom

Today is a Brand New Day

At my sons' school, every child begins his or her day by saying,

Today is a Brand New Day.

It is the first line of the school pledge. Every student says those words aloud to start their day off with a good attitude, healthy self-control, and a positive outlook on what the day will hold. The teachers and students use the pledge to put yesterday's troubles in the background and to focus on the work (and fun) of the present and the future.

Today, as a country, we get to do the same thing.

During the campaign, Barack Obama said often

This is Our Moment
This is Our Time
It's time to Turn the Page

This is the day he was talking about.

Personally, I can't wait to see what possibilities lay ahead for us as a nation. I can't wait to see what citizens can come together to accomplish. I firmly believe that any change we hope to see in the United States must come from within; any action that takes us down the road of progress must originate with the person we see in the mirror in the morning. If the crowds in our Nation's Capitol are any indication, I am not the only one who feels that way.

So today I will listen to our new President with a hopeful heart and a positive attitude. And I will firmly commit to do what I can to make our country and my own community a better, warmer, kinder, more just place.

I hope Moms everywhere are tuned in to the possibility of this moment, of the children we are bringing up to believe in the ideal that is America. And even though we know in our hearts that ideals can never fully exist in reality, I hope we can all find small ways to inch reality a little closer to the 'perfect union' to which we aspire.

Yesterday is in the past.
Tomorrow is over the horizon.
But Today is a Brand New Day.

- Midwest Mom

Realities and Realizations from 2008

I hope you all had a wonderful Christmas filled with times to remember. Ours was far richer than I could have imagined. We had our moments, of course, and a few meltdowns along the way... but that is a post for another day.
_______________________________________

This year held some fairly important epiphanies for yours truly. It was the year I started blogging, for one, and I found that I really do love it.

But I made some other important discoveries along the way. I thought now would be the time to share.

I realized some quirky things about my family:

• Logic does not apply to three-year-old-girls. My daughter will not eat the outer crust of a slice of bread, under any circumstances. She will, however, eat the entire heel of the bread (which, of course, is all crust.) She now says it's her favorite part.
• My five year old changes his socks (three times a day) more often than he brushes his teeth (twice a day.) Apparently avoiding funky breath is less important than avoiding funky feet.
• My oldest son is incapable of letting someone else win – at anything – even rock/scissors/paper or eenie meenie miney moe. He is, however, generous to a fault. Yesterday, he saved his brother five french fries from Wendy's by stuffing them into his jacket pocket and producing them when we got home. (They were, in fact, gratefully consumed by the brother in question.)
• My husband will help someone else finish a home improvement project from start to finish but sometimes gets stuck in ‘start’ mode when it’s a project in our own home. When he does get a job done here on the homestead, it is better than anything I could have imagined.

And now for me… realizations from the year 2008 are as follows:

• When my house is dirty, I cannot function properly. Once it’s clean, my happy times are happier and my rest is more restful.
• I have far more patience with my own children than other people’s children. So, my suspicions about whether I would be unhappy as a schoolteacher have been confirmed. I absolutely would.
• Change is tough for me, especially in parenting. When my children grow into some new behavior, I am slow to adapt. It takes about two weeks of friction before I even figure out what is going on.
• I am so tired of making pie for special occasions. I’m ready for a new challenge. (Is 2009 the year of soufflé? Sounds good to me!)
• Reading is more relaxing than watching television in the evening. I’m actually happier without TV.
• I am relieved that the presidential election is over and am happy with the result, but I am now officially burnt out on politics.
• Becoming just like my mother isn’t as bad of a thing as I once thought it was. She’s really quite talented and smart, you know.
• I want to be fit, but you’re more likely to find me typing at this computer screen than in an aerobics class.
• Finally, I’ve realized that 2008 has been great, but 2009 has the potential to be even greater. I can’t wait to see what’s around the bend.

- Midwest Mom

Getting in the Christmas Spirit... Finally!

Have yourself a merry little Christmas, let your heart be light.
From now on, our troubles will be out of sight.

- Hugh Martin

Last year, I had such a tough time getting in the holiday spirit. There were dozens of things tugging at me constantly, keeping me so busy that I felt like I was playing catch-up throughout the month of December.

I called my sister in New Hampshire. (She is my lifeguard whenever I get swamped by motherhood.)

I confessed that I was having trouble really "feeling" the Christmas spirit for the first time I could remember. She understood, to say the least.

My sister's son, my beautiful nephew, passed away almost three years ago. So, for her, the holidays have become a time for reflection and tenderness and quiet with her family rather than a blaring extravaganza of Christmas trappings.

With characteristic selflessness and practicality, she gave me some insight.

"What is getting in the way for you?"

Feeling ashamed at burdening her with my problem, I talked about how stressed I felt and started to list all the things I needed to do -- the baking, the cards, the events, the obligations. She gently informed me that those things had nothing to do with Christmas.

"Don't do them," I heard her say. "What?" I replied.

Don't do them.

Sometimes as a mom, I feel like I'm at my most successful when I'm busy. I justify staying home by having that conversation with my husband that starts with him asking, "so what did you do today?" I always want to have something big to say in response. It's usually a litany.

But, last year, in that small conversation, my sister pointed out so clearly that the business of the season, the thousands of tiny things I felt I needed to do to make my family's Christmas happen, were actually taking me farther and farther away from understanding what Christmas itself is all about.

I have tried to take her words to heart. I have simplified this year. It hasn't been easy.

But is has made a difference.

This year, my husband and I have done more together, with less rush than before. We are doing less shopping for gifts but more giving -- especially to those who really need it. We are spending more time talking about the true meaning of Christmas. We are laughing more, playing more with the children, singing more, saying more thank-yous, praying more. We are able to be more gentle to each other and more flexible with the schedule.

I am so grateful for the change.

So, this year, Christmas has become more than the decorations and goodies and wrapped boxes. Something has opened my eyes and heart to the joy of the season in a different way.

And so I need to say 'Thank you' to my beautiful, thoughtful sister who was kind enough to share her hard-fought wisdom with me when I really needed it.

I don't know how to show you how grateful I am, or how much I love you.

So, maybe I'll just say that I am so glad that God gave you to me to be my sister. It was undoubtedly one of the best presents I've ever been given.

- Midwest Mom

How to Avoid Thanksgiving Stress

As a mom, I always view big holidays like Thanksgiving with a mixture of excitement and anxiety.

There are a few kinds of preparation that will save both parents and children a few holiday headaches. Packing extra clothes for your children or allowing them to change into their pajamas for the long ride home are great ideas. Giving your children nutritious snacks before going to the big family meal (with lots of strange foods they've never seen before) can take the stress out of whether they're eating or not. Reminding yourself that Thanksgiving is one day out of 365 can help keep the day in perspective.

Still, there are some parts of Thanksgiving that are bound to cause some stress. Here are a few parenting hints to keep in mind.
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Control Your Expectations:

As soon as you arrive at your holiday gathering, there will be a whole host of introductions to be made. Please remember that relatives you know but your children don't feel like strangers to them. A crowd of unfamiliar faces can be very stressful -- especially when an introduction is followed by unreasonable expectations. We've all heard introductions like this one (or been the victim of them):

-Lucy, this is your Great Aunt Doris! The last time she saw
you, you were in diapers!

-Aunt Doris, Lucy was the lead in the school play this year.

-She was a rutabaga.

-Why don't you say your lines for Aunt Doris, dear?

-C'mon! She'd love to hear them!

-Louder, honey, Aunt Doris can't hear very well....

-Oh, well, at the actual play, she didn't forget her lines like that,
Aunt Doris.

-Hmm? Oh! Yes, of course she'll give you a kiss.

-Lucy, kiss Aunt Doris.

-I don't care what she smells like, kiss her! Oh, goodness. Why
on earth are you crying? [Lucy runs away.]

-Sorry, Aunt Doris...

I have found it is best to give children a chance to "make friends" with new relatives in whatever way they are most comfortable. Sometimes that means that it will take time to warm up to someone new.

When you are introducing someone to your child, do so in a way that reveals important information about the new adult -- not potentially embarrassing information about your child. Saying, "Aunt Doris used to fly airplanes!" can intrigue your child and get them to ask questions.

Another way to introduce older relatives is to make the family relationship plain. Tell Lucy that Aunt Doris is Danny's Grandma or Great Grandpa's sister. Then, sit back and let your child find his or her own way to relate to Aunt Doris. It may not happen right away, but over the course of the night, your child might surprise you.

We usually make the introductions easier on our kids in two ways. We arrive early, so they're meeting people one-at-a-time. And we arrange to meet relatives we know well and all walk in together. It can be a lot less intimidating to meet people when you are already surrounded by friends.
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Keep the Schedule in Mind:

If yours is a family with a definite routine -- naps at a certain time, dinner at a certain time, etc. -- then family holidays can throw a wrench in the works. When you're planning your day, think about your children's schedule.

If you're nursing a newborn or you have a child who will need a nap, talk to your hosts in advance about setting aside some "quiet space" that won't be violated. When we were first married, we were guests of my husband's parents for more than one holiday. They were always so thoughtful when I asked for a little "retreat space" for the baby and me. Usually, I could go to a quiet guest room when the baby needed to eat or sleep, or when I could tell that the baby was feeling stressed by all the noise. Sometimes a little quiet was what we both needed to refresh.

Now that my children are older, my husband's mother still keeps one room as a quiet room for those times that the kids need a break or a rest. Making space away from the action can be just enough to help your children manage the holiday schedule without a major breakdown.

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Keep Private Matters Private:

The biggest source of parent stress at the holidays (besides what your brother's new wife will think when she sees Uncle Martin drunk) is how very public our parenting of our children becomes.

Holiday parenting can sometimes be initially lax (when you ask yourself "why on earth isn't someone stopping this behavior??!??") Then, as you watch cousin Harold try to feed popcorn to the new baby and decide you must be the one to step in and stop it, you are startled by the blur that is cousin Harold's dad moving at superhuman speed to LOUDLY and with a scowl that would frighten the most hardened criminal shout at his son WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?!?? CAN'T YOU SEE SHE'S JUST A BABY?!??! I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW YOU COULD BE BEHAVING SO BADLY IN FRONT OF ALL THESE PEOPLE! GET YOUR COAT ON, MISTER, BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO THE CAR RIGHT NOW!!!

Whew. What a nightmare. Please be sure that isn't you. I'll do the same.

I know it can be tempting to just let the kids be kids when there is a large group, but my husband and I always are sure to keep a close eye on how ours are behaving throughout the holiday visit. If I find that one of my children is having trouble keeping his hands to himself or following the other basic rules of happy play, I pull him or her aside into a separate room (usually pointing to the offending child and saying, "come with me, please") and I parent them firmly, but privately. That way, I can get my point across without distraction or drama and my child feels respected, not embarrassed, and has a chance to 'reboot'. When we're both ready -- sometimes I wait even 10 minutes if necessary -- then we can rejoin the group.

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Don't forget to Laugh:

This was a lesson taught to me by my sister-in-law. She is a terrific laugher -- even in the face of the worst circumstances.

Imagine, your family is seated at your Grandmother's formal dining room table with place settings of her finest china and silver and guests dressed in their Thanksgiving best. You look over to make conversation with your sister's new fiance and are distracted by the fact that he seems to be looking past you. As you slowly turn your head, you take in the aghast expressions of your Grandmother, your parents, Uncle Bernard, Aunt Ruthie, and every other family member present at the Thanksgiving feast.

"What ever could they be looking at?" you wonder to yourself. Then "oh, no!" flashes through your mind.

Your head snaps to your two-year-old smearing mashed potatoes and gravy all over his face and hair. In the ten seconds you looked away to make conversation, he has managed to fling cranberry sauce across the room and onto Cousin Larry's toupee. He is now filling his nose with sweet baby peas and blowing them as far as he can. (Your brother is laughing. For a fraction of a second, you aim your darkest thoughts at his future progeny.)

What do you do?

You politely say, "excuse me" and remove your child from the room. Your loving husband offers to help. "Save a plate for me. Okay?" you ask, and he agrees. You spend the next twenty minutes bathing your little rascal.

Don't forget to laugh.

That's the worst-case scenario. Even if it happens -- which it won't -- it is nothing you can't handle. Just, as you deal with even the worst of circumstances, don't forget to laugh.

Today's tragic behavior will be a hilarious family story... someday. But only if you can bring yourself to deal with it gracefully. So, deal with it... and laugh, even if you have to laugh so hard, you cry.

_________________________________________

And finally,

Be Thankful.

If you remember how lucky you are to have a loving family, the craziness doesn't seem to matter so much. If you remember to be grateful for a roof over your head and healthy children and warmth and laughter, then the bumps in the road can seem smaller. Take the time to appreciate the people around you and let them know how much you care about them. Do that, and the Thanksgiving stress will seem to melt away.

(Oh... and a little drink won't hurt, either...)



- Midwest Mom

Teaching Children to Take Action

No one knows how children will turn out; a great tree often springs from a tender plant.
-- Norwegian proverb

My husband and I are politically aware adults -- we read the news and talk about justice issues in the world on a daily basis. We are keenly aware that our actions can have a positive effect on our community, if we choose to make activism a priority. We can have a broader effect, if we choose, by sharing our ideas or contributing to causes.

I have always talked to my children, most often in terms of our faith but also, recently, in terms of our duty as American citizens, about why my husband and I believe what we do.

Alleviating poverty is one of the first priorities on our "activist list". For us, it is important to feed hungry people and provide clothing to those who do not have it, not because we are wealthy, but because we can.

As a Christian Parent, I understand that teaching my children about the world -- about justice and injustice and about the highs and lows of life -- is a key aspect of of parenting, if I want my children to become mature, understanding adults. How do I do it? I get them involved.

When my oldest was 3 years old, he worked with me at a local food pantry once a week. He couldn't do much, just put cans or fruit into grocery bags. But he helped me work at the desk and talk to the clients who came in for food. He played and laughed with them.

When I drop clothing off at our local ministry for families in need, my children accompany me. We talk about why we give and who will be wearing their jackets and dresses and shoes. At the end of last year, I was told by my friend at the ministry that they served 637 children in our area last year. That's a lot of children who need help. I share that information with my kids so that they know there are children who are cold tonight, but they also know that there is something we can do to help make them warmer.

My children's preschool has a mitten tree every winter. I would always let my children choose colors for scarves and hats that I would knit for the tree. The act of making something carefully, of taking the time to create something warm and beautiful was not lost on my children. They have each commented on the labor and time; they have been sources of conversation about gratitude and "why" that have, I hope, led each of us to greater understanding.

Every parent has a way of looking at the world and seeing the ways it could be made better. I am keenly aware that there is more I can do. I am committed to challenging myself to make more of a difference if I can. Perhaps now is the time to reach farther than our local community.

As a part of Bloggers Unite!, I am dedicating a portion of this post to Refugee awareness. There is a crisis in our world right now. In Iraq, in Afghanistan, in Darfur, and anywhere there is conflict, there are good people who must flee to keep their families safe. For some, including children, citizenship rights can be taken away, resulting in "statelessness" where they do not have a homeland to return to. Others can be repatriated, but need help with food, clothing, and housing.

As parents, we may not be able to save the world, but we can educate ourselves on the real struggles of millions across the world. As difficult as it may be, we can talk to our children about the reality of the refugee crisis, not in horrifying detail, but in truth. We can talk about what we learn. We can listen. We can act.

Teaching children to take action means that we must be willing to confront difficult realities as parents. No one is going to solve all the injustice in the world at once. And parents and families often feel that our plates are full. But, we can choose to focus on small ways to affect larger problems. When we do that, we give our children another tool in their toolbox, another type of perspective, an opportunity for compassion.

Our children will need those tools, perspective and compassion. As they grow into adults, they can be caretakers for their world, just as we are of ours. When parents teach action, even in a small way, we have the chance for our lessons to be far-reaching. So, whether we work as helpers in our towns, our churches, and our neighborhoods or whether we reach beyond the local to take on something much larger, the activism we teach can have much broader effects than we even realize -- like ripples in a pond.

I would encourage you to start with your own children by even choosing one issue to take on as a family. Will it be helping a neighbor, building a home for someone who has nowhere to live, feeding the hungry? You choose. But be sure to make the choice -- and start teaching.

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How can we act right now to help refugees? One way is to support organizations like Refugees United. It is an organization that provides a forum -- a way for refugees to communicate and find their relatives. It is free and confidential and focused on giving refugees and their family the means to take action themselves. It can help parents find their children or wives find their husbands. Refugees United is one example of what can happen when caring people unite to solve large problems. Overcoming the communication obstacle in refugee communities brings families one step closer to becoming whole.

-Midwest Mom

Getting Ready for the Freak Show

Yesterday afternoon I opened up our box of Halloween decorations. It is always fun to do, but never more than when the costumes and masks come out of the box.

A few years ago, I purchased a pack of 20 masks that was on clearance. It's nothing too scary; there are animals and monster-movie monsters like Frankenstein and a werewolf. They are made out of craft foam. We bring them out about a week before Halloween, just to get the kids psychologically ready for the freak-show that will come straight to our front door.

I will never forget my oldest son's first Halloween. His teeth were starting to come in, so I made him a black satin cape with red lining and painted a red onesie turtleneck with the words "Baby Dracula." I was so proud of him, and incredibly eager to have him with me when I handed out candy at our front door.

Unfortunately, he was just starting into the "stranger anxiety" phase. When the first trick-or-treater came to our front door, I went temporarily deaf in my left ear. The next day, my neighbor Janet joked that our house was the spookiest. "The screaming was so realistic."

After that, I decided to spend a little time preparing the kids before the big day. We make lots of opportunities for them to wear their costumes or experiment with new ones. Sometimes they choose to scare each other or just to play together. But after a while, even the scaring becomes playful. Last night, one of my sons wore a tiger mask with Dracula teeth and bugged-out googly-eye glasses. It was a hoot.

So, if you happen to come by our place anytime in the next week, don't be surprised to find some pretty spooky looking creatures. I've seen a mummy wandering around here someplace. He even had toilet paper wrapped around his head.

Creepy.

- Midwest Mom

Avoiding The Blame Game

My name is Mom, and I'm a blamer.

Human Beings are known for several strong instincts. The Survival instinct is one we've all heard about. What about the instinct of a mother to protect her child? Who among us hasn't experienced that one?

There is an instinct, however, that is less well known. It has been passed from parent to child for generations. It is the Blame Instinct.

The Blame instinct is the tendency human beings have to seek out and identify, sometimes quite loudly and passionately, the person or thing directly responsible when things don't go our way.

As a parent, I find that I am constantly battling the blame instinct. I come by it honestly. My parents were great blamers. With six children, Mom and Dad had to sort out some pretty difficult lines of culpability. Often, the responsibility for bad behavior fell upon the oldest child involved in whatever shenanigans we got caught up in. Other times, particularly when something potentially fatal was narrowly avoided, Dad or Mom would assign blame to whomever was closest at hand.

"Dad, there was a fire at school today."

"What?!??"

"Yeah, it was right outside our classroom. We had to escape out the window."

"Oh my God!" Dad would hold me tight, "Why didn't someone call me?!? And what were you doing in that classroom in the first place, young lady?!?!!"

I laugh at myself when, as a parent, I do the same exact thing. Mostly it is a sign of just how frightened I actually am. And if a person is not available, I will even blame an inanimate object.

Last weekend, my daughter fell right next to an upturned rake. Scooping her up, I said loudly "What idiot left the rake on the ground with the tines up?!? She could have put out her eye!"

My husband speaks up. "Honey, weren't you using the rake?"

"Stupid rake." I muttered, bringing my daughter inside. "Rakes should be illegal."

It wouldn't be so funny if it weren't so true. What disturbs me is that I see the same blame tendency coming out in my children. The couch is responsible for a stubbed toe. A broken toy is the fault of the toy itself. It goes on and on.

I must say, that as a thoughtful parent, an educated, mature adult (neither of which I seem to be when danger is present), I don't think blaming serves much purpose. It just makes the blamer feel better or justified. It is rarely an honest search for the origins of the problem and more a case of scapegoating (even if the scapegoat happens to be a rake.) So, I'm trying to be more conscious of it in myself in the hopes that I can teach my children to avoid such an unproductive (and potentially embarrassing) trait.

I am trying to teach my children to take responsibility for what they do. By teaching my children to own up to their actions, I am hoping they will become more aware of the consequences of their behavior.

But I also teach them that sometimes accidents do happen.

I want my children to grow into careful, thoughtful adults, so I am teaching them that the absence of malice does not prevent a person from being hurt. Their first response to any accidental hurt should be to care for the person being hurt. Blame can wait.

It has been interesting to see them minister to each other to heal hurts first, without accidents being turned into a shouting match of, "Watch where you're going!" "It's his fault!" "I didn't mean to!" Just postponing the issue of blame and encouraging my children, regardless of circumstance, to care for one another has been an amazing step for our family.

I have also started to teach my kids that blaming inanimate objects is not productive.

It may feel satisfying sometimes to blame the bike when you fall off, but ultimately lying to yourself by blaming an object isn't helpful. (I've made a concerted effort to remember this one myself.) My children are often seething and angry. I help them to talk about the anger they feel and together we solve the issue of whether or not we can avoid a future hurt.

We are a team, a problem-solving team.

When I put it to them that way, their need to blame often fades to the background. I try to help them feel really listened to in the process of solving problems. I hope that will lay the groundwork for future situations with the potential to be much more serious than a skinned knee or a stubbed toe.

Time will tell where our family goes with the blame instinct. They say admitting the problem is the first step to getting help. It may be, as long as I can teach myself with as much clarity as I seem to be able to teach them.

Wish me luck.


-Midwest Mom

Can't we all just get along? What to do when Children Fight

When my second son was born, one of the things I knew I wanted to "head off at the pass" was the issue of sibling rivalry. I have a sister only 18 months older than I am, and our relationship as children wasn't characterized by understanding or trust. We argued and competed for attention most of the time. Now that we are adults, we get along much better, but it has taken time to travel that path. Even if that amount of conflict is "normal", I wanted my boys to be able to avoid it as much as possible.

I remember asking my pediatrician about it at my second son's two week checkup. He raised his eyebrows. "It's a little early for that, isn't it?" he joked. I explained that I wanted to raise my boys to be brothers and friends. He saw my point of view and recommended that I read Siblings Without Rivalry, by Adele Faber and Elaine Mazlish. I bought it and read it, cover to cover. In fact, I have kept it and continue to refer to it as the children get older. It is a great book that every parent with more than one child should absolutely read.

Siblings without Rivalry is a collection of stories from parents who have specifically sought help because their children are fighting. Some of the stories involve persistent picking and bickering. Others are about belittling language or physical confrontation. The parents whose stories are contained in the book agreed to try a novel approach to the issue of their kids' constant state of confrontation.

Whenever possible, let the kids solve their disputes themselves.

When I first read it, it sounded crazy. I mean, really crazy. But, believe it or not, it has worked pretty well for our family. The key is to know and understand your children's cues so that you can step in only when necessary. But, you have to build and be willing to rely on your children's problem solving skills as well. The goal is to lead them to build a healthy relationship with one another without setting yourself up a the supreme arbiter of right and wrong. I'll explain:

Yesterday Primo was setting up some complicated paths of Dominoes to knock down and my youngest repeatedly knocked them down before he was ready. He would overreact, and she would be delighted at the attention. His freakout was her payoff. She smiled and clapped every time he would get angry. After it happened about three times, I could tell by the tone of his voice that he was about to snap. I pulled him aside.

"You know, when you were little, Daddy and I had such a hard time playing cards. Did you know that?" He shook his head, glaring at me like he could care less (and why aren't you punishing her for annoying me?)

I continued, "You used to always try to steal the cards."

He was intrigued, for the moment. "I did?"

"You did."

"What did you do about it?" [gotcha, I thought.]

"Well, we tried and tried just to tell you not to, but you paid no attention. So, we gave you some cards of your own to play next to us on the same table. I guess you just wanted to play what we were playing."

He rolled his eyes and sighed. "Does that mean I have to give her all my Dominoes?!?" (Oh, the injustice of it all!)

"Nope. About 5 should do it."

"Fine." Scowl, stomp, stomp, stomp.

He continued to be extremely annoyed at the injustice of the situation -- why did he have to give away some of his own toys when his sister was the one who was being annoying?!? But over the course of the next 15 minutes, I saw him slowly realize that she was, in fact, leaving him alone. She set up her own Dominoes and systematically knocked them down. "Good job!" I heard him say to her finally.

Pretending not to pay attention, I returned to folding my laundry with a smile on my face. Mission accomplished.

Of course, it doesn't always work that way, especially with the two oldest. Sometimes I have to listen to both sides of a complicated tale of woe. In the end, I put them together and say, "Okay. I'm going to give you two ten minutes to find a solution that's fair for both of you." At this point, they know they are going to have to compromise to get what they want. (It's a lesson many adults haven't mastered yet, believe me!) I give them space to find an answer that works. At the end of the ten minutes, I explain, I will step in and make the choice. They know that there is no guarantee they will like my decision, but that they will be stuck with it. 95% of the time, they will come to an agreement they both can live with -- and it rarely takes the full ten minutes.

If you have children who are fighting, setting ground rules (such as no yelling, no name-calling, or no hitting) is important to do before letting them solve things themselves. Once those rules are in place, trusting your children to solve some of their disagreements may be a great way to change from being Mom the referee into Mom the helper and teacher.

I can't say that I follow every suggestion I read in the book. But, I will say that it has informed my parenting and re-reading it helps to keep me on track when I fall into the "referee-Mom" trap.

When I look at my children and how they interact, I see friends who occasionally disagree, not rivals who are sometimes friendly. I can live with that; it seems healthy and good. And I know that this way of solving problems gives my children tools for those times when I'm not around to say what is right or wrong.

Isn't that part of what good parenting is all about?

-Midwest Mom

On the Road to Raising Resilient Children

Isn't it funny the way toddlers sometimes insist on doing things themselves. My daughter is two now, but from the first moment she could speak, it seemed like "I do it MYSELF!" was a staple of her vocabulary.

I try to view her independence as a good thing. Since I'm parenting three children, it is wonderful that she wants to put on her own shoes, feed herself, or dress herself. I think it is an important part of raising a child to give them the room to try things themselves -- even if it seems like they've chosen a task far beyond their abilities. Quite often, like this morning when my daughter buckled her own sandals, I've been surprised at the results!

But in the process of trying a new task herself, my daughter will sometimes get really frustrated. She will drive at a solution that eludes her. Finally, she will let out a gutteral scream I know comes from the pit of her soul.

When she's at the end of her rope, though, I give her time to feel her own frustration. I like to watch what comes after that point, because it is almost always a leap in development for her. Either she will regroup and try a new method or she will power through her frustration and get the thing right -- like when she finally learned how to ride her tricycle and hollered until she got the rhythm of one pedal then the other.

We have photos of my oldest son trying like crazy to crawl forward. All he could manage was to scoot himself backward. In the photos, his face got redder and redder until finally, he reached for the toy in front of him that was just out of reach -- and got it! What a smile of victory he had on his face! That smile would not have been possible if we had not been willing to step back and let him find his own way.

There are many times when my children are frustrated and they will stop in a quiet moment, look over and ask for help. I try to be present and accessible when they are trying to figure out something new. Sometimes, I will get them started or give them a hint or remind them of the steps they will need to take to accomplish their goal. My middle son needs encouragement if he can't get his seatbelt on right away. "I can't do it!" he will cry in despair. "You can do it. And we will wait as long as it takes for you to do it," I reply. Removing the time pressure usually does the trick for him. He gets it buckled. At the point that my children reach out for help, I think it is important to be there -- not to swoop in and do it for them, but to teach them to solve the problem themselves.

I know many parents never think NOT to help their child. Moms are compulsive, professional helpers, aren't we? But I have made the decision to start early, encouraging my children to make their own choices and to feel the consequences of those choices. I have started with the little tasks my children ask to do on their own.

Why?

When mothers do everything for their children, they are silently saying "I think you are helpless. You cannot do this for yourself." Even if they never say the words, parents who do every little thing for their child are creating a child who will be dependent on them. It can be terribly comforting for a parent to be needed so much. But, isn't the goal of parenting to lovingly raise children who can think and do and decide what is best for themselves?

If a parent never gives their child the chance to be frustrated and possibly fail, they are depriving that child of valuable experience in problem-solving and decision-making. I remember having to make the first hard decisions of my adulthood and feeling paralyzed. I talked to my father about it. "Well, princess," he said supportively, "you need to sit down and figure things out for yourself. I will help you if you need me, but these are your decisions to make."

I know now that those are the best words he could have said to me. Did I have to flounder? Yes. Did I have to wonder if I was making the right choices? Yes. Was there a chance I could fail at what I tried? Absolutely. But when I reached out for help, my Dad treated me like an adult. I was 16 years old at the time. His confidence in me helped me to have confidence in myself.

When it comes time for my own children to be making their way in the world, I want them to have confidence in their own choices. I want for them to have the courage to try new things, even if they might fail. And if and when they do fail or make the wrong choice, I want them to be able to regroup, learn, and change direction.

Does that start with shoe-tying or the tricycle? Maybe it does. Only time will tell.


Midwest Mom

The Fine Art of Letting Go

This post appears as promised -- although much delayed. It is difficult for me to write, but I will do my best.
* * * * *

This morning was Big D's first real day of kindergarten. By "real" I mean that I actually had to leave the room. Yesterday was the pictures and paperwork and the excitement of the new school clothes -- all for a two-hour session where there were as many parents as students.

But today... today was different.

Today I had to bring my beautiful boy to school and turn around and leave. It was clearly much more difficult for me than for him. He marched in with a hundred and fifty-three other kids armed with a smile and a Batman backpack. As I went to kiss his cheek at the kindergarten door, he squiggled away. "Not so fast!" I said, and I hugged him close. In he went and got to work without batting an eyelash. He strode up to the teacher right away to ask a question. His voice was strong. My right brain relaxed, assuring me He Will Be Okay.

I finished saying goodbye to the other parents I'd seen and made my way to the door. I was accompanied by my delighted two-year-old, whose secret dream of becoming an only child was seemingly coming true. She beamed and giggled at the thought that she didn't have to wait to get into the car or take a turn or share -- at least until 2 o'clock.

I buckled her in and started the car. As I was backing out of the parking lot, the feelings struck -- and the tears. There is nothing that feels so completely and utterly wrong as driving away from your child.

My memory of the drive home is a little hazy. I know I 'took the long way'. How long? Long enough for my youngest to ask where we were going. I was focused more on the cornflowers blooming on the side of the road and the corn tassels that particular shade of gold only they have. I sniffed and blinked and finally succumbed at a STOP sign.

I had worked so hard to prepare my boy -- I hadn't really prepared myself.

I wonder, sometimes, why I feel the way I do when my children pass a milestone. They are such a gift to me, and as full as our life is of joy at their growth, I know that every step will take them further from my protection. As proud as I am of him and his excitement at this first big step, as much as I count his teacher as a dear and trusted friend, and as long as I knew this day was coming, I was not prepared for the desolate emptiness of my heart at leaving him.

In his wisdom, my husband had decided to be home when I got there. The one person who would understand was the one person there to hug me until I had returned to myself. Always self-critical, I told him I didn't understand why I was being so emotional.

"It's natural," he told me, "you'll miss him." -- A simple explanation for a very complex feeling.

I will miss my baby.


When I picked him up this afternoon, and he regaled me with tales of songs and stories and the children in his new class, I had a faint glimmer of peace. His babyhood may be gone, but it will be fun to get to know the boy he is becoming.

Midwest Mom

Giving Primo his Props

You think you know your children, but every so often they give you a true glimpse of what they're made of... on the inside.

My oldest son is a runner. My husband and I call him 'Primo' as a way to talk about him in his own presence. He's seven, so that kind of trickery still works on him. Every Monday of the summer, he races cross-country in a program put on by our local running club. His race is the mile and he loves it. He usually finishes first or second in his age group, and we encourage his enthusiasm for the sport. On non-race days, he will often run with his Dad, who also ran cross-country years ago. I love it that they share that time.

Sometimes, however, Primo's races don't quite go as planned. His toughest obstacle this year has been the starting line. It is not as well-regulated a start as it could be, so when the starter's whistle blows, there is a tangled stampede of 6 to 9 year olds running like mad for the first 50 yards of the race.

We've tried to have him stand at different places along the line, but there is always pushing and shoving... it's been tough on him (and even tougher on his mother watching him).

That is, until last night.

The whistle blew, and what a start he had! He was running strong and fast with an excellent starting sprint. Of course (you knew this was coming) until a large-ish boy a head taller and 20 pounds heavier tripped and fell right into him. The boy got up and continued running, but my son lay there like a slapped mosquito. Needless to say, I ran.

By the time I got to him, the starter and Primo's soccer coach were at his side. He was dazed from a sneaker to the head and he had scrapes on hands, elbows, and legs. His face was contorted at the injustice of the whole thing. It had been his best start ever! I did my best to keep my cool and give him a quick check.

He was crying out his rage. Quietly I looked him in the eye and asked, "So, do you want to race? Or should we sit this one out?"

His green eyes narrowed and he set his jaw. "I want to race."

He then proceeded to run the best race I have ever seen him run. Even after standing there for at least a minute and a half while we checked him out, he finished in the middle of the pack. I couldn't believe it.

I thought, what toughness! This is MY SON.

I have never been more proud than I was last night... and still am. What is even better, though, is to see his pride in himself. To stumble and fall but to get right back up again, to use the experience to move forward, do better, run faster... what an amazing step for him. I am so grateful for the blessing of being there to see it. I'm even more grateful for my amazing son.

- Midwest Mom

Chores or No Chores?

... That is the question.

Have you ever visited a friend who works outside the home (and whose children are in daycare) and been really discouraged because their house looks like a page from a magazine? That is so not my house. Why? Umm... we live here. So, sometimes things get messy. When you have three children, that's life, I guess.

Usually, I feel like I can keep up with things. There are those times, though, when I feel like Cinderella minus the Fairy Godmother. Then I think of my own mother, who had six children to chase after, six schedules to keep straight, and six clutter bugs leaving their "droppings" in every room of the house. She's either a Saint or she was crazy -- or both.

But, she had a way to get a little help around the house. It's a little something we like to call chores.

My mom's chore system was a complex affair. It was well-designed for maximum efficiency and completely even distribution of work. She labeled the kitchen chairs with numbers, 1 through 6. Each chair was assigned a household chore, like vacuuming or dusting or cleaning the bathroom, and a kitchen chore, like setting the table or loading the dishwasher. We rotated chairs each week. That way, there could never be the argument that one child "got off easy" or that a "favorite" chore was always assigned to the same child. It worked like clockwork.

But I know myself. A system like hers is completely beyond me. Now that I have my own children, my mom's chore system may as well be advanced particle physics or nuclear engineering. It would be nice to have a fully functioning team of professional cleaners, masquerading as elementary school students. But I don't have the discipline to make it happen. I just parent differently.

This year, I thought, "I have a 7, 5, and almost 3 year old. I need something simple." So, I came up with a more basic system that fits our family's needs (and gives me a little bit of a break!)

As part of our daily routine, we spend a little time at the beginning and end of each day tidying up the house. In the morning, there are chores like vacuuming or sweeping the floor. There are the morning dishes to load in the dishwasher, bathrooms to tidy, laundry to sort. The jobs are different each day, and there are some that lend themselves easily to helping hands. Those are the chores I share with the kids.

When they moan in that sing-songy voice, with a tinge of desperation (you know you've heard it), "WHY do we ALways HAVE to HELP??" I explain that they are members of this family, and I am not the only one who has to work around here -- maybe a little more wicked stepmother than Cinderella in my voice. On their best days, they fall in line and give a little effort.

Once in a while, though, they present me with a golden opportunity that cannot be passed up.

At those times, their response to my chore request will be, "Mom, can I earn some money today?" I make it a practice always to reward initiative. "Yes!" I say, with a smile. "I have four chores that need to be done. Each one will earn you a quarter." How many chores my children take on is up to them. We make a verbal contract for the work, I show them how to do it, and once it is complete, they submit it for inspection. If their work passes muster, I pay them. If they've done an exceptional job, I may give them a bonus. All money they earn goes into their piggy banks.

My oldest son loves to earn money for his bank. He likes the jingle of the coins, so I usually pay him in change. After he has completed his chores, he will count all the money in his bank before putting it away. As a result of his enthusiasm, my 5-year-old is catching on. Often, he will ask to clean, too. I give him chores that are difficult for me, but easy for him -- like crawling under the beds and making sure they are clear of toys and books and whatever else. He likes to use the swiffer, so I will attach a dust cloth to it and send him out after the dust bunnies. We use a lot of Clorox wipes or Pledge wipes. My kids can dust with the best of 'em. Often, they will catch things that I miss -- like the dusty bottom rungs of the dining room chairs. Even my little girl has asked for jobs. I give her basic clean-up jobs like putting all the books on the bookshelf (worth a nickel) or lining up all the shoes in pairs (a dime).

Not every clean-up session is a chance to earn money. The children are responsible for putting their dirty clothes in the laundry and making their beds each morning. When we get up from the table, each child cleans off their own place. Clean clothes must be put into a child's bureau before bedtime. And the children try each day to clean up their toys before Daddy gets home. ... not that that always happens.

When we're cleaning the house, I help where I can and try to keep my youngest focused on the task at hand. From time to time, though, I am busy with one of the other thousands of jobs assigned to me (not earning a dime, I might add.) So, I just give the children a task and set a time-limit. "Clean the playroom, please. I will be back in ten minutes to check your work." I check in on them as the time goes by to help them focus and divide up tasks, but they do the work themselves. It is fun to see how proud they are of having accomplished something without my help.

It's also fun for me to spend less time tidying up after them.

I tell my kids, "we work together so we can play together." As a reward, we'll go to the park or go play in the sprinkler or go on a bike ride.

Does the system work perfectly every time? Of course it doesn't. My house gets messy, just like anyone's. But having the kids help with chores does make me feel a little bit less like Cinderella all the time. I hope it is teaching my children about teamwork, responsibility, and taking pride in their work. I think it is.

Maybe I'll ask them when I'm done cleaning the bathtub.

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Time for Me: the Sisterhood of Moms

I desperately need a haircut. I have for at least three weeks. I have made (and cancelled) at least two appointments already. Because it's summer, I fool myself into thinking the pony tail holder is okay.

But glamorous, it is not.

This is one of the awful truths of my life, and maybe, of any Mom's life... We are constantly making time for everyone else's priorities, but when it comes to taking care of *ourselves*, we are pitiful.

I know a woman who folds everyone else's clothes, but dresses herself out of a basketful of clean laundry.

I know a woman who paints her daughters' toenails on a weekly basis, but when I gave her a gift certificate to go get a pedicure, it took her a whole year to use it.

And then there's me... with my quarterly haircut.

Lately, I've been asked for advice from three new moms I know. All are about 6 months in to first-time mothering. And all are at their wits end. They fret about fussiness and fevers, they wonder if they should worry about their child's weight, teething, which foods are best, how much formula to give. And of course, there are the diapers.

I've told each of them the same things.

1) Every first-time mom worries about exactly the same things you are. When we say, "Relax! Take time for yourself!" Don't believe that we're taking our own advice. Because the only way any of us learned what to worry about and not to worry about was to worry about everything in the beginning. If there is a brand new mom who is not asking the questions you are, guess what? They are not as good a mom as they imagine.

2) With that said, "Relax! Take time for yourself!" Ha.

No, seriously. I think one of the best things I ever found was that if I could take even 15 minutes to do something independent -- that made me feel like the strong woman I was before "the transformation," I felt so much better about life in general. For every person, this is a different thing.

For my own mother, it was a hot bath. I remember once or twice a week, her locking herself in the upstairs bathroom and coming out with a face as red as cooked lobster and smelling like perfume. Afterward, there was nothing that we six (yes, I said six) children could do that could bother her. She was restored.

For me, it is the time I take in my garden. You may wonder how weeding or planting or watering can help me... I'll tell you. It is the silence of it. My children are all of the age where they can play in the yard while I work. But, spending time in the garden a few times each week can bring me back from the edge. I like tending something living, solving solvable problems, and enjoying the benefits of growing something truly beautiful. There are no lasting consequences there, and I like that.

So, when I say "Relax! Take time for yourself!" understand that it may only be 5 or 10 minutes a day at first. People don't understand that a new mom has to remind herself to shower and dress in the morning. Do it, and do it faithfully.

3.) You will make mistakes. Be sure to be as gentle and forgiving with yourself as you plan to be with your child.

Every mom I know has had times when she thought she was the worst mother in the world. I remember, when my oldest was about three months old, I nicked his finger while cutting his nails. I tell you, there is nothing scarier than drawing blood on your own child. I distinctly remember calling my mother in tears, and going over everything that had happened, including my use of every disinfecting agent and ointment in the first aid kit. "Can I use a band aid on his finger? Will he eat it and choke?" I asked, frantic. It was at that moment that I realized I could never be a trauma nurse. I think, in terms of baby-care, it was my all-time low.

The good news is that babies have little or no long-term memory. So, as long as you can keep away from psychologically scarring abuse, you're good. So, abandonment is out --and No, that doesn't include letting him sit in his bouncy seat fussing for a few minutes so you can go into the bathroom by yourself. Come on.

4) Finally, I tell them that the best response to the almost soul-crushing frustration that a new mom feels is...

(drum roll, please...)

A good nap.

When you are well-rested, your perspective will magically return. It has worked for me and for countless thousands of other moms.

Which brings me to this: becoming a first time mom brings you into one of the toughest sisterhoods on the planet. All the logic and reasoning you learned to succeed on your own in the world will be turned on its head when you become a Mom. But the good news is: You are not alone! One of the best things I did as a first-time mom was to find a group of other moms. We met once a week, at each others' houses, under the pretense of a "playgroup". It was more of a "roll on the floor and drool group", but playgroup sounds better. That group helped me so much in ways I cannot even explain, but the greatest way was just getting rid of the isolation I felt.

I live in a new town now, but have found that the Sisterhood of Moms does, indeed, have a local chapter! We find ways to support each other, laugh together, cry together, and share our lives in the best times and the most difficult circumstances.

So, to my new mom friends, Welcome to the Sisterhood.

... will one of you babysit so I can go get my hair cut?


Midwest Mom

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