MommyCoddle

motherhood

With all the baby talk around here, it seemed somewhat appropriate that this mama would drop her calf yesterday morning, just inside the fence on the edge of our property. She belongs to our neighbor, but my girls "adopt" these calves as if they were our own. 

There was much concern over this calf. Lots of checking in. Lots of reports coming in to me in the house. And a handful of stern warnings from me about nervous mama cows who need to protect their new calves. And the flimsy piece of barbed wire standing between you and that mama.

The patient nudging of this mama cow reminded me of where I was last week in my feelings about motherhood. I found myself in another season of feeling at the end of my rope. Feeling like nothing I was saying or doing was making a difference. Feeling like I somehow was failing at guiding my children in the right direction. Feeling like none of my children were inherently wanting to make the right and good decisions. Feeling like I had a house full of attitudes, that unfortunately and embarrassingly, probably matched my own. 

I shot an email to my husband at work -- what do I do? How do I handle this? What should I say to them? 

He gave me a few ideas. But a few minutes later he wrote me another email. Just remember, he said, it takes a long time to train a child. It’s like doing the dinner dishes. I get upset at the girl’s lack of attention but they are slowly (very slowly) getting better. It will take time for them to get in the habit of doing the job with the right amount of focus. Then it will take a while for them to learn how to do it right. Then it will take a while for them to anticipate what comes next so I won’t have to tell them. But this all takes time.

I keep reminding myself of that first and last line. It takes a long time to guide and train my children. This all takes time. 

Telling them once, doesn't equal a change in heart or an automatic change in the way they do things. They need to be reminded. Reminded again. Taught. Shown. Guided. Encouraged. And reminded again. 

Change comes. But it often comes slowly. Much more slowly than I'm willing to allow. But it does come, and is coming, if I look closely. 

If I give up, get frustrated, get angry, then no one is learning anything except the wrong way to handle a situation that requires resilience and endurance. And I wonder why I'm not seeing any change.

But the changes are there.

They're not leaving the sofa cushions on the floor when they're done.

The boots are (generally) making it back into the boot box.

She's trying to walk away from the situation instead of reacting in anger.

They're drying the dishes without complaining and reminding.

She's talking it out with her sister, before raising her voice. Sometimes.

This all takes times. 

It is the mantra that breathes an extra portion of patience into my mothering. 

weathering the storm

Stuck to my fridge are two sheets of paper ripped out of a spiral notebook. They are scribbled with notes and words, addresses, appointment times. Some scary words that I don't want to think about. Some possible procedures and roads that I hope we don't have to travel down. 

Without getting in to a lot of the details, every day last week found us in another doctor's office or lab. We are trying to piece together some of Mary's medical history and make sense of what might be the root of some of her troubles. The migraines. Some issues with her feet. The Lyme's Disease.

It's funny, but I find that I'm not overly worried yet. At least I don't think so. But I'm anxious for answers. Tomorrow we head to John's Hopkins to see a few specialists. I'm grateful to have such great medical care at our back door. 

But I would be lying to say that all of this isn't weighing me down. The back and forth to doctor's offices. Mary's deep fear of each new person we see, each blood test we have to take. It's agonizing. Even things like when do you fit in the grocery shopping? suddenly become extremely complicated issues.  

On Friday, I felt myself snap. All these worries, and exhaustion and back and forth suddenly came spilling out as I found myself lashing out at my children. It was totally uncalled for. It really had nothing to do with the problem at hand but had everything to do with my need to relieve some of the pressure bubbling up inside me. 

After sitting at the kitchen table alone for awhile, letting some of it go, I finally got up, took a breath, found them and apologized. On the outside, I was better, I was okay, but this aching funk still lingered on the inside.

It seems my first reaction in these kinds of moments, days, weeks is to walk away from this blog. It feels like the last thing I could muster up are words. I'm good at learning lessons and reflecting after the days have passed, but when I'm in the thick of it, I don't want to talk about it or think about it. But these days have got me thinking about what exactly it is that pulls me out of these funks. How do I shake the cloud hanging over my head?

I still don't know the full answer. 

But one thing I do know, is that there is healing and relief in writing it down. There is value in telling your story. There is comfort in putting words and sentences together, even if it is only a few. 

There is something about writing it down that sheds light on the situation -- whether it is a lesson learned, a new perspective or a releasing of some of that pressure. 

And still, still, in the midst of all of this, there is still so much to be grateful for. As I sit here at my desk and the sunset is hitting the cornfields and the little stone church across the road, after a day of grey and clouds, the light is already changing. 

2009 : in photos + words : april

: 26 april 2009 :

| Grateful To The Last |

I hold those two years we lived on her farm close to my heart. I find myself frantically searching my mind for memories, moments we shared. My family, my children became part of her routine ....

The question for the old and the dying, I think, is not if they have loved and been loved enough, but if they have been grateful enough for the love received and given, however much. No one who has gratitude is the onliest one. Let us pray to be grateful to the last. 

: 16 april 2009 :

| Black Walnut's Home Birth |

: 12 april 2009 :

| swarm and settle |

....sitting atop a grassy green hill, looking out over his field dotted with black cows and their calves. Watching the grackles swarm and then settle in a different spot in the field. Swarm and settle. Chuckling at a calf whose slipped under the fence, kicking up its heels at its freedom. Watching the collies as they work over the bulls, who are only slightly bothered by their presence ....

: 7 april 2009 :

| little mysteries |

: 5 april 2009 :

| living a complex life |

I get tired of working, working, working, and figuring out how to make work-time into family-time. I wonder if there will ever be a weekend where there isn't a major project on the agenda. 

I wonder if I'm cut out for this...

In so many words, Wendell Berry says that this life we are leading or striving for, so many people refer to as the "simple life" or "living simply". But in reality what we should be striving for "is the complex life"....

: 20 april 2009 :

| chicken picnic |

lessons from the landscape

Sometimes I wish I had it all figured out. That I'd learned all of life's lessons so that I didn't need to be taught anymore. I wish my well of patience was overflowing and that when faced with annoyances, stresses, messes, unwelcome news, I could handle it with more grace and calm.

Yesterday my car broke down.

My laptop keyboard broke, leaving me to type this post at an excruciatingly slow speed.

I missed an ultrasound appointment.

My vacuum cleaner broke.

I felt the heavy strain of the same thing that always wears on me lately.

My two year old is waking way too early, napping way too briefly, and taking way too long to fall asleep.

And my house feels dirty and disorganized.

I can hear my mother's voice in my head, "this too shall pass." And I've said to my husband many times that I see the light at the end of the tunnel, yet for some reason we're on a treadmill.

Yesterday afternoon when Elizabeth woke up from her nap, crying, I went in to hold her, hoping to lull her back to sleep. I wrapped her in quilts and we sat in the chair, in her dark quiet room. Within seconds I felt the heaviness of her little body against mine and I heard her breathing switch to the raspy rhythms of sleep.

As I sat there in the chair, I tried to talk myself out of my mood. I tried to regain perspective. I prayed. But man, I just couldn't. I so wish I could have gotten that fresh breath, that new perspective, but it just wasn't coming. And I knew that I was being faced with one of those days where every reserve of patience is required. But I was either finding my reserve empty, or I was just unwilling to dip into it.

I have to say, I'm learning as I type this post. That sometimes on the hard days it feels easier to just rage against all that's wrong in your life. It feels easier to be in a bad mood. To snap at your children. To curse the mess. To allow yourself to believe that everyone else has it all together, has everything in their house working, has every load of laundry folded and put away. But if that is the path you choose it leaves you feeling worn out, exhausted, disappointed and does absolutely nothing to change the situation.

I've been thinking lately how the view out my window has changed. In what feels like the blink of an eye, the trees have shed their leaves, the zinnias flower heads have turned brown and gone to seed. But now, with the landscape stripped bare, it is amazing what hidden beauty comes into view. The trees are littered with nests. Tiny works of woven art. If I stand in the girls bedroom and look out the window, I can see the shimmer of the sun hitting the stream that runs at the back of our property.

When stripped bare, the landscape is revealing its inner beauty. When taken back to bare bones and twigs there is still something to behold.

In a small sense, yesterday stripped me bare. Some of my leaves were blown from the tree. And unfortunately, afterward, there wasn't much beauty to behold.

But I'm still learning. I'm still a young tree. I'm growing. And maybe next time when things seem to be falling down around me, there will be a little more beauty to behold on the inside.

am I a modern mom?

Does your library have these newfangled "playaway" devices? These digital audiobook recordings that you can check out? Well, our library has recently introduced them--a hand held ipod-looking device that has a book already loaded on to it. You just plug in your earbuds and listen.

My children have been hounding me about them since the posters started going up in the library and I've really been dragging my feet. I rarely allow the girls to listen to my iPod, though they beg all the time. They have to be really sick, or really pathetic-looking in order for me to give in. Just the sight of them walking around tuned out to the world, plugged in to something else kind of gets to me. It's similar to the whole zone-out in front of the TV thing.

But last night after a homeschooling meeting at the library, I was browsing for some things to bring home to the girls, and there in front of me was the "playaway" for A Cricket in Times Square, the book Emma and I just finished reading, and another easier-read that Mary would be able to enjoy.

And I folded. I stuck those little devices in my bag and checked out.

You can imagine the squealing and excitement that "mom brought iPods home from the library!" when I arrived home last night before bed. Batteries were checked and replaced, earbuds were untangled, buttons were explained, and "ipods" were set out carefully on bedside tables for morning.

This morning, two girls emerged at my bedside, talking extremely loud with wires trailing from their earlobes. Ugh! Am I a modern mom? I don't think I'm there yet.

I'm reminded of this fantastic post by Stefani. Now I just have to think of my "hook" to bring them back to my "little house on the prairie"-fantasy world that I want to live in.

On a more serious and important note, I hope you will take a moment to check out the important NieNie Auction going on at design mom. Amy asked me to share it with all of you. She thinks highly of you all, my dear readers, and hopes you can take a moment to help out. I was unfamiliar with Stephanie's story until this week. She tugs at my heart and demands my continual prayers. Please take a look.

Wishing you a wonderful, long weekend. xo.

a much needed little lesson

I haven't taken the time to write about it here, but it has been a bit of a rocky ride since Elizabeth was born. A cloud of "abnormal test results" has been hanging over us since the first day we brought her home from the hospital. We got the call from our pediatrician to tell us that her hospital PKU tests were abnormal and that we had to come in the next day for another test.
More heel pricks. More screaming baby. More waiting.
Then the second test also came back abnormal and we were thrown into a whirlwind of possible problems, and complicated predictions for the future. One of the hardest things with a newborn is fear of the unknown and we were definitely a little spooked.
Our next step in the process of finding answers was to seek out the help of a geneticist at John's Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. They gave us probably the best, most caring, attentive medical care I've ever received. And within one day had done more blood work, answered all of our questions and passed on the  blessed news that all the previous tests were false positives. Elizabeth was going to be just fine.

Of course, it's easy to be thankful when you're on the happy side of a potential problem. But that day, sitting in the pediatric hospital with our presumed "abnormal" baby, I was thankful. I looked around me at the children--some sick, some handicapped, some hooked up to IV juices, some tiny newborns like Elizabeth--and I was overcome with thankfulness. Even though we potentially had some problems ahead, there was still much to be thankful for. I was thankful for my two children at home--healthy and happy--and I was thankful for little Elizabeth. I don't think I take enough moments to be grateful for those blessings.
And I also looked around me at those parents sitting beside me in the pediatric clinic--still smiling, still managing to be upbeat and joyful with their children--and I realized I was in the presence of some real-life heroes. And I'll bet they manage to find a little thankfulness in life as well.
A much needed little lesson.

A High Calling

"...that our God may make you worthy of His calling..."
This verse has been on my mind a lot these last few days...God's calling, being worthy of God's calling. I have always thought of a calling as something in the future, something to do, somewhere to go, something better and more important than what I'm doing now. But reading this verse it struck me that THIS is my calling-- what I'm doing today, yesterday, tomorrow. My calling is being a mother, wife, homemaker.
God has called me to care for the souls of these two little girls, to teach them, love them, protect them, discipline them. He has called me to love Dan unconditionally, to honor and encourage him. He has called me to take care of my home, to keep it, decorate it, and make it a place of refuge and fellowship. This is a portion of what I wrote in my journal yesterday:

"it struck me that this, being a mother, is my calling....not trying to be something I am not, not trying to accomplish things that just aren't possible at this season in my life, filling my day with my 'me agenda'. That is not to say that I can't pursue my interests, but I need to hold them in perspective with what God has called me to: being a mother, a wife, a homemaker. But God in His care of all of me and all of my life has also given me talents, interests and hobbies--things that make life pretty, rich, beautiful: sewing, knitting, gardening, cooking, music...They are things that bring joy and adventure to life, treasures and skills to pass on to my children. They are a part of my calling..."

This is a high calling. It is doing laundry, scouring my sink, making dinner, taking Emma around the block on her bike, showing Mary where her nose is, putting fresh flowers from my garden at the kitchen table, changing diapers, reading stories, packing lunches. It is realizing that each day holds something new. This calling is no less important than that of a pastor or a missionary or a business man. It is a high calling, the care of souls, the loving of a man, the creation of a sanctuary.