TO THE MAMA WHO FEELS INVISIBLE

Hey Mama,

I see you.

I see you cooking dinner with a screaming toddler wrapped around your leg, two older kids racing around the house swinging wildly between playing and fighting.  I see that your nerves are fraying and it's late, but you have to get something on the table.  You worked magic with your grocery budget to be able give healthy foods to your kids, only to have them turn their noses up to this meal cooked with sheer determination.

I see you in the middle of the night, bone-tired, yet up again, nourishing, comforting, soothing.  You are on the battlefield of weariness, mama, and it's a lonely one in the wee hours of the night.  No one knows or really even cares that you got up 2, 3, 6, 10 times last night, but you did.  Or that you haven't had a full nights sleep for years, but you haven't.  There are no cheerleaders here.  There is no mercy. But you are fierce, mama.  As fierce as they come.  Love is a powerful, powerful thing.

I see you use all your might not to hit back, when a raging toddler pushes you to your limits.  I see the strength that takes even though you feel like you're a failure for even wanting to hit back.  You are strong and maybe that self-control only lasted as far as your fists, while your mouth lashed out.  But you are still strong.

I see your weary eyes brighten for one more word of encouragement, your tired arms squeeze a little body tight in love.  I see you apologize for your wrongs, teaching forgiveness by example.

I see you, mama, when your husband looks through you like you are glass.  He doesn't understand what all these nights awake can do to a person, how the never-ending stream of requests and tantrums and laundry can dull your spirit.  He says he misses you.  He can't understand that you miss you too. I see you notice that he doesn't see you anymore.  That he's checking his email and thinking about work before even rolling over to say good morning.  I see how that stings.

I see that you feel invisible.  This is one of the most surprising things about motherhood.  Friends, family fawn over your little one, but never see you.  Really see you.  Rarely ask how you are doing, because they seem to forget that you're still a person too.  I see you wishing that someone, anyone would ask about the state of your heart.  Or anything ANYTHING about you aside from your kids.

I see you eating peanut butter on soft bread because it is the only thing to soothe the jagged edges of yourself some days.  Salad simply will not do.  Sometimes peanut butter on soft bread is actually kindness to yourself.

I see your dreams.  Maybe they are close or maybe far away, but always seeming to take second place to making dinner, changing diapers, loving littles.  I see you day after day think, "I'll get to that tonight," and then crash after a hard day unable to do any more.  A dream deferred for one more day. I see that day become years and, though you love being a mom, I see bitterness creep in.  I see that there are parts of you that are mighty, but squandered.  I see you lose sight of yourself.  Lose a little bit of hope.

I see you lock yourself in the bathroom for two minutes to be alone...if you can call alone having a small child screaming 6 inches on the other side of the door.

I see you hiding. First it's in the bathroom from your kids, then it's from friends, and eventually from yourself.  That invisibility thing that so surprised you about motherhood becomes a cloak that you wear with relish.  It becomes a safe place, only it's not a safe place because it's not a real place.  And the minute a dear soul looks at you and you know that she sees you, like really sees you, you crumble. You've been found out and it feels embarrassing and freeing at the same time.

I see you triage your days like a master.  You are the queen of efficiency at food prep, packing lunches, bathing kids.  I see you manage fights and scrapes and schedules like a champ.  And though you can mom with the best of them, I see you growing weary of the hamster wheel.

I see your messy house.  It is full of love and growth, but keeping it clean seems to take an army that you don't have.  You remember how your house used to be clean, and everything in it's place.  This kind of mess takes a new kind of grit and stamina to endure. I see you cleaning the kitchen while the baby unravels the toilet paper, the 4 year old spills his drink, and the 7 year old decides your carpet would look better with glitter.   I see you shy away from inviting anyone in, but I also see that their house is just as messy as yours.

I see you in yesterdays clothes, sacrificing your body, your sleep, your self, because there is a love greater than these.  I see your tiny ones gazing at you with utter love because you are their world and their light.  You are doing a good job, mama.  I see you holding them close and letting them go.

I see you sneaking in their rooms at night, kissing their sweet faces, smelling their sweet heads, praying that you are raising them well and that they will know how very loved they are.  I see you making decisions that seem way above your pay grade.  What's best for their bodies, their brains, their souls?  It's so scary, but you care so much that there isn't a option for not making a choice.

I see you working so hard every day, but feeling like you haven't accomplished anything. Productivity in a traditional sense left the building the moment your first child was born. I see you trying to form a new definition of success, and I see the world trying to still fit you in the old one.  Neither they, nor you will ever be appeased if you keep looking at each other, without seeing.

I see you in the shopping center when your child has a melt down.  I see the eyes on you...some of pity, some of judgement, some of solidarity. I see you tremble as you try to remain calm in this moment and not have a melt down yourself. You are amazing, mama. Have I told you that?

I see the pride and joy in your eyes when you see your little one...or even just talk about her.  I see you light up because they are beautiful human beings, and you were a co-creator in a miracle. I see you guiding their hearts to be kind and generous and courageous. I see you changing the world in this way.

I see you, mama.  I see you doing hard things in the name of love.  You are not invisible and you are not alone.

I see you.

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tiny sphere

I've been quiet here.  I think we've just been trying to find a new rhythm with school starting back up. Having one in elementary school, one in preschool, and a baby means lots of juggling schedules and a lot of transition in most of our days.  We've just been trying to hang on for dear life, and put some systems in place that will keep the peace (if that's even a thing for families with little ones).

I'm head down over here.  Transitioning myself to a world that seemed to shrink over night with the starting of school and a baby needing to nap smack in the middle of that time.  We stick close to home most days which is a huge change for me.  My sphere of influence feels immediately under our roof.

I'm learning the art of staying home.  Not "staying at home" as in being a stay-at-home mom, but literally staying home.  Not going anywhere.  Not trying to fill our time and days with playdates and outings simply to keep busy.  Focusing on our home and learning how to manage it better and more consistently.  Focusing on actually getting on the floor and playing with my kids, and not allowing the to-do list to hijack the entire day.   More days end than I'd like to admit with me sneaking in their rooms to tuck them into covers that have been kicked off and staring at their sleeping, squishy faces wishing I'd been more present with them that day.  Did I look them in the eye enough when they had a question or wanted to tell me something?  Did I give the impression that I was too busy for them?  Did they feel loved?

Tell me you do this too??  I simply cannot wait for them all to be asleep and for the "Mom!, Mom!, Mom!'s" to stop, and then all I want to do is go in and soak up their sleeping angelic faces.  Gosh, I love them. And I seem to remember and feel that a lot more when no one's fighting, throwing a tantrum,  or whining about what I made for dinner.  

My oldest just started first grade this year, and I'm sitting here watching the lightbulb of self-awareness flicker on.  For the first time, she's realizing that she will be evaluated and judged in school. Tests have started, and a subsequent realization that somehow her score is a reflection of her value and that top scores are highly regarded.  Even her pediatrician asked her if she makes good grades. Geez.  I'm sitting here wondering, "Can't she just be kid for a little longer?"  She seems so young, so not ready to bear the weight of this inevitable pressure.   So, I let her make clothes for her dolls out of her socks and underwear, just because designing is her jam...and I order her some more when I realize she has none left and the shoes she's worn sock-less smell like a frog crawled in there and died.  But hey, all in the name of artistic expression, right?  She spends more time upside down than right side up, honing her gymnastics moves, and I cheer her on, regardless of the fact that she's probably going to be 6 feet tall when she's grown.   She will face enough naysayers in her life.  I don't have to be one too.

My middle somehow grew when I wasn't looking.  He still feels baby to me, but he's almost 5.  I feel like I missed the whole last year with him.  It's all a sleep-deprived blur and somewhere in there he started writing his name and throwing a mean spiral.  His favorite questions are, "Does this look scary?  Is this dangerous?" He's all guts and glory, but with a deep need for belonging and connection.  An insatiable need for belonging and connection.  I'm busy loving on him and trying not to flip my lid when he flips his.  He is big and bold with his emotions (kind of like his mama), but his heart is golden and generous and often surprising.

My little demands our attention.  She's feisty and fierce and makes her presence known.  The root of her name means persistence, and she definitely lives up to that.  She may not be walking yet at 15 months, but she gets around faster than a speeding bullet and climbs everything she can.  Lately, her communication seems to have exploded, and I see her wheels turning, figuring out everything around her.  She lights up when she sees us, calling out the truth and beauty in each one of us.  She is the arc in our family...the little bit that encloses the circle and brings us all back around to ourselves.

These kids.  They've wrecked my life for the better.

Sometimes...often...I want more.  I want God to call me to do something great.  I often need to be reminded that raising these tiny humans is something great.  Like the prophet Isaiah, I want to say, "Here I am!  Send me!"  And as those words leave my lips, God replies, "But will you stay?"  Is it that "here I am" for me means not that I will go, but rather that I will stay and be fully present in this moment.  Here I am in this most important moment with these most important tiny humans.  One day they will grow into big humans.  One day, my tiny sphere of influence, my three littles, will reach out into a big, bad world and hopefully be a beacon of light.  Hopefully, they will be kind and courageous men and women.

For now, we will practice the art of staying home, of loving each other even when it's hard, of celebrating our sameness and our differences, and of laughing a lot.

Mamas, we are called to this beautiful, sticky mess every single day and bravery in that is to simply keep showing up.  Keep making the lunches and kissing the owies and juggling the schedule and cheering on silliness and wiping bottoms and breaking up fights and giving encouragement and being present.  Keep showing up, and our tiny sphere will become the greatest work of our lives.

Every day is a little life, and our whole life is but a day repeated. 

~Joseph Hall

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who told you you were naked?

This morning, my six year old crumbled into a mess of tears, admitting to me that a friend had been mean to her.  Her normally confident, expressive body that never stops exuding energy curved in on itself, literally concaving as she heaved big crocodile tears.

She was experiencing real world hurt for maybe the first time.  Not a "I didn't get my way" or "She didn't want to share with me" kind of childlike hurt, but a hurt that changes her view of herself.  A hurt that steals a little bit of her innocence, a little bit of her uninhibitedness, a little bit of her blind faith that she is perfectly made and perfectly loved.

I've been dreading this moment.  The moment that my bubble bursts and is no longer big enough to protect her from a world that will scratch and dent and mar her into thinking that she is either "too" this or "not enough" that.

Did you know that at the age of five, 90 percent of the population measures "high creativity?" And that by the age of seven, that number drops to 10 percent?

What comes between 5 and 7?  

6.

Exactly right where we we are.  Oh my God.

With her growing body, comes growing maturity that opens her eyes to see that she is unique.  However, our culture values the box and more importantly, being inside of it.  The thief of comparison will come in the night and whisper to her that fitting in is better than standing out.

She will one day stop dancing furiously because she will become aware that someone is watching, and not with the loving gaze of her parents or her Creator, but with the critical gaze of judgement.  Her arms will flail a little less wildly and her feet will start to match the beat, because that's what she's "supposed" to do.

Finley Eversole writes in The Politics of Creativity,  "Our creativity is destroyed not through the use of outside force, but through criticism, innuendo, by the dirty devices of this world.  So we are diminished, and we forget that we are more than we know.  The child is aware of unlimited potential and this munificence is one of the joys of creativity."

When I think of the word creativity, it encompasses for me the idea of the truest form of ourselves.  Me. You. At our very essence, living into the fullness of all that we are.  Unafraid. Unashamed. Unmuted.  Uncompared.  I believe that we are all Created by the Creator, and since the Maker formed us all in His image, we too are creators, full of the richness of His creativity.  

According to Eversole, by adulthood, "high creativity" in our population drops to only 2 percent.  I have to believe that number is not really indicative of lack of creativity, but more so of it being covered over, pushed down, and buried underneath self-protection and conformity.  It is the world that dims our light.

How do I protect my daughter from the inevitable?  

I look to God for answers, as he was in fact, the first Parent to the first children, Adam and Eve.   The Bible tells me that he, too, was heart-broken as his children were deceived into believing that eating the fruit of the forbidden tree would make them more, when in fact it made them far less.  Knowledge gained included self-consciousness, shame, and fear, which set off an avalanche of hiding, covering, and trembling.  Less, less, and less.  Not more.

God comes into the Garden and asks, "Where are you?"  Even though nothing is outside of God's omnipotent gaze, and he knows exactly where they are, he still asks, "Where are you?"  Where are your beautiful, innocent, creative, unself-conscious selves?

His next question though, is more heart-wrenching.  "Who told you you were naked?"

That was my question this morning as I watched her tears fall and fought back my own, realizing that all my love isn't big enough to protect her.  "Who told you you were naked?"  Who told you you weren't smart? Or couldn't dance? Or looked funny? Or were too loud? Or too big?  Or not enough?  Who told you that?

Memories flooded back of my seventh grade year.  Back to the year a girl in my class decided to bully me and then systematically turned every other seventh grade girl against me.  I was ridiculed, barked at, laughed at, verbaly harassed, ostracized, handed my school picture in a million tiny pieces, and emotionally abused all that year.  I was essentially told I was naked, and they were all laughing at me.

That 12 year old girl had never before known that she was anything other than fine, had never looked in the mirror for any reassurance that she fit the mold in size and shape, had never known how cruel people can be.  That year, I went from being vibrant and courageous to doing everything that I could to blend in and not stand out in any way that might garner criticism.

While I've come a long way from that seventh grade girl, I have carried the baggage of that year into every road I have travelled, every encounter with every person I've ever spoken to.  I carried it into my faith and into my marriage.  I carried it into motherhood.  It still holds me back in so many ways, and I am still working to combat the insecurities that grew out of that experience.

At some point, we all realize that we are naked. God, in his heartbreak, caringly stitched clothing from skins for Adam and Eve, but he also banished them from the garden. You and me, we don't live in Eden anymore. We will all experience suffering and loss, and it is in fact necessary for finding our authentic selves.

My heart might split clean open thinking about this happening to any of my children. And yet, I know that it will. And even yet, I know that their greatest wounds might one day be their greatest accomplishments, greatest stories of redemption, and greatest platform for the empowerment of others.  

Ephesians 2:10 says, "For we are God's Masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things He planned for us long ago." I am His Masterpiece. You are His Masterpiece. We are His finest work that this world scratches and dents and shatters, and over and over again, God tenderly pieces our fallen fragments together, creating us into better versions of ourselves.

We are left with the question of how we go from being shattered to being a mosaic - beautiful in our brokenness and stunning in our wholeness.  The answer I'm convinced lies in revelling in God's love.

Erika Morrison's words say it best:

...I'm convinced that our job as parents is not to protect our kids from human experience - the double-edged sword that will cut them wide open - but to give them the tools that will help them make a resurrected return, again and again, to the brilliant allure of the divine gaze, the tools to know that any stare other than the divine gaze is not the true story and that finding themselves in the gaze is the foundation of self-knowledge.

So, I will unashamedly ask my children to look for God in their world and in themselves.    I will walk with them through hurts and help them face their fears.  I will teach them to hold His gaze, because in it lies freedom and wholeness and a 6 year old girl laughing at statistics and dancing furiously for the rest of her days.

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chapter books to read with 4-7 year olds

I have long since been an avid reader.  I loved our frequent trips to the library when I was a child.  I could stay there forever, and even now one of my favorite things is getting lost in a book store and wanting to read All. The. Books.  Memories of middle school include carrying a huge stack of text books (because back packs were apparently uncool at that time?) with a novel on top.  Every minute in between classes or while waiting for a ride after school, I read.  I loved a good story...still do...though my time for reading has decreased in proportion to my increase in kids.

My husband and I are firm believers that reading to our kids is one of the most important things we can do.  The time spent reading with them is time invested in our relationship and bond with them.  They also get a boost in language skills, vocabulary, communication, and concentration, which is never a bad thing.  We hope to instill in them a love of reading, and ultimately a love of learning in general.  So, we make reading to our kids a priority, even if it means a later bedtime, and refuse to use taking away reading time before bed as a discipline tactic or bribe.  That time is untouchable, no matter what.

Around age 4, Scout showed interest in reading longer and longer stories, so we started reading some chapter books to her.  She loved hearing more intricate stories with characters and an actual plot line, and she did an amazing job transitioning from looking at pictures in the books to imagining her own.

I will add the caveat that sometimes I do censor certain words or paragraphs.  For example, in James and the Giant Peach, James has two aunts that are particularly mean to him and call him terrible names.  I may have skipped part of this or altered some of the names, because the last thing I want to do is inadvertently give my kids ideas of negative names to call their unsuspecting friends and/or me! 

In the past few years, we've read quite a few chapter books with her, and since more than one person has asked what books we've read, I thought I'd share here.  

Thus far (as far as my memory serves me), in no particular order but listed under author's name, we've read...

Beverly Cleary

The Mouse and the Motorcycle

Runaway Ralph

Henry and Ribsy

Henry and the Paper Route

Ribsy

Ramona the Pest

Ramona the Brave

Ramona and Her Father

Ramona Forever

Ramona's World

Roald Dahl

Charlie and the Chocolate Factory

Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator

James and the Giant Peach 

Danny the Champion of the World

Fantastic Mr. Fox

George's Marvelous Medicine

Laura Ingalls Wilder

Little House in the Big Woods

Little House on the Prairie

Little Town on the Prairie

Astrid Lindgren

The Adventures of Pippi Longstocking

Um, obviously we stick with authors we like for a while.  Hoping to read some Chronicles of Narnia next.

Also, I feel its important to add that we heavily utilize our public library.  The branch we frequent has a large children's section, and I often will put the next book in a series on hold so it's ready for us when we are.  We have found that having a separate basket at home exclusively used for holding library books helps us keep track of them as we often have a lot checked out at one time between both kids.  I can't say enough for using the library!

I love that we are at this stage with Scout.  I enjoy reading books with her and hearing her laugh at funny parts and watch her emotions and reactions to the story come alive across her face.  When she begs for one more chapter, I almost always give in.  It's good for both of us.

I promise to check back in later with a new list of what we've read in a few months.  In the meantime, feel free to leave some of your favorites for this age range in the comments.  We are always looking for new ideas!

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I AM YOUR BELOVED AND YOU ARE MINE

Is this thing still on???

I finally launched this blog, and then promptly left you hanging.  There have been no margins lately.  We are full.  From morning to evening and all through the night, we are full.

My mind has been spinning lately with so many things.  Mostly though, my thoughts are consumed by my son.  My beautiful, sweet baby boy whose three year old mind is reeling with some big emotions...trying to figure out where he now fits into this family of five and his new middle child role.  And where his three year old mind has trouble holding and channelling those emotions, his three year old body lashes out.  He hits, kicks, spits, scratches, throws things (mostly at people).  He screams, his little body shakes with anger, and his eyes shoot splinters into mine that travel right to my heart.  The smallest thing will set him off, and I find my adrenaline pumping any time I am with him because I never know when he will explode or what form it will take.  I feel assaulted all day long.  I fear for the safety of our baby if he is close to her.

He has started having trouble going to sleep, waking up in the middle of the night almost every night, waking again at 4 or 5am and crawling into our bed...but often with a level of anger already simmering under the surface just daring you to not be sharing enough of your pillow or giving him space in the wrong place.  The lack of sleep just exacerbates the inability to handle his emotions.  The Leif I know is buried somewhere underneath all that rage.  I miss him so much.

It's apparent that a lot of issues are stemming from a change in the amount of attention I am able to give him since the baby was born 5 months ago, and consequently a desire to be with me all the time.  He wants all my attention, but I can only give him so much.  There is only so much of me to go around.  We are trying to be creative with some extra time one on one with him...I even took him to my 7 am dentist appointment...but it never seems to be enough and he's left craving more when it's over.

There's a line in the Positive Discipline book that says,  "A disobedient child is a discouraged child."  I can't get that out of my head.  He seems so discouraged.  We are firm with him and tell him that we will not let him hurt someone else, but we might not employ some of the tactics that work for other families or even for our older daughter.  Some people watch what's happening in our family and will immediately judge.  Why is she not putting him in time out (which for Leif in a rage would involve literally just locking him in a room and him escalating and escalating)?  Why is she letting him move to a different spot at the dinner table to sit by her?  Why would she take him to her dentist appointment and not just tell him no? She must not be a very good mom if her son is screaming and hitting her in the Target check out line.  

We are doing our very best to figure out how to pull him out of this downward spiral.  What we know is that conventional wisdom or advice does not help and is not what we need.   Please see my child as someone who is hurting, not just a bratty kid.  When I am hurting, I lash out.  I am angry.  My emotions lie close to the surface and I have trouble controlling them.  He does too.

A few weeks ago, I bought a necklace that spells out the word beloved in morse code.  I bought it because Leif's name means beloved and wearing it was a reminder to me that he is my beloved, no matter how angry he is or how angry I am.

He is my beloved.

One morning, he wanted to sit on my lap during breakfast.  As we sat, I said, "Hey Leif, I want to show you something.  Do you see my necklace?"  I told him how his name means beloved and how I wear the necklace to remind me of him all day long and how much I love him.  He reached out with a mean look on his face, grabbed it in his little hand, and very intentionally ripped it off my neck, breaking the chain.  I just burst into tears, uncontrollable sobs surprising me.

As he crouched on the floor after that watching me,  I knew that how I react to him in that moment mattered.  That as much as I wanted to yell at him, that would break him along with my necklace.  I told him that I love him, that I forgive him for breaking my necklace, that nothing he can do can make me love him any less.  I asked if I could hold him.  He refused and moved away from me.  That was crushing to my heart.  I am lost in how to love him.  He is lost in how to receive it.

The symbolism isn't lost on me.  We are God's beloved.  I am.  You are.  Leif is.  How often we fumble in receiving His love.  How often we turn our backs on God who will never stop loving us.  How often we try to throw things at Him or hurt Him or run away from Him or refuse to let Him hold us.  But He will never let us go, and He will never stop loving us.

My heart breaks for my son.  I want to help him.  I want to take away his rage.  I don't know how.

The only thing I know to do is keep loving him.

Love him and try my very best to keep my anger and exhaustion in check.  Love him when I lose it and yell.  Love him and remember that I broke God's heart too (and probably also my mother's at some point).  Love him in the good.  Love him in the bad.  Love him when I don't understand him.  Love him when he makes me mad.  Love him when he reaches out for me in both positive and negative ways.  Love him when his laughter is infectious.  Love him when he's dancing in the living room.  Love him when he scratches the baby.  Love him when he wants to snuggle me. Love him when he loves me back.  Love him when he pushes me away.  Love him in the morning.  Love him in the evening.  Love him in the middle of the night.  Love him.

I know that this too shall pass.  But just because it passes doesn't mean that it isn't hard right now.  It doesn't mean that what we do in this moment doesn't matter.

Keep loving when it's hard, y'all.  Keep receiving it when it's hard too.  We are all worth that.

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