Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts
Showing posts with label motherhood. Show all posts

Wednesday, May 14, 2014

enough

I have been working with moms of babies and young toddlers for many years now through the class I teach at our church preschool. By and large, the women I have met through the class have been a lot like me: we are moms in the trenches, trying our best, but often worrying that its not enough. 

What is enough, anyway? And who gets to decide? 

We're not sure, so we scroll through our facebook feeds and fret about whether or not to enroll our 3 year old in a music class, and wonder if we should be putting kale chips in our kindergartner's lunches. It's exhausting.

We know the golden rule, "Thou shalt not compare thyself to other moms," but we all break it all the time, because we're afraid we might have forgotten something critical, something other moms know but we don't. After all, our kids deserve every opportunity... right?

But what if they don't? What if the facebook memes and P&G commercials and grandmotherly cliches in the supermarket aisle are largely missing the point of what our kids actually need from their mothers?

I'm beginning to wonder.

We all know that mothering matters, but we also know that there are many different ways to do it well. So exactly what parts matter most? They can't be tied to culture, or socioeconomic status, or personality, or staying home vs working, because I refuse to believe that money or extroversion or accessibility to play groups are strong enough factors to allow or deny a woman the opportunity to meet her child's needs (except in the most extreme cases of poverty). They can't be piano lessons, or an uninterrupted hour of daily interactive playtime with mom, or traditional two-parent homes.

So what are the essential pieces of motherhood that cannot be outsourced, the non-negotiable things that all children need which their mothers uniquely offer?

I humbly present my amateur, from-the-trenches, work-in-progress list. In my opinion, we'd do well to focus more on the essentials below, and less on how we measure up to one another on all the peripheral details.

1. Safety*. Our children need to be safe and feel safe. Safety comes before love on the list, because a child who does not feel safe cannot experience or receive love. Neurological research reveals that our brains cannot learn if they feel threatened or endangered. Does your child feel safe in their home? Did you vet their daycare provider? Did you buckle them in a car seat and hold their hand when you crossed the parking lot? Did you listen when they shared their fears or struggles, offering them safe emotional space? Give yourself a high five, mama. You're awesome!

2. Love. I know, I know, DUH. But it's essential, isn't it? And only a mother can give a mother's love. Let's make it our goal to learn our child's favorite way to receive love. Some kids need to hear it all day long and see it on the bathroom mirror and read it on a note in their lunch box. Others might brush away your words and hugs, but flash you a huge smile when you bring home their favorite take-out dinner. Get to know them, and love them how they love to be loved. Did you say "I love you" today? Did you kiss a cheek or tickle a belly or feign interest in a long-winded story about recess games? Pat yourself on the back, lady. You're nailing it!

3. Values. This is the tough one, and maybe the most overlooked. Our children need their mothers to teach them what matters in life, and there is only one way they will learn it: by example. As their mom, we are showing them in a million tiny ways all day long what it means to be a human being, what it means to be a woman, what it means to be a spouse, friend, neighbor, or co-worker. We can't just teach our values, we have to live them. No one else can do this for your child like you can. Do you want to teach your child to make healthy choices? Let them see you exercise, or go to counseling, or meet a friend for a drink after dinner (Yes, I really just listed that as a healthy choice. Deal with it.). Do you want your child to have a fulfilling spiritual life? Live yours in front of them. Do you want them to be generous? Make giving and serving part of your family culture.

Living as an example for your children will mean making mistakes in front of them too. I hate that part. But they need it. They need to see us fail, and try again. Fight, but make up. Snap, and then seek forgiveness. To me, this is the heart of what it means to be a good mom: to be your authentic self and to let them see. 

Maybe the first step for some of us is to honestly examine our values, and how those values line up with our lifestyle, habits, and routines. Sounds fun, sign me up, right? But truly, more than a college fund, more than organic veggies, more than select soccer camp, our kids need and deserve this from us. 

So, mom-in-the-trenches, be good to yourself. Be as kind to yourself as you are to your child. Value your own health and well-being, and they will learn to value theirs as well.

Did you do something good for your mental health today? Did you lose it with your kid, but then apologize and seek forgiveness? Did you make a choice today that was in line with the values you hope to impart to your children? Give yourself a gold star, woman. You are doing good work.

Mothering is not a world of one-to-one correspondence. We cannot follow a recipe and get the desired result guaranteed. But we all still need some reassurance that we are enough, and we won't find it on Pinterest. So let's try not to worry about, well, whatever nonsense we've been worrying about. Put them in ballet or don't, feed them fries or spinach frittatas or whatever's on sale at Grocery Outlet -- it's all good. Just keep them safe, show them love, and be yourself. You got this, mama.

*A caveat about safety: I am not talking about shielding our kids from the world at large or trying to keep them from experiencing any pain or difficulty in life. I am talking about the most basic level of safety, like protection from abuse and neglect. The kind of safety I believe that kids need is the kind that makes it safe for them to fall, fail, and get in a little trouble. I think our culture worships a different kind of smothering safety for children, but that's another post for another time.

Sunday, January 19, 2014

sort it out

Her sturdy fingers move
the wooden blocks 
from bin to floor
and back to bin:
the industry of one
year olds, a crucial task.
It looks like play,

but watch her face:
intent. Intentional,
her focus broken
just for bursts
of brief delight:
The blue block fits
inside the red bin!
And she sees that
it is good.
 
This is her very work
and she will 
do it well
and long past
babyhood, this careful
sort. Good from
bad, in from out,
meaning from
nothing, created
from Creator.

So sort the bits now,
little sister,
sort it out.
Teach me again
to put things in
right order,
so to find 
the boundary lines,
like blocks and bins,
in all their
pleasant places.

Monday, September 23, 2013

a pre-written retrospective on motherhood

She kept having children
perhaps because
they all began babies,
who lay down quietly in her lap.

Nestled skin to skin,
full satisfied by all
her body had to give,
she delighted to be
emptied into them.

And then they flew
too far to follow,
followed dreams and girls
down roads
she hadn't chosen.

Now the stairs and hallways
rattle memories,
silence louder than
their shouting ever was.

She sits by the un-smudged
window, hands in her
empty lap,
quietly
sad and satisfied
in all her fullness.

Sunday, September 1, 2013

to nurse

To tend,
or worry over,
in the case of wounds.
At a hospital,

to do a job,
a shift,
to lift and turn,
to measure, prod
and watch.

Here, in this darkened
room at dawn
it is love.
To give my
self, be emptied
and then filled

by the round
of her cheek, the
grasp of her tiny
fingers,
her weight in my lap,
content.

Wednesday, August 14, 2013

stranger son

I loved a boy
with an easy smile,
an eager heart,
an aim to please.
For seven years
I knew his face,
and he knew mine -
we were the same,
or so it seemed.

I lost that boy,
I don't know where,
or how, I only
know he's gone.
He's here, but not
the boy I loved,
and now my work
is just to love
another

(him).

He wears the face
of the boy I loved,
the easy boy,
and I forget --

Oh, let me not forget!

To love this boy
with the grimace face,
the angry fist,
the fearful heart:
we're still the same,
beloved, still.

Wednesday, June 12, 2013

some women

Some carried dirty water
too far in leaky buckets,
Some bent low to pick
hard crops in the hot sun.
Some kissed fevered foreheads
in ice-cold ICU wards,
Some made their choices
with no choice at all.
And me? I pushed
a stroller, saw a butterfly,
suffered the little children
come to me.
I'll never know why, but
God said it was
enough.

Monday, May 20, 2013

I love a baby

I love a baby
for all she doesn't know:
for sweet ignorance,
for the fresh start,
for a thousand mistakes
I haven't made
yet.
I love a baby
for all she doesn't do:
feet that don't run,
arms that don't fold,
lips that don't speak a word
yet.
I love a baby
for all she doesn't need:
no hard decisions
and no discipline,
no tests or therapies,
no parent-teacher conferences
yet.
Oh! how I love a baby.

three sons

Dandelion flower
an hour before dawn,
balled up small,
I wait
for the slow
grow of chill gray
into lighter day,
aching for
sun, son, and Son.

Tuesday, April 30, 2013

his mother's son

How his eyes crinkle
when he smiles,
the way he gets lost
in a book,
his tender heart,
his hair:
the me in him
I love to see.

If only we gave
only the good.

How the ghosts of
imaginary expectations
haunt him,
the way correction
makes him squirm,
his tender heart,
his fear:
the me in him
I cannot take away.

God help us both.

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

no one naps now

We walk, us four
in the weary
early afternoon,
in the pregnant minutes
before the rain
begins.
We smell the clouds
waiting,
the cherry blossoms
ready for a drink:
I wouldn't turn
one down either.

Thursday, March 7, 2013

weight

I feel the weight of you
on my chest
even when you are
not in my arms.
You watch me now,
eyes just learning
to follow an object
across your field of vision;
you will keep watching
all the way
through girlhood and
into the years
when your every move
is a question:
Who am I?
and later:
What does it mean
to be a woman?
and I hope:
What does it mean to be
a woman of God?
These things are coming
and even now
I feel their weight,
the weight of my part
in what your answers
(and questions)
might be.
And in this way
you make me a better me,
a better woman,
a better woman of God:
thank you.

Thursday, February 21, 2013

taken, blessed, broken, given

Henri Nouwen uses four words to describe what he calls the "life of the beloved": taken, blessed, broken,given. Nouwen finds these words embodied by Jesus at the Last Supper as He takes the cup, breaks the bread, blesses the elements, and gives them to his friends. I find them to be a resonant expression of pregnancy, birth, and life with a newborn. This was written when Sadie was 2 weeks old.

Taken [early pregnancy]
or rather taken over, occupied, lived in, forcibly moved to another state of being.

Blessed [late pregnancy]
wished-well, given gift after gift, lavished upon, receiving benedictions from strangers and friends.

Broken [birth]
brought low, bent over, rent open, flung wide to usher out.

Given [life with a newborn]
or rather given over in love, offered up, poured out, spent to the last sweet drop for this beautiful gift.

Thursday, January 31, 2013

this morning, or it's ok to get it wrong the first time

Hear a tattle
Heave a sigh
Smack a hand
Say a swear... {very quietly.}
Boil water
Fake a smile
Pour the milk
Check the baby... {still quiet.}
Stick a bandaid
Sweep the crumbs
Smooth the covers
Feed the baby... {so quietly.}
Light a candle
Read a psalm
Say a prayer
Try again... {to be quiet.}



Monday, January 21, 2013

first communion

To be, in my body,
the answer
to her cry,
the satisfaction
of her need,
the provision
for her hunger,
to mother her:
my best trade.
"Take and eat --
this is my body,
given for you."

Saturday, January 12, 2013

a blessing for my daughter

May your baby days be filled with milk and kisses;
May you learn to sleep through ruckus, nurse at t-ball games, survive your brothers' less-than-gentle love.

May your toddler time be baby dolls and monster trucks, wrestling and tutus, mud pies and sparkly tights;
May your tea parties outnumber your time outs.

May your girlhood be long and innocent;
May your eyes open only slowly to the wider world, that you may greet it with compassion, strength, and wonder, and not be crushed by its cold weight.

May you meet your Savior long before your first love;
May your heart be his before you know how to give it to anyone else.

May his love cover over all the holes that your father and I will surely leave, may it heal the wounds we'll never see, may it bind up the parts we won't know are broken;
May your place in his family supersede your place in ours, even as we try to hold you in.

May you go;
May you come back.

May you come to name your mama among your dearest friends.

May you never doubt my love for you, my dove, my daughter.

Tuesday, November 6, 2012

sickbed mass

Prayer, and the laying
on of hands,
anointing the head,
singing the psalms.
Offering the cup by
candlelight,
the great thanksgiving.
All these I do
and more tonight,
priest of the bunk bed
parish, keeping the
night watch,
tending the sick.
The Holy Fathers
must have been
watching the mothers
when they wrote
the Missal.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

first release

Today it is true
for the first time:
You can live without me.
Doctors, machines,
lights and wires,
yes --
me, no.
And so begins
the series of small
releases,
the slow, beautiful
daily deaths of
being a mother.

Monday, August 13, 2012

quickening

I felt you move this morning.
Me still in bed,
still and quiet
while you rolled and spun,
stretching and testing
your warm dark home.
Your brothers do this too:
spin, roll, and test
while I am trying to rest --
you fit in already.
Do you know how
happy you have made me?
Even if this is all
we share
(I have learned
to take nothing for granted)
it is enough.

[mid-July 2012]

Tuesday, July 31, 2012

first(born) love

The typical culprits
tend to pass me by:
I laughed on the first day
of kindergarten,
smiled at all the birthdays,
and shook my head
over each box of too-small
clothes I stacked in
the garage.
But last night on the boat
in the bright hour between
sunset and dusk
with a full moon over
calm water,
the weight of your
head on my shoulder
pricked my eyes
and dropped down heavy
into my mother-heart.
Around your life-jacket
my arms felt small, short
like my days as the
queen of your little boy-heart.
The milestones will surely keep
coming; but, oh my sweet son,
the little moments
I will keep for us.

Monday, March 19, 2012

a mother summer

Today, my children like me. My children like me today. If they are their mother's sons, there is a long winter coming: months and years of freezing me out, calling me condescending but mostly innocuous names, and avoiding my eyes, to say nothing of my hugs and kisses. But now is the summer of their affection for me and I won't let these sunny days be wasted. When the heat of their utter dependence and need makes my skin slick with sweat, I will remember to breathe in the warm air and hold it somewhere safe for a colder day.