Not all wounds are visible; not all scars are known. I have a friend who has spent the last year going through the nightmare of cancer. She has shared the ugliness of hair loss, chemotherapy, nausea, surgery, and all that goes with it openly on her social media pages. I haven’t had cancer, but I can see her pain. I have watched her struggle from afar, and I would not trade places with her. I have seen her friends and family rally around her and offer her support, meals, flowers, encouragement, rides and many other kinds of love during her valiant, courageous fight. I applaud the support she has been given. It is as it should be. She will carry the physical scars of her disease with her for the rest of her life as a constant reminder of her pain. No doubt about it-physical scars of cancer of the human body are ugly, relentless, unforgiving and brutal as are wounds of the human soul. The only difference is that some scars are seen while others are buried into remission so deeply that they have become invisible.

What about the lonely, forgotten survivors of our society whose stories never get told?  What about those fighting mental illness, those afraid to leave their homes, those struggling with the racing thoughts of OCD or PTSD, the betrayed, the lonely, the anxious, the abused, the addicted, the fearful, the victimized souls who travel their wounded paths alone? What about the things we can’t talk about: panic attacks, same sex attraction, depression, eating disorders, social anxiety, cutting, addictions, suicidal thoughts?

What about the unheard stories? What about the incisions of the soul that never quite heal? I don’t know what sound a falling tree makes if no one is in the forest to hear it, but I do know that the suppressed, silent tears that fall in the middle of the night are just as real when no one is around to see them.

What if we all could just agree to take off the non-COVID masks that we wear and just get real with one another? What if we were able to forget about appearances and talk about how we really feel without the socially acceptable pretenses clouding the lens? What if we could at last let our guards down, throw away the labels and stop the exhausting dance of “pretending” that we have gotten so good at? Perhaps we could at last see one another as we really are, see each other’s damaged souls in a new light. Maybe we at last could see beyond the profile pictures and the socially acceptable media posts and admit how starved we all are for actual human interaction.

What if we were able to see all of the invisible scars and bruises and ugliness and simply accept each other? What if we allowed each other to be as open and vulnerable and honest about our emotional trauma as we are when sharing stories of physical illness and diease? What if we removed the shame and the pretend images of perfection and could openly share our flaws and fears? What if we were honest about the fragility of our emotional health, our relationships and our marriages? What if we talked about our disappointments and about our feelings of isolation and loneliness during the holidays? What if we once and for all recognized and addressed our emotional hunger? What if we were truly able to reach out with love and support without judgment or diagnosis?  Perhaps we would realize once and for all how imperfect, vulnerable, insecure and alike we truly are.

This is for those out there who are carrying invisible wounds that you don’t share. This is for those who feel lost and forgotten in this supposedly social, yet isolated, awkward world that we are all navigating. This is for those mourning and grieving losses that no one even knows about. This is for all of us. Until the day comes when it is okay to talk about the scars that no one sees, I want you to know that I see you. I may not know your story, but I know you are hurting and that you desperately want to talk about it. The truth is that although we live in an ultra competitive world, there really is no competition. You are enough! I don’t pretend to have the answers, but I know that you are loved and needed and are simply doing the very best you can on your journey today. I am glad you are here. Please find the courage to reach out for help. I see you, and I pray for you. Some wounds are not visible; not all scars are known, but please know that you are not alone.   

Just. You. Wait. This is the phrase that reverberated in my head when I was pregnant with my first child. I received so much unsolicited advice from well-meaning friends. As if the intense morning sickness wasn’t bad enough, the stories of childbirth, breastfeeding, potty training, two-year old temper tantrums and teenage drama sent me into the bathroom puking and crying.  I have now spent the past 28 years practicing on my own children, making my own mistakes and learning tough lessons along the way. I have yet to tell a new mom to “just wait”, but instead am a bit envious of her exciting journey ahead.

For the record, why do mothers feel the need to make raising children such a competition and make new moms feel so inadequate? Perhaps that is a topic for another day, but thus far, I’ve learned that some of the motherhood phases have been better than I could ever have imagined while some have been inexplicably difficult, even painful. There is no doubt about it. Being in the trenches of raising kids is tough. Among the long list of the do’s, don’ts and “just you waits”, I was never informed about what I’ve found thus far to be the toughest phase of “raising babies”. No one warned me about the hole that would be left in my heart as I faced the empty nest.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t entirely give up on myself just because I had children. I have filled my life with friends, traveling, jobs, hobbies, etc. as much as possible with kids underfoot, but I didn’t understand that the “freedom” I dreamed of on so many chaotic mornings would be so lonely. I used to crave quiet, and now I would give anything to hear those little voices once again. Yes, I even miss the whiny, irritating, complaining tones, because they were reminders of how much I was needed. I have not forgotten about the exhaustion and the worrying and the desperation. I raised four busy, uniquely different children, and I remember  the feeling of being stretched in a hundred directions. But, I propose that it was still somehow easier in those days when I felt needed and vaIidated and was able to calm their fears.

This emptying of my nest began slowly, almost imperceptibly. I didn’t even realize at the time that it was happening because I was so busy making lunches and driving carpool and signing homework papers. The first day of kindergarten swiftly evolved into the middle school “keep mom at arm’s length” stage.  The independence of having a driver’s license, a boyfriend and a job gave way all to soon to the first day of college. Before I realized it, without any warning, I graduated to consultant rather than the choreographer and director. With each subsequent child I believed I could somehow stop time, but it never seemed to work that way.  Each one promised they would stay small, but each one grew up and ventured out of the nest.  My adult children and I have grown to be incredible friends, and I value the time we spend together; but I still will always hold a place in my heart for my “littles”.

I instinctively understood that my life would never again be the same after becoming “mom” to my favorite four people in all the world, but I didn’t comprehend the depth of that change. I was repeatedly told to “enjoy” my children, but in the noise and chaos of it all, I forgot to listen. It was usually at the most stressful times of parenthood that I was told to embrace it, so I begrudged the advice, telling myself that “so and so” had no idea what I was dealing with on a daily basis. I was just surviving-how was I expected to “enjoy” it? I was so busy and involved in the day to day business of life that I didn’t realize that I was indeed enjoying the best years of my life. The constant demands of my children wore me down, but I was not prepared for this lonely emptiness that would consume me once they were grown. I now know why my mother told me that childbirth was the easy part.

That being said, would I do it again? In a heartbeat. If I had it to do over again I would worry less and play more. I would compare less and laugh more. I would hold those babies close and let them snuggle in my bed. I would take them to the park and memorize their giggles and let them play in the rain. I wasted so much precious time, and I would give anything to have it back. I would leave the dishes in the sink and read them one last story and let them wear whatever crazy outfit they wanted to wear on their first day of kindergarten. I would drive them to/from their countless school activities and appreciate the time we had to spend in the car rather than adding the carpool miles in my head. It is easy to say now, but the truth remains that I would listen more intently to what they were trying to tell me, spoken or unspoken.

Like every other mom phase, I am stumbling quite awkwardly through this mom transition. I’m not sure why I am sad that they in fact grew up to be self-sufficient, hardworking, capable adults who are moving on with their lives and now raising their own babies. Wasn’t that the goal? I guess that means I must have done at least a marginal job at managing the “just you waits”, but I do ache for the times when I was able to kiss away their fears and skinned knees with band-aids and ice cream cones. I still lose sleep, worry and pray like I have from day one, but the decisions are no longer mine to make.

I once again find myself stumbling ungracefully along this motherhood journey, attempting to learn this fine art of letting go. Just in time, as if on cue, my granddaughter just ran into me with a big smile on her face, reaching out to me with a book in her hands. As she climbs up in my lap for a bedtime story, I realize that perhaps it is true that a mother’s job is never done. Perhaps I don’t have to let go quite yet. Perhaps the best is yet to come.

The little girl brushed the bangs out of her eyes as she hunched over the small, wooden desk. “Red or yellow?” she wondered aloud as she reached for the crayon box and then painstakingly sketched the words on the carefully folded construction paper. She thought she knew what those words meant as she proudly carried the card home just in time for Mother’s Day. It is all so simply expressed in three little words: “I Love You”.

Her childhood world was filled with some sadness but also with fairy tale stories of paper dolls and princesses being rescued by valiant princes named “Charming,” with Ken and Barbie living happily in their dream house, with hopes that the stories she created would come true. Teenage years introduced first crushes and first kisses and a myriad of “chick flicks” watched with friends on Friday nights. One movie which the teenage girls watched over and over was an old romantic film titled “Love Story”. The girls dreamily watched as the main character explained that “Love means never having to say you’re sorry.” What was a girl to do but wait quietly for her own knight in shining armor to ride in on a white horse and whisk her away? High school is supposed to be all about romance and junior prom, but it turned out to be a bit more complicated for her. It is so simple when portrayed on a television screen. It might be wonderful for the rest of the world, but it wasn’t going to happen for her. She thought she knew, but real life had temporarily discolored the pictures in her head.

The pigtails had long ago given way to the “big hair” style of the 1980’s. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and sprayed more hairspray onto the already-stiff bangs,He had held her hand. He had kissed her. He had brought her flowers. He said and did all the right things. They spent every possible moment together, and she glowed with infatuation. He was perfect for her, and she caught a glimpse of hope. Could it be true? Could this be real? She wondered if she knew.

Standing on the tallest hill on campus, looking down on the city lights he put his arms around her and whispered, “I love you”.  She had barely had time to respond when he added, “will you marry me?  It was a simple question that required a one-word answer. But this was the question that she didn’t think she would ever hear. It took her completely by surprise and left her speechless.  Moments later, after coming back to her senses and replying in the affirmative, she excitedly dialed the telephone to share her good news with her parents. All grown up and so much more mature since high school, she certainly understood “love” now.  The groom was perfect, the wedding was perfect, and life was going to be perfect. She just knew it.

“Please do something!” she cried, squeezing her husband’s hand a bit tighter, “It hurts!”  With tears in his eyes, this young man glanced at the beeping monitor, swept the hair off of her sweaty face and reassured her. “This contraction is almost over. You can do this.” The memory of the pain dissipated as the tiny infant was placed on her abdomen. Mother focused on her tiny daughter’s eyes, and she would never again be the same. “So, this is what it means to love someone”, the new mother pondered as she cuddled with her miraculous child. Now she undoubtedly knew.  Mother love meant loving someone more than herself.  Despite physical and emotional pain, mother love cannot be broken. She thought she knew all there was to know as this new love transformed her.

Providence handed three more babies into the mother’s arms. Each miraculous and beautiful moment of birth was unparalleled with newly awakened feelings of love for a person heretofore not known. “Now I remember you,” the woman mumbled as she held each infant in her arms, vowing to never let them go. No matter how long or noisy the days were or how fiercely her babies fought it, the world was at peace for a few moments every day as the mother watched her babies sleep.  Love was exhausting, yet tender in those days. It was hard work to be a mother, but at least she knew that now.

Time marched quickly, and the first day of kindergarten started not a day too soon for each child, but much too soon for the mother. As each excited child grabbed their new backpack and ran enthusiastically for the playground, the young mother walked down the front steps, trying to hide the tears. Love now included learning to let go just a bit by trusting a child with classmates and teachers, desperately wanting to protect her babies from the painful realities of life but instinctively knowing that wasn’t possible.

Life settled into a routine of packing lunches, driving carpool and attending parent-teacher conferences. The act of getting all four kids out the door on time to catch the school bus seemed an impossible feat most days. Some days love meant having to say “No!” and stick with it when making hard decisions. It meant being unpopular, being avoided in public places on occasion and waiting up late for kids to come home. During this phase of life, just when she was wasn’t feeling quite so young or energetic, but certain she knew a bit of what the future would hold, her world was shattered with one phone call.

A few days later she watched as her children carefully placed their homemade cards into Grandma Pink’s casket. Her own feelings remained unwritten and unspoken because she didn’t know what to say. Somehow those three little words weren’t quite enough. How does a heartsick daughter express her emotions to a mother without a proper good-bye?  Now, at last, perhaps she knew. Love, sooner or later, includes tears and an obituary.  Love means clinging desperately to memories when that is all that is left.

“Do you have everything you need?” she asked her son as they packed the car on the morning of his wedding. Memories of her only son’s childhood flooded her mind and a lump caught in her throat. “I love you,” the mom repeated underneath invisible tears as the groom came down the hall to take his new wife’s hand. She knew somehow, instinctively, that it would never again be the same between them. It was as it should be. This is the woman she prayed her son would someday find, but she couldn’t help but feel as if she had lost something. Once again, she found herself reliving past adventures. Maybe now she knew. Love includes letting children grow up and move forward with their own lives. It means letting go even when every maternal instinct tells you to hold on tighter. It means realizing that childhood memories stay young much longer than children.

The hours of waiting seemed endless as she paced up and down the hall of the OB wing of the hospital waiting for the impending arrival. She wanted desperately to be able to take away her daughter’s pain as she sat next to her trying to distract her in between the painful contractions. It seemed this new little one was in no hurry to make her entrance. The tension in the room was nearly visible as the sudden decision was made to proceed with an emergency C-Section. The concerned, sleep-deprived, helpless mother crumbled on the couch in tears as she watched her daughter being wheeled away into the operating room. She felt paralyzed with the fear of a mother bear protecting her young cub. Moments later the nurse walked back into the room, carrying a tightly wrapped bundle of pure joy. The new grandmother cradled that tiny new soul in her arms and felt a connection she would later be unable to articulate. Just as Dr. Seuss described, her grandma heart grew three sizes that day. That very moment she first saw that little girl’s beautiful face, she thought she knew: Grandma love is perhaps the most fun love of all.

The nest that was so lovingly prepared and nurtured is now nearly empty, and the newlyweds of long ago are alone, sitting hand in hand in a quiet house. She once again finds herself trying to define what love really means. Her innocent ideas of being carried away by her “true love” have changed over the years. Marriage love certainly isn’t perfect, and she realized somewhere along the way that it is not all about flowers or romantic evenings. It’s about adjusting to change, making transitions and working through the seemingly impossible with God’s help. It is about friendship, inside jokes, tears, smiles and late-night phone calls.  Love is everchanging and evolving. It is remembering and savoring the good times. It is learning from the hard times. It is moving forward even when it is terrifying to take that next step. Contrary to the famous line of the movie, a real-life love story definitely means saying “I’m sorry” over and over again. Love is having someone to share the journey with every day, whether or not the path is smooth or rocky. It is buying two tubes of toothpaste rather than worrying about how he squeezes the tube.

Love isn’t expensive, but it can be costly. Love is soul stretching, overwhelming vulnerability. It is watching proudly as your son plays football, outwardly cheering and inwardly cringing with every snap of the ball.  Love is cheering for your daughter when she beats her best time at the swim meet and later hugging her through tears when she has to let go of her dreams because of injury. It is pacing in a waiting room after surgery trying to remain calm when fears are raging. It is watching and praying and hoping all will turn out of the best for those who we have tried to shelter and protect. Love is watching a youngest child experience life, trying to savor each step, all the while recognizing over and over again the many “last time” moments. It is giving birth on your 30^th birthday and celebrating year after year with a beloved daughter. It is watching a son tenderly cradle his newborn baby boy, a grandson who will carry the family name. It is watching a daughter patiently read her favorite childhood stories to her own little girl. It is messy and complicated but so worth it.

Love is watching people hurt and feeling desperate, yet helpless to take away pain. Love is saying good-bye to past hurts and choosing to see the best in a spouse. Love isn’t always being together but making the most of the moments you are together. Love is about enjoying commitment and companionship in dark, lonely times. It is about hope and healing and sometimes feeling like your heart is being ripped out. It is accepting what life gives you even when you don’t like it. It is about paying bills, doing housework, facing broken dreams and replacing them with new dreams. It is about change and opportunity and reinvention.

It turns out that this mysterious phenomenon called love is a bit more complex than the little girl in pigtails ever imagined.  Love is not a fairy tale. She has never been whisked off into the sunset on any white horses, but her life has been a magical adventure. She thought she knew all there was to know about love, and perhaps someday she will.

It is always the same conversation. The questions begin with “where are you from?” and quickly gravitate to “what do you do?” which of course means “where do you work?”-“how much money do you make?”-“how important are you?”.  My husband hates these questions too, but at least he has a response. His career in law enforcement comes with an impressive list of “who’s who” dignitaries and many colorful tales of his time driving on the road as an officer, working in intelligence, attending the FBI academy and overseeing the 2002 Olympic Games. I am proud of all he has done and appreciate all of his hard work, but as everyone at the table swaps stories, I begin to seek for my own validation.

What have I done in the half century I’ve been here? Well, it has turned out much differently than I had planned. I am not athletic or musical by nature. I never finished that college degree and never wrote that book I wanted to write. While I have worked at various jobs as needed to supplement income over the years, I never had that prestigious career I had once imagined. It isn’t that I don’t have anything to offer or that I’m not ambitious. It is just that I found something much better than I ever expected.

It seems commonplace to most: it happens every day. This thing I did really is quite
miraculous however. I (with a little help from my husband) gave life to four beautiful souls who grew up to be remarkable, amazing human beings. My body nourished those babies inside of my abdomen for a few months, and then my heart nurtured them for a lifetime.

During those first months of morning sickness, fatigue and stretched muscles, I literally breathed, ate and slept for new life. Even my overly emotional heart beat for someone else. I eventually had to share these babies with the rest of the world, but I had nine months to spend alone with each one. I listened as their tiny hearts beat in perfect rhythm and eagerly watched shadows move on a cloudy ultrasound screen. I laughed as I felt them move and stretch, and I took a few good kicks in the stomach now and then. Neither of us was very comfortable, but I (mostly) enjoyed the time I got to spend getting to know each child. Long before I saw each tiny face, I loved and cherished these babies.

I have now spent a lifetime watching each child grow physically, emotionally and spiritually as each individual personality evolved right before my eyes. I have laughed, cried, cheered, worried, listened, hugged, celebrated, lectured, apologized, prayed, refereed, complained, coached, cleaned, budgeted, planned, hoped, chauffeured and thrown more than a few temper tantrums along the way.

Through it all these four children have permanently grown to be a part of me, like the four chambers of my heart. Each has a unique disposition and a purpose and was so wanted, valued and needed. I may have provided a warm place for their bodies to grow and develop, but in turn they made my own life worth living. I may have kissed their skinned knees away with designer band-aids, but they have healed my broken soul in ways they will never understand.

In a word? I was and am tired. In those early days of exhausting diaper changes, upset tummies and bleary-eyed nighttime feedings, I often stayed up a bit later than necessary, long after they were asleep, holding them close, just to capture a few more moments. Then I soon found myself staying up later at night than is reasonable, often pacing anxiously for a teenager’s safe return. I not only needed to know they were home but also wanted to spend a few minutes catching up on the details of their lives. More than one night has been spent tossing and turning as I worried and stewed about friends, school, social media, driving and everything else I saw on the news.

There isn’t exactly a retirement account waiting for me to compensate for the lost sleep, but I have in fact been paid A LOT. There are the stereotypical memories of newborn babies, first steps, first words and first dates, but there is so much more.

I enjoyed a little girl’s dance recital one day and then went shopping for her wedding dress the next. I listened to my perfectionist daughter practice and then perform beautiful piano pieces. I sat in awe as she played tennis, participated in the school play and sang the national anthem at the high school stadium during her senior year. I watched a child struggle to learn to write her name and later helped her prepare her high school valedictorian speech. I met her for lunch more than once to talk about life, boys and college. We toured San Francisco and later Ecuador together. And then in the course of one week, this beautiful bride received her college diploma and a husband.

I cheered as I saw #65 run out on the field and sat through a few miserably cold football games. I sat next to my one and only son as he proudly carved a pinewood derby car and once again as he drove his first pickup truck. Right before my eyes, my Cub Scout evolved into my Eagle Scout. I walked miles with my toddler in the stroller, stopping to look at every piece of equipment along the way.  A short time later I watched with tears in my eyes as that little boy graduated from college at the top of his class and began working as a mechanic for John Deere. I am the mother of a Skills USA collegiate winner and a FFA national competitor. To this boy’s chagrin, I may have shed a tear or two on his wedding day (and not just because of the typo I made on his wedding invitations).

I unexpectedly gave birth to a picture perfect baby on my 30th birthday, and we have celebrated together ever since. I watched this precocious little girl make new friends every time we went to play at the park. I smiled as she climbed trees and collected rocks and bathed the neighbor’s goldfish.  I cheered enthusiastically for my daughter as she dove off the block at countless swim meets while I nervously watched the time clock and calculated splits. I jumped out of my seat in excitement every single time #9 scored a goal at a water polo game. I shopped for goggles and speed suits and prom dresses. Then, all too soon, those adorable baby pictures have been replaced by those cap and gown high school graduation photos.

I watched our youngest, our little mother, lovingly cuddle her many babies and teach pre-school to her classroom of assorted stuffed animal students. I drove her to early morning practices and sat on the edge of my seat when she competed in the state archery competition. I applauded as my baby sang a beautiful Taylor Swift solo at the choir concert. I have been served many delicious cupcakes by our resident baker and celebrate with her every time she brings home another ” A” on her report card. I have reassured this child every single day of her life and then celebrated when she overcame her fears and went zip lining in the Costa Rican jungle. I am holding onto this one for dear life before high school sweeps her away.

My children have taught me many valuable lessons, but mostly I learned to be flexible. I continue to be stretched in ways I didn’t know were physically or emotionally possible. Sometimes I run out of patience, often there isn’t enough money, and no matter how fast I run, there is never enough time. It has been an intense, crazy ride as I have watched kids steal home base and hit grand slam home runs and struggle through after-surgery recovery. I wouldn’t have missed this ride for the world. I have survived Disnleyland, teenage drivers and many ER visits as the kids have suffered through head injuries, stitches, severed thumbs and broken toes. It has been a time of transition for all of us. I have struggled through the tears of little ones cutting teeth, searched (with the tooth fairy) for lost teeth at the playground and may have fainted during wisdom teeth removal at the dentist’s office.

So, finally getting back to answer that question-what do I do? I am a mom-a simple choir, tennis, football, FFA, swim, water polo, softball, junior prom, PTA mom. I bake cookies and chaperone field trips. I plan birthday parties, raise turkeys and fold many loads of laundry. I nervously grip the door in the passenger seat next to a new driver and provide snacks for the softball team. I help with science projects and memorize spelling lists and fill out college applications. With tears in my eyes I watch little ones get on the school bus for the first time and then with a lump in my throat, watch as they walked to receive their high school diplomas. Through it all I wonder how it went so fast and worry every single day that I am doing it all wrong.

I am not a perfect mom by any stretch of the imagination. There are things I wish I would have done differently, things I wish I wouldn’t have said. Spoiler alert—my kids’ rooms are messy, they don’t always get along and I doubt there has ever been a day when I was caught up on laundry.  I continue to make many mistakes and have shed my share of tears as I slowly let go of the perfect little hands that once so tightly grasped my finger. But I have learned that mistakes are allowed and memories last forever.

When I am called home, it will be a short obituary. I may not have much of a resume to show for my life, but I was and am and always will be a mother. I can exit this world in peace someday because I know that I will be leaving the best part of me behind.  I hope that day doesn’t come too soon, however, as I hear grandkids are wonderful. In the meantime I am so glad to be called “mom” by my favorite people on the planet. Together with my husband and with much help from the God who gave us all life, I became a mother.  In this tiny, seemingly insignificant garden patch I was given to cultivate, I changed the world.

Today marks the completion of the first official month of the school year. What a month it has been!  For the most part the kids are adjusting well. I, on the other hand, am struggling with all the expectations: the schools’, the teachers’ the kids’, and my own.  Ordering senior pictures, shopping for the right  clothes and accesories without spending a fortune and attending multiple back-to-school nights left me a bit overwhelmed even before the first bell rang.

I expected some craziness as we made the transition from summer to full fledged school, but this reality has been a bit daunting this go around. I’m not sure what the difference is this year, but I am exhausted. I am trying to be patient, trying to be organized, but I swear if I have to sign one more disclosure statement I am going to  start charging my kids everytime they shove another piece of paper in front of me, asking me for my signature. Do the bus drivers, librarians, and each and every teacher think that parents in fact read those sheets of paper that our kids bring home?  

Also, we’ve been bombarded with new locker combination anxieties, fundraisers, school choir, football games, debate team meet schedules, swim team practices and the purchase of college textbooks. The extra stress level is due in part to the fact that I have two high school students this year. My 5th grader has a netbook computer as well, which sounds like such a good idea until you have recurring internet connection issues and error messages. I am not a tech expert.  Nor am I a music teacher or a p.e. coach.  I am just a mom trying to survive this learning curve called “the school years”.

I feel like I am being slowly turned into jell-o as I try to help one child put together a power point presentation, help another write his first college term paper, and help yet another one study Greek mythology, all in one night.  I am having a hard time keeping up with all of the online systems the teachers are using this year to post assignments and share documents. 

I am very education oriented, and I am supportive of teachers who work so hard with so little reward. I work very hard to help my children be successful in school, but enough already! I swear that I know how to do fractions and basic algebra.  I know how to spell and can write reasonably well.  I graduated from high school over 25 years ago.  I finished college 20 years ago.  Can I please stop being assigned homework?

I

I’m not necessarily someone who would be described as organized:  perhaps scattered would be more accurate.  I am always looking for suggestions on how to manage my family, but I find that the advice of the “experts” on the morning television shows often leave me feeling discouraged.  Is it just me or does anyone else ever wonder how many assistants these people have to help them coordinate their schedules, do their hair and makeup, cook their meals, and tend to their children so they can sit on the television telling me how to find balance?

I am not an expert of anything, and I am not a complainer.  I am a mostly-try-to-stay-at-home mother of four children who have hectic school and work schedules and swim team practices, play rehearsals, and piano lessons to attend.  I work two part-time jobs, keep the books for our home business, volunteer for my church, help my aging parents whenever I can, and occasionally get a few minutes to exercise or clean my house.  My husband works out of town for months at a time, so the bulk of the homework duty, yard work, errand running, housekeeping, and day-to-day peacekeeping fall on my shoulders as well.  In other words, I am busy.

In trying to manage my busyness, I am learning the hard way that life is all about being realistic in our expectations.  The key to being more organized is to recognize and then manage the current motherhood phase we are experiencing.  When my children were small, I found it much easier to create chore charts, meal plans, and study schedules for my family. Life was busy and chaotic then, but it was a different “busy” as I could somewhat control everyone’s schedules. I’ve moved into a different chapter now. While  I have not given up on trying to be more organized and continue to make lots of lists, here are a few things I have learned that help me to be a more effective, not to mention happier, mom.

#1)  Motherhood is not a competition!  It doesn’t matter how clean my neighbor’s house is, how polite her children are or how manicured her fingernails are.  That perfect neighbor feels just as inadequate as I do some mornings.  I am not living her life, and she is not living mine, so I try to ignore the temptation to make comparisons.

#2)   It is okay to be human.  Moms wear a dozen different hats interchangeably.  I remind myself to accept that I am NOT going to accomplish every task for every role I play every day.  At the end of the day as I review my not-completed to-do list, I also make a mental list of everything I did accomplish that day. If no one else noticed, that’s okay.  I can give myself a pat on the back.

#3)    Utilize mini-bursts of  efficiency.  I have learned to take on tasks for brief intervals if I don’t have time to tackle the entire project.  I am amazed at how much housework I can accomplish when I allot myself 30 minutes of  committed cleaning.  Then when I’m done, I’m done. I may not have finished cleaned every closet, but I can take pride in the fact that I got those toilets sparkling clean.  Sometimes, enough is enough.

#4)   Learn to relax.  Sometimes the most resourceful thing moms can do is to just take a 30 minute breather to read a book, watch a mindless television show or go for a quiet walk.  Remember the advice of the flight attendants?  We moms have to “save” ourselves before we can help anyone else with their oxygen masks.

#5)  Don’t forget Serendipity.  Some days it might not appear I got anything done.  But, often those are the days I was truly at my best.  An hour spent listening to a teenager or a lonely friend is more important than dusting or fixing a gourmet dinner.  I  ask myself, “Is this going to matter five years from now,” whenever multiple tasks are screaming for my attention simultaneously.

#6)  Write it down.  The simple act of putting the list on paper (whether it’s the shopping list or packing list or cleaning list) helps me to unclutter my mind and regain focus when I am toiling and spinning.  Having a written list relieves the pressure to remember everything and minimizes the stress level.  Oftentimes it doesn’t look quite so bad on the sheet of paper compared to what I  had visualized inside of my head.

#7)   Adjust those expectations.   Real children leave their shoes and backpacks on the floor and forget their homework. Real moms run out of milk on Monday mornings and have lots of unmatched socks in the laundry room.  Real moms lose their patience and have to apologize. Real moms know it is okay to use paper plates now and then.

#8)  Accept help.  I am independent by nature and want to do it all by myself.  But, the fact remains that I physically can’t be in more than once place at a time. Neighbors are more than willing to give my kids a ride now and then when I’m at work.  My children are usually very willing to help. Teenagers can help the younger ones with homework, fix dinner or do the grocery shopping.  Younger children can sweep floors, set the table, or color handouts for Sunday’s lesson

#9)   Learn to laugh!  Humor is the best tension diffuser I have found.  It works with husbands, teenagers and toddlers.  The most stressful moments make the funniest stories.  When I feel like screaming sometimes I actually remember to grab the camera first.  Stains eventually fade, two-year old haircuts grow back, and yes, someday this will be funny.

#10)  Enjoy the (amazing and yet exhausting) journey.  A few years from now, I know I will look back and will miss this stage.  My house will someday be clean and quiet, and  I will miss the dishes in the sink and the bantering at the kitchen table. I am happier when I don’t take things too seriously and enjoy the fact that I am needed.  It is a good thing to be needed.

As you may have noticed, everything I write about has something to do with my lifelong ambition of raising my four minions, otherwise known as children.  I have been thinking a lot about how quickly time passes (this picture was taken 8 years ago now!) and the different phases of parenthood that we experience.  The pregnancy phase, the new mommy phase, the potty training phase, the elementary school phase, etc.  I have decided that the current phase of motherhood that I am living is called the “transition” phase–that time when parents come to the realization that they are in fact going to have to share their children with the rest of the world.  Of all the advice I received when I first became a parent, no one warned me about this bittersweet phase.  I didn’t know how much pride I would feel as they grew up and became “real people”.  Nor did I understand the sadness that would envelop me during the process.  I am still deep in the trenches of everyday homework, worries and late nights, and I am getting tired after 21 years of being a mom.  But, I also know that I am going to miss this “transition” phase someday (maybe not every single minute), but most of it. I hope that in the end it turns out like the transition stage of labor:  extremely intense and painful, but in the end, worth every contraction.

This is my first attempt at joining the rest of the electronic world by adding my two bits to cyberspace.   My kids think I’m permanently stuck in the 1980’s, so we’ll see if I can prove them wrong.  A little about me:  I enjoy reading, scrapbooking, soaking in hot bubble baths, and taking long walks.  However, I have two main things in life that I’m absolutely crazy about.  First,   I love being a mother, and secondly, I love sharing a little piece of myself through writing.  Hopefully this venture will prove to be a way for me to combine these two passions into something creative.  I suppose this is my way of making a mark in this big world.  I hope you find something to relate to or laugh about as you read about my thoughts, glimpses, and reflections on this strange thing we call life.

Cindy,

Merry Christmas, I have just purchased this website for you to start publishing your terrific thoughts.  You are so good at writing it is time that the rest of the world gets the chance to laugh at our crazy lives.

I will show you how to post to your new site when I get home.

Have fun!

Love you,

Mitch