Mommy-Wins

Dear Friend,

Being a mom is a tough job. We flounder so often. Everyone disagrees strongly about every move you make. It can feel so hard to know how to walk forward one day after another. 

Rarely, our months of blood, sweat, and tears pay off when our child takes that first step, or utters the first word. But maybe your friend's child of the same age isn’t walking or talking. So as elated as you may be, and as long as you've waited for a moment to be elated about, you might keep it in to yourself. It can feel like we are only allowed to complain or criticize around each other.

But we need to celebrate. Never before has so much energy been poured into results like, "now she only holds on with ONE hand while she takes steps, independent walking feels right around the corner!" or "he took a nap today!" It can just be risky to utter these accomplishments out loud, for fear of creating jealousy.

I had been struggling for months around a certain parenting desire I had. I looked all around at how other moms were handling the same dilemma, and the conflict did not seem to be ending in a way I was hoping for in our own family. I felt so discouraged, like a bad conclusion was inevitable for this trial.

But you took a risk. You told me that you had found a good end to the trial. It required, what seemed to me to be unimaginable patience and resolve. But somehow you'd done it. 

Honestly, my first reaction to your success was deeper discouragement. Almost a rock bottom. I thought I could never have what you'd found. I realized how deep and how real my hopelessness truly was. 

But somewhere, deep below the surface, deep below the fear of failure, a little tiny spark ignited a new hope. Without my realizing it, that spark grew into a tiny flicker and gradually a flame that kicked me into a new gear. From there came a fresh wave of patience and resolve. And before I knew it, months had passed and I had endured. Now I am finding that same good end. 

I love my happy ending. And as it has snuck up on me, I'm shocked to hold it in my hands. I feel a burst of gratitude that I get to grasp this thing that seemed so unattainable, this realization I did not believe I had the character strength to achieve. 

I am at this point because you let me witness your success. You gave me permission to strive for something better.

I know it is tricky to have successes as a mom, but I hope you'll never hold back your accomplishments, or your child's amazing skills. I hope you'll feel free to brag to me. Your mommy-wins are such a blessing in life. 

Thank you.

Love,

Zoe

"Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same." 

~Marianne Williamson

Love is hard.

Have any other parents out there experienced these thoughts racing through your mind, "How did I let this happen?" ["this" being parenthood] I remember a point in my pregnancy when the gravity of the idea of parenting fell down on me like a ton of bricks. I was signed up and committed to this daunting, harrowing, journey. There was no turning back. And that was in the midst of a pregnancy that was 200% planned and intentional. Apparently at least 40% of pregnancies in the U.S. are unintentional. So I'm guessing there is a non-zero amount of parents out there who can identify with me.

It's not the predominant thought in my mind related to my child, but it has come up several times. Parenting is just hard. There is an overwhelming quantity of advice out there about how to get your kid to sleep, how to get them into Harvard, how to prepare the best foods for them. There's also loads of advice about how to help your kids get along well with their siblings, how to handle bullies, how to have good manners and respect their elders, even how to learn to love God. Good relational pursuits. And yeah, we need some of that because we're desperate for help in getting the best life for our kids. But you know what I'm struck by lately? I'm struck by the lack of support in all the dialogue about how to help parents just love their kids.

Maybe it is too scary to admit that loving our kids can be hard. I know it is hard for me to admit this, especially in a public space like this, but it's true. It is hard to admit there has ever been a moment, much less, momentS, where I wasn't totally thrilled at the prospect of being Sofia's mom for life. But it's true. Are we in some sort of parenting cult where we have to make it look like it's the greatest thing ever so all the childless people out there will go out and make more babies? "Misery loves company" or something like that? Am I afraid that if I admit this, that someone will deem me unfit and come to take away my child? That last one is a bit closer to the truth. And even more core to the fear around this admission is the prospect that Sofia would find this out someday and wonder if it means that I do not love her.

But I do.

I do love her. I do love her father. I do love my own parents, my sister, my friends. AND, sometimes, loving any and all of these people can be really, really hard. Sometimes I lose my patience. Sometimes I feel really hurt, physically or emotionally. Sometimes I feel like the way I'm being treated is really unjust. Sometimes I feel like other people don't deserve my love. Sometimes I get very angry.

And it is hard to see past a wall of fire in my eyes to a human being on the other side that I do need to keep on loving. It is hard to push past utter exhaustion to find the energy to attend to another's needs. It is hard to remain tender with a screaming writhing banshie who just won't cooperate. It is hard to stick by the side of a person you care for who seems so committed to their own self-destruction, and a bit of your destruction too, while they're at it. Love is so stinking hard.

So when someone tells me what I'm doing as a mom is "so important," I feel flattered, but honestly, it is just too vague to help me through those hard moments. And when someone tells me that there is purpose in my parenthood because it'll help me meet and minister to other parents, that doesn't do much to help me find patience with my child when I'm home alone with no other parents to witness our interaction. If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know I've been struggling with this for a long time. You know that God has done some work in my heart to encourage me in these hard moments. And it is still hard. So He is faithful to keep giving me more encouragement that I so deeply need.

I was studying Luke 1 the other day, reading the story of this guy, Zechariah, who was an old priest who'd been praying for years and years and years for he and his wife, Elizabeth, to have a kid. The one day in his life comes up, when he gets to offer incense and enter the sanctuary of the Lord. He goes in, and the angel Gabriel shows up to have a chat with him. After four hundred years of silence from God, no signs, no prophecies, no nothing, God breaks the silence for this scene.

Gabriel tells Zechariah that he and Elizabeth are going to have a baby boy, John, that will be filled with the Holy Spirit, have the power of Elijah, and he will prepare the way for the Messiah. Wo. This son he has always wanted and had maybe mostly given up hope for ever having was going to till the soil of the hearts of Israel so that they would be prepared to receive Jesus and to believe in Him as their savior. Wo. Wo. Wo.

Israel's hearts were so disobedient that God had cut off communication for 400 years. And now after 400 years of silence, I imagine their spiritual receptors could have been rather dried up. So how was John going to re-open those hearts that they could see God? I'm expecting to hear things like reminding them of the prophecies about the Christ, remind them of the law and how it reveals their need for a savior, remind them that they are supposed to be a people holy and set apart. So let's see what Gabriel says, check out Luke 1:17:

"With the spirit and power of Elijah he will go before Him (the Messiah), to turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, to make ready a people prepared for the Lord."

Definitely some reference back to old prophets, wisdom, righteousness. But what sticks out to me is this bit, "turn the hearts of parents to their children." Seems really out of left field in this context. What does that have to do with anything? Not a note in my bible of explanation. Thankfully, my friend's bible commentary was more helpful and pointed us to Malachi 4:5-6, the very last word from God before the 400 years of silence:

"Lo, I will send you the prophet Elijah before the great and terrible day of the Lord comes. He will turn the hearts of parents to their children and the hearts of children to their parents, so that I will not come and strike the land with a curse."

So it is not just a random insertion. It's the last word spoken before the 400 years of silence, first word spoken after, like bookends. So it seems like there could be something really important about it.

It wouldn't have been said if it were unnecessary. If it were super easy for parents to love their kids, why would this be so important for John to do? So for one, this feels like validation of the challenge to love kids, I can breathe a little sigh of relief for having that feeling sometimes.

But for two, look at the purpose of doing so. Verse 16 of Luke 1 says, "He (John) will turn many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God." How many people find it hard to want to get anywhere near Christians because Christians have been so unloving towards them or they've witnessed Christians being so unloving towards others? How many people can identify with the struggle to love God as "Father," because their own father/parent wasn't very loving? When parents abuse or neglect their children, broadly speaking, those children have a hard time with love as they go about their life. And similarly, broadly speaking, when parents love their children, those children grow into people who know better how to receive and give love with other people. But I also believe it becomes more natural to receive the love of God. Apparently it is even a key component in helping to prepare a heart, maybe the parent's, maybe the child's, to receive Christ as savior, if I'm reading these verses correctly. So . . .

Loving my kid is hard, AND, loving my kid is really important.

I can try my hardest to feed her well, keep her healthy, make her brilliant, make her an athletic star, make her the most popular and beloved person in the world, and I'm going to fail to a greater or lesser extent in all of these pursuits. But if I can just love her to the best of my ability, maybe that'll be enough to open her heart to God, who will meet all of her truest and deepest needs without failing. When I do the hardest work, loving her, I am nurturing a heart to be receptive to a greater love than my own, a love that can push past the most unlovable characteristics and behaviors, a love that can help my child become her best possible self.

Dear fellow parents, who sometimes feel bewildered, who feel daunted by the road that lies ahead, who are all too familiar with the end of their ropes, who are afraid to admit that loving their kid is hard, and who need to know all the blood, sweat, and tears are worth the effort, take courage. There is great great significance in the love that you are about to give and have been giving to each of your children. This love in and of itself is Kingdom work. 


Dear Parents, Dear Children, let's let love come in. 


P.S. I also find great encouragement in work of the Kingdom of God, in that the work itself has important significance, but just as God's love is infinite, so the work of God seems to infinitely grow. Even though the work is significant in itself, it also tends to be a preparation for a greater work to come, and that's how the Kingdom grows, one building block at a time. 

Reproduction

The other day, I received this text:


"Ur going 2 b a mommy again."


My heart stopped. Then it raced. Then it stopped again. "Say whaaaaat?!?" 


It was from my father-in-law. I couldn't think how he would know I was pregnant before me. Then I thought, 


"Well, he is quite a spiritual person. He has verrrry vivid dreams. Does he think he heard a prophetic word from God or something?" 


I had just been thinking about how unready I was for another kid right now the day before this text. Did Dad-in-law know my heart? Was he speaking into my insecurities and sending me a word of assurance? It just didn't quite add up.


I decided that he must have sent the text to me accidentally. He meant it for someone else. Let's face it, it's pretty impressive to have a father-in-law that texts at all, mis-dialing happens. Or maybe he meant to say "aunt" not "mommy." He has three other kids, and nine other grand-kids, someone is always multiplying. That must be it. 


But was it?? It was really eating away at me. The text had arrived while I was putting Sofia to bed, so as soon as she was down, I gave him a call to get to the bottom of this anxiety provoking mystery. 


"Hey, Leo"


"Oh hey. Did you get my text?"


"Yeeeeesssss. What exactly did that mean?"


"You're going to be a mommy again."


??


"What do you mean by that Leo? Is there something you know that I don't??"


"Your avocado trees. They have fruit!"


Ooooooooooohhhhh! 


"Ooh! Wow!!! No way!"


Nearly nine years ago, I ate a handful of avocados while living in a cottage on campus. I stuck toothpicks in the pits, and hung them over water. My great aunt, Beth, told me you could grow avocado trees this way when I was in fourth grade, and I'd been trying ever since then. Much to my surprise, a life long dream came true and a few of them actually started growing roots. After caring for them for about a year, a few of them actually turned into trees. I moved out of the cottage, into a duplex, and transplanted my trees into some soil, fully expecting to kill them at any time. But somehow, three of them survived past my time at that residence. When I got married and knew I'd be moving into an apartment where I could no longer keep them, my new in-laws agreed to adopt my little babies and allow me generous visitation rights. 


For seven years, my amazing gardner of a father-in-law has cared for my trees, transfered them into larger pots as they've grown, pruned them every year. He asked everyone he could, all kinds of experts at several nurseries about their potential for bearing fruit. Everyone told us that they wouldn't bear fruit unless they were grafted, and even then, it wasn't guaranteed, and even if they did, it would take at least 5-6 years. NINE years later, no grafting, they are bearing fruit. It's a miracle! 


I think that the seeds were my babies, and their fruit will more appropriately be considered my grand-babies. So, I'm a grandmother! Yay!


When I told Manny the story, he said, 


"Wow! I helped change the water on those plants when they were just seeds. I changed your trees' diapers!" 


Indeed. 

[Best of Year One] and now it's time for another good idea, bad idea.

[Originally posted: Wednesday, March 28, 2012]

I've realized recently that maybe we're not always the most conventionally good parents in the world. Evidence!


Good idea: Letting baby chew on an appropriate baby toy, like Sophia the Giraffe from Babies R Us.
Bad idea: Letting baby chew on an appropriate dog toy, like a giant red rubber bone.

We do take it away as quickly as possible,
but this child has a future in ninjary.

Good idea: Using the stroller or car seat for storage when shopping.
Bad idea: Using the stroller or car seat for storage when shopping for wine. 

She's never been soused. So that's a point for us, right?

Good idea: Inviting baby to a party.
Bad idea: Keeping baby at a party well past her bedtime.

Come on, though. How freaking cute.

Good idea: Kissing baby sweetly on the cheek.
Bad idea: Trying to eat the baby. 

Yum.

Good idea: Bringing baby along to a busy restaurant.
Bad idea: Spinning baby around on the giant Lazy Susan on the table at a busy restaurant.




The good news is that Miss Eiley is fiercely loved. And it seems like that can make all those bad ideas still pretty okay. 


Except eating her. I never condone eating babies.

Sabbath Sunday: Happy Mothers' Day!

Happy Mothers' Day, Lobsters!

I hope you are all doing something lovely for your own mothers today! And for those of you who are yourselves mothers, I hope you are feeling loved and appreciated today. I for one, am grateful for what you do to care for your little ones. Even if I do not know you, the love you give your child will make the world my child grows up in a better place, and for that I thank you.

In particular, I must issue a note of gratitude to my own mother for her decades of love and care for me and my baby sister. Even though we are no longer little, she cares for us just the same. For example, in a period of twelve months, she is going to have helped our family execute five moves [us, herself, both her parents and in-laws, and my sister - a big year of transition for our family!]. That's just ridiculous! 

I found this picture of the three of us on the back porch of the house I grew up in and I can't stop looking at it because it makes me feel so happy. Mom, there's no way to properly thank you for giving me such beautiful memories. Thank you for bringing me into the world with such joy. I love you! 

I also want to thank my mom! Mama, you are fun (please see photo 1 for evidence), beautiful (please see photo 2), creative (please see blog post you wrote earlier this week), intelligent (please see photo 3...wait, nevermind, just trust me on this one), generous (please see me living in your house again next month), and loving. You are my dear friend, and I love you to bitsies. I can't wait to hang out with you in just 17 days!

JUMPING! (What you lack in springiness you make up for in jazzy hands.)

In case you've forgotten, these are our beautiful supermodel poses.

You're welcome for this.

 Happy Mother's Day!

the cheapest, best Christmas gifts ever

Jeff and I found out we were going to be parents in November 2010. Let me tell you - that is perfect timing as far as telling people the good news that a baby is en route is concerned. We decided to wait until Christmas to let our families know about Squirmy McGee (Eiley's pre-gender name). While this was mildly excruciating because we were hiding it from everyone until then, the payoff was outstanding.


We decided it would be fun to give the grandmas, grandpas, great-grandmas and Great-Grandbob photo albums as Christmas gifts. We wrote "Grandma's Little Monster" on the front (or Grandpa or whatever, you get the idea) and had Squirmy's sonogram on the inside. This did work out well, except these three things happened first:


1. We could not wait to tell my sister, who lived near us in Virginia. We were pretty freaked out when we first found out about the baby, so we needed someone to be purely excited for us. So Sissy didn't get a nice sonogram and photo album - she got the pee stick, gift wrapped. We invited her over, and I nonchalantly told her I'd picked up a gift for her because I saw it and had thought of her. (By the way, I'm surprised she fell for this. I'm just not that thoughtful.) She opened it, squealed with excitement, teared up, then realized exactly what she was looking at and said, oh, ew and, grimacing, set it down. It was touching.

2. We flew home to California on Christmas Eve and wanted to wait until gift opening that night to tell my parents. At our annual Denny's dinner that night (classy!), I had waited a smidge too long to eat so my first trimester body was starting to feel nauseated. I let Jeff know, and he sprung into action (it looked like he was running to call 911 for a heart attack victim) finding a pack of crackers for me to eat. After I explained his intense exit away with the fact that I had asked Jeff for some crackers, my mom teasingly said "Are you pregnant or something?" Jeff, Sissy and I just laughed nervously. I think I said some sarcastic yeaaaahs. The surprise was saved though, and she and my dad were sufficiently shocked that evening.

3. We placed my grandma and Grandbob's photo album at the bottom of their large stack of gifts at the big family Christmas gathering. We did not anticipate the fact that Grandma would take eons to get to it though. She loves opening gifts and watching others open theirs, so she was apparently relishing every moment while Jeff, Sissy and her husband, my parents and I anxiously looked on. But then this happened, and it's a memory that I'll vividly remember for the rest of my life:

That year, we spent a total of about $6 on photo albums and gave some of the best gifts we've ever given. We figured any additional gifts we might give would be forgotten and overshadowed by the fetus anyway. 

So, the moral of the story is obviously: Always get knocked up near Christmas. 

Movie Review Monday: The Hunger Games (Again)

Jeff had rehearsal last week when I saw Hunger Games, and he made me swear that I would see it a second time with him. We found ourselves with an evening open, a small window of opportunity. We hadn't planned ahead though, so we had to find a babysitter at the last minute. Jeff put out an APB on facebook to see if anyone could do it, and after about an hour, our friend Whitney texted and said she was free. (Actually, after about ten minutes our pastor's wife offered to do it too, but she disclaimered that she'd been sick all week and we didn't want her to have to do any extra work on top of caring for her own three children!)

This was amazing on several levels:

1. Come on. One hour of a status update on facebook, two babysitting offers. Our community here provides excellent customer service.

2. Whitney brought her dog, so Buster was also wholly entertained. 

Buster and Winston are totally BFF.

3. Most importantly, less than one year ago, Whitney was at our baby shower and she held a sleeping baby Rhett. As soon as he woke up, Whitney looked a little uncomfortable and gave him back to his mother and we all laughed about it. But tonight - oh, tonight. Tonight, Whitney willingly gave up her evening to hang out with Eiley. She fed her, changed her, played freaking peekaboo with her! Amazing. Whitney, you are so brave, and I tip my hat to you. Or I salute you. Or something. 

Whitney and Eiley, back when Eiley was still rather fetus-like.

In conclusion, Hunger Games was just as good the second time. I even started to warm to Josh Hutchinson. My three claws remain up.

and now it's time for another good idea, bad idea.

I've realized recently that maybe we're not always the most conventionally good parents in the world. Evidence!


Good idea: Letting baby chew on an appropriate baby toy, like Sophia the Giraffe from Babies R Us.
Bad idea: Letting baby chew on an appropriate dog toy, like a giant red rubber bone.

We do take it away as quickly as possible,
but this child has a future in ninjary.

Good idea: Using the stroller or car seat for storage when shopping.
Bad idea: Using the stroller or car seat for storage when shopping for wine. 

She's never been soused. So that's a point for us, right?

Good idea: Inviting baby to a party.
Bad idea: Keeping baby at a party well past her bedtime.

Come on, though. How freaking cute.

Good idea: Kissing baby sweetly on the cheek.
Bad idea: Trying to eat the baby. 

Yum.

Good idea: Bringing baby along to a busy restaurant.
Bad idea: Spinning baby around on the giant Lazy Susan on the table at a busy restaurant.

The good news is that Miss Eiley is fiercely loved. And it seems like that can make all those bad ideas still pretty okay. 


Except eating her. I never condone eating babies.

eiley experimentation: feeding

Feeding Eiley is an adventure. I seriously love it. It's like a living science experiment with each new food.


So far, she likes sweet potatoes, peas, peaches, rice cereal, and acorn squash.


She hates green beans, avocado, and carrots. This week, I tried feeding her carrots for a second time. She refused to swallow the one mouthful I gave her, and it ended up sliding down her throat and hitting her gag reflex, making her vomit. That'll teach me.


I'm not worried about it though. I'm a world class picky eater, and I've survived without green beans just fine thus far. Plus, her vehement disdain for certain foods is pretty freaking entertaining. I actually purposely put on a "watch Eiley spazz out over green beans" show for a few friends on my birthday. She did not disappoint. 


Here's an example, though it's not as intense as some other reactions of hers that I've seen:

Coming soon to a table near Eiley: blueberries, plums, butternut squash, chicken, and yogurt!

Out of chaos comes order

Judging by the coloration on the bottom of Sofia's socks at the end of the day, I'm guessing the floor's not such a healthy place off of which to eat. But that's what we do alot of these days. Ok, not me, mostly the little one, I dunno about Manny, I only have one pair of eyes and only so much superviser-ly energy. 


My dirty floor plagues and terrifies me constantly now, thanks to Sofia's sampling.  This afternoon, she confirmed my suspicions that she actually prefers food off the floor when she took cheese from my hand, immediately threw it down, and promptly picked it up and shoved it into her mouth. It's as if she throws food down there to develop her special brand of seasoning. Over time, the layers are going to build up to perfection for rolling her food in. Cause you know mama won't have a chance to mop on a daily basis, or, ever!?


AND she is the one constantly pointing out to me every little thing that needs to be picked up. "Mama, there's a stray bit of Kleenex I ripped up with my mouth and threw on the floor there. Mama, come on! Mom! Aren't you going to pick it up? Cause if you don't, you I'm gonna eat it, and this time I'll swallow." (translated from "Mmm buh a;slieruapowjndf;lkj dukah")


My days lately feel like nothing but an endless cycle of urgent cleaning. It is a race against Sofia, hoping my sponge makes it there before her tongue. Or my quick snatching of a toy before she steps on top of it and topples over. Or a desperate grasp of some fragile piece of dish-ware or piece of electronic equipment before she grabs in, harming herself and breaking the object all at the same time. She is so tall, so agile, so quick. I fear I am no match for her. But I keep at it as best I can. And I trust. 

I trust that every time I return an object that she has thrown/toppled/transported to its proper place, I am teaching her something about order as I patiently watch her unravel our lives back into chaos over and over again. I trust that with each block tower she rips apart, she's learning something about building up. I trust that with each book she tears off the shelf, she's learning something about reading. I trust that each time she drags that bath towel from the bathroom into the kitchen, she's learning something about function. 


And I trust that each time I put these things back, every day that I engage in this tedium, that she's learning something about purpose. That sometimes, when we're fulfilling our purpose, it doesn't look so glamorous, it doesn't feel so good. But sometimes, it is in those persistent acts of drudgery that constancy is learned, dedication is discovered, sacrifice is submitted. Out of the chaos of grimy feat, messy house, seasoned floors, hopefully we can order up some love.  

Looking back, Looking forward

On New Years Day, in visiting a dear friend, we got to introduce our babies to each other. Except my baby isn't a baby any more, and her baby was truly a baby, only two weeks old at the time. What a blessing. What a joy life is. What a mystery, how life comes to be. All mixed together were my sympathies for a difficult labor, my ecstasy for the abundant love coursing between mother-child-husband-father-wife, my appreciation for a husband who cared so lovingly for my dear friend, my respect for a woman who cared so lovingly for her child, my comfort at seeing an old friend, and an intense sense of overwhelm in realizing that we were once there(ish) and are now in such a different place.


Somehow, for me, this picture [above] captured so much of what I was feeling. Sofia, neck firm, brain spinning with curiosity, eyes at attention, discovering, wondering, learning independently about this baby whose only volition is to absorb her mother's love and care and neck support. Were we ever there? New parents, just home with a newborn, minds still spinning from labor and sleep deprivation and joy and wonder and shock. Less than a year before that day, we were there, and yet I can barely fathom it, barely bring back that memory from the fog.


It occurred to me that throughout my whole pregnancy, I did no let myself believe there would actually be a baby at the end of the process. I was so fearful, no, so sure, that I would miscarry like my maternal grandmother. When we got past the point of miscarriage being possible, I became convinced I would deliver a still born like my paternal grandmother. When had to go to the hospital because the baby I was pregnant with was in distress, there was a real part of me preparing for leaving that hospital empty handed. But I did not. I walked out of that hospital with a fragile life-filled baby in arms. I hugged my nurse goodbye, and went home and filled my house with all that love I was witnessing a year later in my friend's cottage by the sea. But, I had thought, that was already more than I deserved. Certainly, it had all been too good to be true. Certainly, SIDS would find us, and it was only a matter of time before I lost my precious. (don't think the Lord of the Rings allusion in that term, and the desperation and idolatry that surrounds it wasn't lost on me each time I uttered it over my child)


But a year later, there I was, witnessing my lively daughter, witnessing another new life. At what point will I accept this gift? Why do I instead accept these shackles of fear so readily? When will I accept this life that has been given to me. When will I let myself look forward, to dream for her future, wonder what life holds for her? When will I stop holding my breath, paralyzed in the present moment, fearful that it will vanish like the air I refuse to exhale?


For a time I did not believe she'd ever smile at me. For a time, I couldn't imagine she would ever sit up on her own. I believed she would sleep swaddled in wings forever. I was convinced she would spend eight hours a day nursing for eternity. As each stage came, I settled into it as if it were my new, permanent way of life. Perhaps I'm so busy adjusting to each change, that this underlying shift is too much to grasp: life is forever changing. Certainly there is a sense in which this year has been nothing but a series of goodbyes. Gone are the days of supporting her neck, supporting her sitting, swaddling her arms,  and holding on tight with two hands while she tries to walk. Gone are the days of sleeping in, of spontaneous carefree choices about how to spend my time, long extended periods of quiet ended only by my own choice. It has been a year of endings. 


And the endings will continue to come, some possible and some certain. My fears are not fully irrational. But the problem has been that I have not been able to see beyond them. They have blocked my view. It is true. My daughter, our love, it is more than I deserve. 


And yet, it has also been a year of constant beginnings. Hello to the intimacy of three, not just two. Hello to new discovery, new laughter, new joy. Hello to a new me, less concerned with me. Hello to a new husband, exuding more love, more devotion. Hello to a new home, new friends, an entirely new way of life. 


My present is beautiful, it is precious. And still, I must learn to loosen my grasp, to hold it more lightly. Because without my hands open, I can not receive what the future holds, what my true Precious has in store for me. For He desires to give me every good gift. But when my fingers wrap tight, when my knuckles burn white, how can the gift come in? 


What if a year ago I refused to move forward into a future where she smiled at me? What if I didn't let her learn to sit up, roll, crawl, walk? What if I did not let her away from me, unclasped from my arms? Then she could not come running back into me, arms wide open, outstretched, to receive her smiling-giggling-leaping little self, crashing into me with a force of love I've never known. 

Life is perpetually coming to be. I need to open my arms to receive this. I need to open my mind; I need to humble my heart, realizing I don't know where the new joy might be coming from. It is only mine to release and to receive. I need to open my eyes, see past the fear, and allow myself to look forward to what new life is yet to come.   

Through the monitor

Baby monitor snuggled up with stuffed animals in Sofia's crib.

Today, after attempting to put Sofia down for a nap, I instead heard her babbling to herself for a good long time. Eventually though, the babbling seemed to get much closer, and then started to sound like slobber-on-electronics. Turned out my theory was correct. She had grabbed the monitor off the table to the side of her crib [apparently not far enough off to the side], pulled it into the crib, and was talking right into it and attempting to eat it as well. She sure knows how to get my attention.


I'm thinking about communication a great deal lately. I have enjoyed having an outlet through this blog to communicate with all of you, even though most of you who read are invisible to me. This new outlet comes at the same time that I have this new little person to communicate with.


This past year, I've had to learn so much about non-verbal communication. Despite all the promises of baby books that I would be able to "learn to distinguish my baby's cries," I found out that it was not so easy. How many times did she cry, or make strange faces, or wave her hands around in weird ways and leave me baffled as to what she meant? So many.


My mom had the most brilliant idea this past Christmas [this is a bit of a tangent, just go with me here]. Who can afford to give every person in the family a Christmas gift anymore? And with our family so spread out, figuring out gifts that each person - that you haven't seen in two years - is an insurmountable challenge. For lots of our family gatherings, we've resorted to Secret Santa exchanges or White Elephant games in lieu of presents. But to bring back in some of that personal touch that made exchanging gifts with everyone so special, my mom's idea was this: we drew names, Secret Santa style, but instead of just getting that person a gift, you asked two questions:


1) What was your biggest challenge this past year?
2) What are you most looking forward to about this coming year?


With your recipient's answers in mind, you could make an informed gift buying decision that spoke to where they were in life. When we exchanged gifts, we shared what we learned about the person we were giving to, so the whole family got this efficient, but really meaningful update on each other and a beautiful opportunity to connect. It was so fantastic.


My answer to question number two was looking forward to being able to communicate with Sofia, as she acquired language. A few less befuddled guessing games, and we could really start getting somewhere. My aunt had drawn my name and got me a great book on baby sign language - isn't that perfect?! Sofia has already mastered a few signs. Though mostly, I think she's mastered the idea that signs get her things she wants. So when we're not clearly understanding her, she just runs through all the signs until we get it, and also fall over laughing. This is going to be a fun year!


While I am having fun hearing her express words in meaningful ways, so slowly, but surely, there's another part of me that is going to miss the way we've communicated this past year. Even if I don't feel confident about translating all of her cries, we did develop our own mommy-baby language of sorts. I felt adamant about finding ways to figure out what she was thinking and feeling, as confusing as that process might have been. I was able to subconsciously come to know her quirks, her funny eye-rolls, tilts of her head, inflections in her babbles. I was able to learn things about her moods, her energy level, her interests, her fears. And there was something so uniquely intimate in that bond we developed.


When I can resort to words with everyone else, I rely on those words to tell me what people mean. Of course, that's not a great idea, since most communication is non-verbal [hence Emily's wise distaste for talking on the phone, because she knows that she's missing most of the conversation that way]. But I'm lazy. I take people at their word, I'm gullible like that. But Sofia has been teaching me to listen more fully, because apparently I didn't learn that lesson well enough in my MSW program. As I take that lesson into my communication with my husband, with friends, with my family, I'm finding so much more intimacy in my relationships.


And so as Sofia learns words, it feels bittersweet. I know my lazy self. We won't have to work quite so hard to understand each other, so we won't, and we'll probably miss a bit of content about the other's inner self that way.


So as fun as it was for Sofia to say "tick tock" when she saw some cool clocks this morning, I hope I'll keep looking to see her eyes light up, her mouth form that little "o!" of excitement, and feel the way her body lurches towards the object of her fascination. I hope she has changed me forever, at least to some degree, so that we can maintain this intimacy, and I can learn to be a mother/wife/daughter/friend who listens more fully.

and now it's time for weird toys with eiley grace...

In this segment, we'll join Eiley Grace as she enjoys one of her oddest toys. 


Don't be afraid. While we're 100% certain it would be hanging out with that abomination with the baby head and spider legs if it was in Toy Story, we take solace in knowing that it only seems possessed. 

Eat snow

Today, I had one goal: shop for groceries. 

Today's list of accomplishments: groceries shopped, snow eaten. 

I guess that makes it a good day, I would like to collect my bonus points now, thank you. 

I've been spending more time than I anticipated meditating on my incapacity to come up with a resolution for this year. I had lots of time to think about it this weekend when we went on this retreat, you know, the one where I was not joining a cult? They provided child care, which meant I had more waking hours away from Sofia than ever before in our lives. It was emotionally distressing at several points, I suffered worse from separation anxiety than she did I think, but it also provided enough space for me to be able to start forming coherent thoughts for the first time in - I don't want to calculate exactly how long. 

One of the retreat exercises included meditating on John 5:1-17 & Isaiah 5:1-7. In summary: Jesus is the vine, we are the branches, God is the gardener. God does the pruning that we might allow the life of Christ to flow through us and bear fruit. When we don't remain in Him, bad things happen. There is a whole lot of meat in these passages, a great deal of high minded, spiritual profound meat. But you know what God needed to teach me this specific weekend? The simple lesson that my life needs some pruning, and by my life, I mean my to-do list. 

I had two majors in college and went to grad school in an entirely different area. I've held jobs in about ten different fields, and have had career aspirations in about five times as many fields. I'm all over the place. On a prideful day, I like to think I just have so much to give the world, that's why I'm so "diversified." But on a day like I had this weekend, I was humbled and had to admit I'm just spreading myself too thin to be worthwhile in anything. I think I'm just grasping for worth, wallowing in insecurity about my identity. I keep thinking I have this figured out, and keep coming back around, face to face with God's truth, that I'm not secure in the right things. 

So I sat down in the still quiet time, sans squealing babe, that has become so unfamiliar. I brainstormed the list of "projects" I feel like I'm juggling these days. In less than ten minutes, I had 30 items on my list. thirty. ugh. No wonder I am always wracked with anxiety/anger/fear/despair when Sofia wakes up from a nap and I haven't had enough time to get "it all" done. I went back through the list, anxiously, but prayerfully, and started making the hard decisions about projects I need to let go of. I could only let go of about half. But when I got honest, there were only about six that were bearing fruit. Only about six that seemed truly of the Spirit. A few others might be worth returning to another day, but I am deciding to focus on these six and work to let go of the other things tugging at my heart/mind/creativity/sense of obligation. Talk about separation anxiety. 

But I'm supposed to honoring God in all I do, I have to remain in Him, I have to humbly submit myself to Him to be pruned. So, we'll see how I manage. Can't say I feel too secure or comfortable in this new zone just yet. But today I kept it to one goal for the day, and that goal got accomplished, and then some. A goal that supports one of my six key projects. So I will accept that today was a good day. Dear Lobsters, if you love Jesus, would you pray with me that I would survive some pruning so that God might bear fruit through me? Thanks much.

Response to "resolution'd"

Like Emily, I'm not much for resolutions, but I am into goals, and like to have a sense of a goal for the year at the start. But last year, with a January 2nd due date, and no previous experience with motherhood, I felt it was wisest to be wide open to what the year had to bring us. That peaceful openness worked out great for 2011. But as 2011 came to a close, I found myself in a state of confused frazzledness. The best I can do goal-wise this new year, is hope to get to a place where I can formulate a goal next year. Best of luck 2013!

Emily is somehow managing early motherhood, full time work, and a discerning ambition for the year to come. I think she deserves a massive round of applause, and then an admission that she can not possibly be duly honored for the amazing things she does for her family, all the while keeping all of us entertained through this blog. Hats off to you, my lobster-for-life!

If you didn't catch her post about her resolution, go read it here. I found the second article she linked to particularly valuable. While it was a fully secular post, I think it points beautifully to the gift that God designed for us in Sabbath, a discipline I am always yearning to hone more fully. Part of what I heard Emily longing for was an ability to be more present with her daughter, but another part I was hearing was her need to be recharged. I completely identify with BOTH parts, even though my day to day looks rather different. So, while I'm still trying to figure these things out just as much as Emily, I have found a few activities that help me, personally, to feel recharged while also feeling like I am giving presence, attention, stimulation and love to my daughter. So I thought I'd just pass them along to Emily, but publicly, in case the tip could help you, but also so you can help us add to this list.

How I recharge while providing presence to Sofia:

1) Sing along to music

Emily already mentioned music as a good idea. What she wouldn't have mentioned is how awesome her singing voice is. I have an adequate [by certain standards at least] singing voice, and Sofia is absolutely enthralled, no matter how silly the song I make up for her. I love singing, it brings me relaxation and joy. Getting all those benefits AND Sofia's lit up little face is a true treat. We both get relaxed, filled with joy, and more in tune with each other. So I recommend that while you are playing music, that you sing along, pretty soon, Eiley will be trying to join in and its only one step away from the awesome family band I have envisioned for the Fazakerleys!

2) Take walks

I have been to the gym exactly one time in the entire first year (and some odd days) of Sofia's life. That's no good, but I do walk almost every single day, sometimes twice. The walk gets me out of the house, it provides us with fresh air, it calms us both down, it gets me uncaught from the interwebs, it provides us both with visual stimulation, gives me things to talk to Sofia about when I've run out of words or patience, and it often has me running into other human beings that we can talk to, which is also helpful and leads me to my last point.

3) Playdates even with friends

You might think this requires having friends with kids the same age as yours and with your child's same nap schedule, but it doesn't. When I lived in San Diego, my closest friend was Lexie, who did not have any children. Still, she came over and we did a bible study together or took walks, she held and played with Sofia, and we got to talk and it was SOooo good for me. Here in Brunswick, we have found a few good peers for playdates, but Sofia also really loves hanging out with mom/kid combos where the kid is a couple years older than her. Sofia gets to feel cool by association-to-older-kid, and I get lots of advice about what to look forward to/prepare for in the years to come.

To the other Lobster Mamas out there, what other ways have you found to recharge yourself so that you can better love your family?

one handed baby skillz

Like most babies, Eiley Grace loves to be held. Unlike most mommas, I am not very adept at doing things one handed. Often, I have to put her down and scramble to get things done while she whines or cries. Here are a few things I've learned to do well though:

• Stir a boiling pot.
• Type 29 wpm with the right hand and 27 wpm with the left.
• Laundry.
• Throw a ball for Buster.
• Put eyeliner on my lower lash line (the upper line is way too advanced for me).
• Pull things out of the oven (this ones terrifies me and I try not to do it often).
• Take pictures with weird lighting.

Weird lighting and super pink wardrobe.

• Wash my right hand (is washing your hand pointless if the other is still germy?).
• Go to the bathroom. I realize that's kind of icky, but let's examine: unbuttoning pants, unzipping them, pulling them down, [doo dee doo dah], then pulling them up, buttoning, and zipping again. I admit that somewhere in this process, I usually use two hands and pin Eiley under my arm like a human clutch purse, but still. That's impressive stuff.
• Dance to 10 Minute Solution Hip Hop or Dance Central for Kinect (even though I have to take it kind of easy so no one gets shaken too much). 
• Play cards or dominoes or Bananagrams.
• Eat!
• Drink!
• Be merry!

I have grown a new appreciation for Bethany Hamilton.

Do any other Lobster Mamas have special one handed baby skillz?

Happy Birthday Big Mama Lobster!

For the past twelve-ish months, I have spent more time than ever before in my life meditating on my mother. Who she is, what role she plays in the world, what she means to me, how she does it, "it" being a whole heck of a lot of things. It's a bit selfish, I realize, to wait until you are becoming a mother yourself to really get around to fully appreciating who your mother is. Sorry for that.


Being in my last month of pregnancy in December, feeling like I had no way of imagining what the rest of my life was about to be like, I wracked my brain for images of my mom, mothering. As I held Sofia in my arms for the first time, my mother was right there, watching over me, preparing me for that moment, holding me in that moment, both in the immediate and most fullest senses. Taking Sofia home from the hospital and spending all hours of the day and night, holding here, gazing at her in complete wonderment and awe, I almost ached with the desire to know what this had looked like when it was me and my mom - with the simultaneous ache that I would never lose the memory of those moments, and that there were some way that Sofia might have them to hold onto too. How many times this year have I asked myself, "how did my mom handle this situation? cross this bridge? prepare for this event? make this moment special? clean up this mess?"? so. many. times.


Maybe it is both a blessing and a curse that we can't remember those first few years. Maybe it is grace for new parents that their kids don't hold onto all the "oops!" moments of children learning to be parents. Maybe it is part of this unique bubble of intense intimacy that parents, and especially mothers, share with their infants. There is no language, there is no formula, there is only one heart feeling another heart and meeting its needs, and through that having her heart so fully filled. There is simply no relationship comparable. Part of the depth of the intimacy is that trying to put words to it already dilutes its power. And there is something about words and memory that is inextricable. So when I say that no one who is not a mother can quite know the bond I experience with Sofia in her first year, no one includes even Sofia herself, or me in the case of my own mother. But I've wondered. I've wondered this year what my mother felt, thought, looked like as she was holding little zero year old me.


Over Thanksgiving, my mom brought home videos. Years of footage converted to DVD. Most of our watching consisted of wading through my father's over-long video shots of leaves or chimneys or zooming in too tightly on people's faces or just nothing. Oh the novelty of new toys in a boy's hands.  But for brief seconds, moments were actually captured. People no longer living, relationships in tact that are no longer, youth that has faded, immaturity that has dissolved, laughter long forgotten. We teased my dad, we laughed hysterically, we analyzed.


But the part that left me speechless while watching was that I finally got what I'd been longing for all year. There I was. First born. Spending my initial days in a house that no longer exists, in the arms of my beardless father and my gorgeous young mother. Without having truly named it yet, I was getting what I'd been wishing for all year. I got to see my mother soaking in that newborn intimacy, showing me off to her own mother, putting me to sleep, dressing me up in silly outfits, whispering sweet words. It is one thing to be the beneficiary of such love, it is another thing to come into the knowledge of that love. To know just how powerful, just how tender it truly is. To hear just what her voice sounded like as she comforted me in my complete vulnerability. To see her body language, her physical affection toward me in my most powerless state. To know just how central I once was to one person, to see how she enveloped herself around me, both protecting, nourishing, and introducing me to the world and its people around me for the very first time. My centrality to her in those early days, weeks, months, years, can only translate to her core position in my own identity today.


All my life I thought the command to "honor thy father and mother" was about obedience. If they tell you you have to do something, well then you have to do that thing, end of discussion. We've certainly had our conflicts, but for the majority, I feel like I've been a rather obedient kid. But recently I've started to rethink what it really means to honor someone. I think it might mean something more like making them proud through who you become. Naturally, obeying them would be a subset of that process, but honoring them goes beyond that, doesn't it?


The list of commands they can give me is necessarily finite. And maybe I can check those things off, more or less. But to give credit to all they did to invest in me? When you see videos like I saw, when you get a glimpse, when you get to witness a taste of the way she poured out her self, her soul, her heart, her body, her time, her life into bringing me into and up in the world, you realize there is something of infinity in that. That is a love, whether the mother believes in God or not, I believe that is a love that flows from and is powered by God, the ultimate infinite, the ultimate source, the ultimate power. She just allowed that love to flow through her. And if there is an infinity to that love she invested into me, how on earth do I give credit to that, how do I honor that infinity with my life?


How do I make all that blood, sweat, and tears worth her while? Has it started to pay off yet? I sort of feel like bringing her Sofia must be at least a start. Those two sure delight one another! But I'm realizing how great the weight is, to live a life that reveals to others all that she toiled for me to be able to be. Because it is an intimate toil. It is hidden. Only she ever truly knew, and probably wasn't even fully aware of, all that she gave into me. It is up to me to reveal that, to bear the fruit of her labor. I will never be able to repay that debt. This is a great task, and I am glad that I have many more years to work towards the attempt. But in the mean time, today, on the day of her own birth, I want to say a happiest of birthdays to my mother, Dana, "Big Mama" and let her know from the bottom of my heart that I hope to begin - to attempt - to try to honor her and her love with my own life. I love you, Mom. Thank you for loving me.