From the Mouths of Babes

Kids can be so brutally honest. Usually, around our place, their honesty leads to pointed comments about Mom's appearance.

Like, "Oh, Mommy. Does that boo-boo on your face hurt?" [Translation: Mom, you have a zit.]

or "Wow, Mommy. You're turning blonde like me!" [Translation: Mom, you're going gray.]

Sometimes, Dad's the victim and the comment is phrased in the form of a question. Such as, while brushing teeth...

"Dad, how can a person's teeth get so yellow?"

But, every once in a while, the honesty dice get rolled in our favor... Sort of.

Such was the case yesterday during lunch, when I was trying to have a conversation with my husband. My daughter had a tiny play cup at the table and wanted milk poured into it instead of in her regular glass...

She said with increasing volume, "Mom-ME! IwantheOTHERglaass! IwanmymilkinthePRETTYone! Mom! Mom! Momm-ME!"

I made a weak comment that I was talking to Dad, and she needed to just drink what she was given. But as the whining libretto continued, I just wanted peace. With an exasperated sigh, I reached over and poured some of the milk from her regular cup into the play cup.

"Thank you, Mommy."

All my mind registered was that our world was now peaceful and we could finish our conversation. Two minutes later, it was done.

Silence.

Then a tiny voice.

"You know what mom?"

"What, honey."

"I stop whining when you give me what I want."

Not-so-veiled threat from Ms. Four-year-old.

I looked over at my smirking husband, who raised his eyebrows, and realized I'd just been perfectly manipulated by my child.

Well... at least she had the decency to let me know.

- 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