Savoring the Beauty of Motherhood
The day before my son’s fourth
birthday, I woke up to a bit of a horror show. It took me a few minutes of
sleuthing to piece together what actually happened because of the many pieces
involved in this particular show of horror. And it might sound like I am making
this story up. Trust me. I wish I was.
So here’s what went down. My son
Carter Henry (yes, the middle name is necessary for this story) woke up quite
early this fateful morning and tiptoed ninja-style into the kitchen. Using his
monkey-like skills, he climbed to the highest pantry shelf and removed a
handful of dishwasher soap tablets from the box tucked way out of sight and
reachability. You know, the kind of tabs with the warning label “lick this and
you will die a slow and painful death”…or something. He climbed all the way back
down, deliberately removed all of the wrappers from the tablets, and then
placed the open tabs in his little brother’s crib. After placing these tabs, he
went back to the kitchen and proceeded to spray down the entire kitchen with nonstick
cooking spray. The greasy finish was the perfect addition to the hot, sticky
summer day. I can just imagine how his wheels spun on this one. As he is
climbing to the super high up point where the tabs were hidden, he passes the
shelf with the cooking spray and thought, “Huh. Wonder how this works?” and
snagged it on the way down.
I woke up as I heard the baby
talking to me, and I went first thing to the baby to get him up, and discovered
the highly poisonous tabs surrounding him. I think God made him especially wise
(because of who he is dealing with as a brother) as baby brother had not
touched a single tab, but instead was staring accusingly at his big brother, as
if beginning a long career in tattle-telling.
Confused and livid all at once, I
asked Carter why on earth he would do this? Why would he give the baby poison?
And his response was, “I wanted to kill
him.” Great. Now I’m raising a murderer. I thought back to the day before when
I did a HUGE demonstration by the dishwasher “DON’T EAT THESE. THEY ARE POISON.
THEY WILL KILL YOU.” in an attempt to capture a teachable moment for my crew about
what not to put in their little mouths. And I realized that this warning only
served to make them extremely curious about all things poisonous and this strange
new word- “kill”.
I think we can safely call this a
teachable moment fail.
Around this point, I went into
the kitchen to throw away the dishwasher tabs, and my feet slipped rather
strangely on my normally dry wood floors. With a mind struggling to comprehend
the horror of it all, as if moving in slow motion I saw the empty can of
cooking spray and the thick layer of grease covering the entire room.
Carter stood in the corner,
looking guilty. With a black, black heart and greasy hands.
Barely holding it together and
feeling the need to NOT LOOK AT HIM not even A LITTLE BIT, I calmly- oh so
calmly- told him to go get dressed. Now. The
discipline and talk through would come later, after my heart calmed down from a
point of anger to a calm but firm “this is not acceptable and you will NEVER DO
THIS AGAIN.” So I told him to go get
dressed while I got my breathing back under control and figured out how most
effectively to address this situation.
He was mad. He didn’t want to get
dressed. So, naturally, he went into the bathroom and threw up. Everywhere. (He
has the gift of throwing up on command.)
At this point the kitchen was
covered in greasy cooking spray, the bathroom was covered in vomit, one son was
trying to off the other, and it was 6:30am.
Did I mention that I was
struggling with a pretty serious case of morning sickness myself? Because
definitely- bring more players into this game!
The last thing on my mind at that
moment was savoring the beauty of motherhood. The. Very. Last. Thing. In fact,
running through my head was a bit of “how
did this become my life and how do I get out of it?”
Now, just to set your mind at
ease, you most likely will not have this same exact story happen to you. All of
our kids are different- some are just naturally more challenging than others.
Carter is my most challenging child. Parented identically to his brother, he
still presents situations to us that his brother would never DREAM of doing.
Depending where you are in your motherhood journey, you might have already
realized that these types of moments will come. These stories will no doubt come
in different shapes and sizes, depending on your child’s temperament and stage
of life, but in every motherhood story there are moments that can only be
described as a “low point” as we face our sinful charges and try to figure out
how to parent through.
The next night, I slept rather
fitfully, keeping my ears wide open for even the slightest stirring of naughty
toddler. What would I find when I exited my bed at the selfish sleep-in hour of
6am?
But it was the oddest thing. All
day long Carter was kind, polite, well-behaved, and overall an extraordinary,
helpful child. It was as if a switch was flipped. And this new behavior continued
as the following months progressed. He was growing up! He was no longer three!
He was four now! He was going to school! He was learning! He was becoming
someone I could rely on and really enjoyed being with instead of someone that I
dreaded interactions with. (mostly because of the cleanup involved). He became
such a joy and my big, big helper with the other children.
Motherhood involves some rather
serious valleys. But- for every valley, it is surrounded on both sides of
peaks- the highs- the mountain tops. And as you stand back and seek a more
comprehensive view, it’s like driving down I-89 during the peak of fall foliage.
The peaks and the valleys blend together to create one breathtaking view
bursting with intense color and beauty.
Do you get this same view when
you are standing in the valleys? No.
Would you get this same view if
no valleys existed- only the highs? No. This is what they call flat ground. Do
the endless miles of Indiana cornfields offer the same amount of enticing
beauty as New England fall foliage?
It’s like going through grueling,
painful labor to get to meet your sweet newborn for the first time. Like floundering
through months and months with a baby who REFUSES to sleep and as you stumble
to their crib for the thousandth time that night, your baby flashes you the
most beautiful, captivating smile ever in the history of the WORLD. Like
enduring a screaming, public two-year-old tantrum to get to the sniffled “I wuv
you, Mommy” and the tight hug. Like watching your child be selfish and unkind-
working and praying and working on this with them until the playdate that you
see them kindly sharing. Like that first day of kindergarten drop off. You’re
so proud! This is your baby all grown up! And then picking them up at the end
of the day, kicking and screaming, carrying their writhing body out to the car
because they simply didn’t want to come home. They want to stay at school
FOREVER.
Peaks and valleys.
So how do we stand back and see
the whole picture? How do we enjoy the beauty when it seems like we are
constantly stuck in those valleys? How can we appreciate our reality when some
days it seems like it’s so completely different from our motherhood hopes and
dreams?
How do we savor the beauty when
we are on our hands and knees cleaning up a bathroom full of vomit, knowing
that we have to go degrease the kitchen next and oh by the way- it’s a LONG way
until bedtime and they are off destroying the living room while we get this
done?
1. Remind yourself that this phase
doesn’t last forever
Fall foliage is a quickly fleeting thing. We get so used to it that it’s
easy to take for granted. Until one day you are driving down the same road, and
it’s all like- um, why are the trees naked? WHERE IS MY AUTUMNAL COLOR?
Soon the naked branches are covered with a luscious, thick layer of snow.
Come spring? That melts too.
But then the naked branches burst into new color. Green, fresh life. Does
this last forever?
Phases in motherhood are the same way. In those hot and sticky summer
days. It’s almost impossible to convince our sweating forehead that in a few
months it will want to be under a wool hat, desperately trying to stave off
frostbite. When we have babies, it’s hard to imagine them as toddlers. And then
school aged kids. And beyond.
But while we are wrapped up in the details of today, tomorrow sneaks up
on us until it’s already the next phase and we aren’t really sure how it got
here.
When Carter was three, I was convinced that I wasn’t going to survive it.
This phase was lasting FOREVER. It was TOO HARD. He’s five now. Heads up- I
survived. The morning sickness from the story? Gone. I have a beautiful 9 month
old daughter now. The kindergartener that I had to drag kicking and screaming
to the car after her first day? She’s a super grown up, confident first grader
now. And the baby who REFUSED to ever sleep? He’s the kindergartener. He
collapses in bed exhausted after a day full of learning.
These phases fly by. What’s the saying? “The years are short, the days
are long?” yup. That.
I really enjoy my Timehop ap. Are you guys using Timehop? Basically it
takes all of my pictures that I post on social media, and it keeps it organized
per day. So if I pull up Timehop today, I see the pictures I posted last year
on this day, two years ago on this day, three years ago on this day, four years
ago, etc etc. It is a very helpful reminder as to how fast my kids- these
seasons of motherhood are changing. How
quickly these little years are fleeing. I had to laugh as on a regular day my
timehop might begin with a post from 8 years ago about how extremely TIRED I
was while finishing grad school. (My definition of “tired” has really been
stretched since those grad school days.) Then no doubt post a couple years
later- something about my first pregnancy. And then the following years after
that just start adding babies. All the up to a year ago today. It’s crazy how
fast the time has gone.
2. Capture the Memories
Sometimes when I am having a particularly rough day, I will dress the
kids in cute clothes and then pose them in one giant heap, and take a ton of
pictures. Out of 1,275 pictures taken, there will be 1 that is halfway passable
with four grins facing my way. At the end of the day after the last baby has
been tucked in bed and the last cheek has been kissed and the last goodnight
song has been sung, I will go back to those pictures and scroll slowly through.
The wriggly tiny bodies that somehow represented all my greatest frustrations
that day suddenly transform into the sweetest, most mellow, glorious little
human beings that are just ridiculously cute in every possible way. I’ll then
go to watch them sleeping, and they look so angelic. So peaceful!
Also sometimes on a rough day, I will take a picture of the
ridiculousness of it all. Three Costco sized boxes of cheerios spilled on the
floor? Take a picture! The house trashed beyond all reason? Click. Your child
literally climbing the walls? Picture! Sometimes sending these pictures to my
husband is the only way my stories are believable at the end of the day.
Oh, and if the house is covered in cheerios and the kids are bouncing off
the walls with no end in sight? It’s a great opportunity to load all the kids
up in the car for a little drive time while playing music and/or an audio
story. Our current favorite is Adventures in Odessey. My 6, 5,and 3 year olds
really get into the stories, the van becomes super quiet, and Dunkin’ Donuts
has coffee drive through. Just sayin’.
All of our motherhood lenses are unique and beautiful in their own way.
Mine tends to include a lot of mess as the curiosity level in my boys tends to
demand that they take things apart to study them. To me this mess represents a
house full of life and energy. That is a beautiful thing.
I have a theory think that taking pictures of our kids can help us step
back and view certain situations more objectively. Rather than holding the hard
times close and internalizing them in a subjective fashion, stepping behind the
lens can help us step away and observe the big picture, as pictures somehow
combine the peaks and valleys all together in one shot and gives us the
opportunity to study it from afar.
So for example, subjective- “I can’t believe this happened to me. Why did
my child poison the baby, grease down the kitchen, and throw up all over the
bathroom? Why is my child so bad? He hates me! This is the worst morning
ever!” And viewing the same situation a
bit more objectively: “This is intense curiousness and athletic prowess at
work. How do I channel this for good? How do I help him learn to navigate his
skills in a positive way? How can I take this energy and curiosity and mold him
into a strong leader someday? A dependable, kind man?
Call
me crazy, but taking pictures helps me view the situation a bit more
objectively.
Now after capturing these moments, you may feel comfortable sharing them
on social media, or you may not. This is an entirely personal decision and
there is no one-size-fits-all answer. I myself tend to share a carefully
selected variety of pictures. Mostly because I don’t have a lot of time to stay
on top of baby books, and this allows me to create a store of memories with
short captions (which then shows up on my Timehop which means that I will be
reminded of that short memory exactly a year from now).
If
you find yourself enjoying capturing these moments, and finding solidarity in
others capturing and posting theirs, let me offer just a gentle reminder to not
participate in the compare game of the motherhood lens. We are all going to
choose different parts of motherhood to stand back and objectively study.
Someone else might be posting a
series of peaks on a day when you feel stuck in a constant valley.
Also, I’m convinced that social media makes us all look like we are much
more together than we actually are. Every time I log onto instagram and search
for new pictures, every pregnant woman I see looks like a model with a pretend
belly strapped on….every house looks like it should be in a Home and Gardens
magazine….every meal looks like it should have its own Pinterest worship
team…and every toddler is dressed to the nines, accessorized with an angelic
smile and doesn’t look at all like they plan to paint their baby sibling in
poop later on that day.
But to be fair, the pictures I share tend to be on the more positive side
as well. The highlight reel of my day. For example:
A few months ago I ran to the grocery store during an
extremely hectic morning in the midst of an extremely hectic week. I was barely
holding it together when I ran into a friend. After our initial “hello”s, she
surprised me by asking, “How, how do you do it all?” She asked, breathlessly
waiting for a wisdomous answer. “Well” I looked at her a bit unbelieving. “It
is 9 am and I am at the grocery store…in something that looks remarkably like
pajamas. My hair hasn’t been brushed for days. My toddler is wearing two
different shoes. And my baby’s sleeper has more than a few smears of avocado
that are hardening into dark green crusties from a hurried breakfast before
school drop off. It occurred to me that she sees my life only through what I
share on facebook and Instagram. The night before I had posted some sort of
adorable picture of my kids smiling, all dressed. With matching shoes. And
spotlessly clean baby collars. Hectic mornings where I don’t have time to brush
my hair don’t make it onto Instagram.
It’s not the whole picture, I promise.
Feel
free to take pictures of your motherhood peaks and valleys and feel free to
enjoy other’s pictures, but always remind yourself that there is more to the
story. And if you feel yourself getting discouraged because of others’ shiny
postings of their motherhood awesomeness? Maybe time for a social media break.
Just a couple days away to focus back in on the beauty in front of you instead
of feeling the need to compare yours to the cleaned up, posted version you see
online. I do this regularly and it really helps to reset.
3. Keep your eye on
Moms with older kids
I absolutely love following moms who have “been there, done that” and are
on to a whole new phase of motherhood that I can’t even wrap my head around
yet. For example- after a somewhat trying day of wrangling 4 small children one
day, I logged onto Instagram to see a mom post about dropping her oldest child
off at college for the first time.
Her motherhood lens captured this tall, lanky boy man- ready to face the
world. His face was etched in optimism and wonderment. He was leaving home and
entering the world as his own person. No parent would be there to tuck him in
at night. No one would hold his hand as he walked toward his first class. No
one would be there to comfort him if he woke up in the middle of the night with
a bad dream. In his lean face framed with floppy brown hair, I immediately saw
both of my sons. And my heart froze at the thought of leaving them alone on a
college campus. To be responsible for their days entirely without my input. To
learn and grow into a life entirely separate from mine. To not be available for
me to just wrap my arms around them at a moment’s notice and breathe in their
boyish scent- half dirt, half mischief.
I tend to sometimes think, “If we can just get to that next phase, it will
be EASIER”, but watching these moms navigate new territory, I observe that
these new phases come with new problems. A new level of motherhood complexity
that makes a house full of squirming babies suddenly seem simple and lovely to
navigate. That provides a unique
privilege to be able to scoop up my crying toddler after he stubs his toe. To
appreciate the ability to place soft kisses on his forehead as he is frustrated
with his homework assignment. To be there. To have him with me for all of the
little and big moments alike. To have years in front of me with teaching
potential. Of memory making. Of living life under the same roof. I have years
ahead of me still to prepare them for the responsibility that college requires.
To send my children out into the world, ready to start making big, scary
decisions all on their own.
After seeing posts like this one,
I do my dirty diaper duty and piles of laundry of today with a new kind of
sweetness. A realization that this won’t be my life forever. And maybe, just maybe
someday I will wish for these days back again- to safely have all of my babies
under one roof with my biggest problem of the day being how to get them to just
LISTEN and pick up their toys the FIRST time I ask.
Following moms with older kids
provides a valuable perspective. Their motherhood lens is one that we can learn
a lot from.
4. Rely on The Lord’s
Strength
When we went in for the 20 week ultrasound for our very first baby, we
stared at that fuzzy ultrasound screen, bright eyed new parents- full of hope,
happiness, and ideas of how parenting should look. We were just supposed to
find out gender, and boy were we excited. But it turns out we found out more
than we bargained for that day.
The “It’s a girl!” was followed up by a somber, “Now I don’t want you to
worry, but it looks like something isn’t quite right” which led to the
ultrasound being switched to the high risk center which led to counseling with
a genetic counselor which led to an amnio which led to the worst phone call of
my life.
“I’m so sorry, but your baby tested positive for Trisomy 21 (Down
syndrome)”
I was halfway through my first pregnancy, and already I was in my first motherhood
valley. I wasn’t even close to being able to see the whole picture. The beauty
that comes with this particular valley. The bursting colors, the unique
viewpoint, the happiness of mothering a child with Down syndrome. At that time
I could only see the dark, cold valley in front of me filled with dirty, gray
rocks that at times seemed to be suffocating me. It was only later that I would
realize what a gift this diagnosis would be to our family. A beautiful,
delicate, unique blessing that today I wouldn’t trade for the world.
But
in that first motherhood valley, I couldn’t see it at all.
One difficult pregnancy later, a horrendous labor, a long NICU stay,
bringing my baby home attached to an oxygen tank and a g-tube, two heart
surgeries later- I learned something very important about being a parent.
Hard times will come our way. Really, really hard times. Parenthood
brings with it a new level of hopelessness and inability to control the life in
front of us. We can’t control our children’s ultimate safety, health, or life.
We can do our best, but so many things are out of our control as parents, it is
rather ridiculous.
And we can’t do this on our own. When your beautiful new baby is in heart
surgery and you are sitting in the waiting room just praying that you will be
able to hold her warm, soft body again, you find that you need someone else to
hold you up. Someone so much stronger than yourself or the hundreds of people
sending encouragement your way. Someone who created this entire situation and
put you into it with the title Mother. Someone who designed this all to happen
this exact way and who willingly provides the strength necessary to get you
through it.
Motherhood has driven me to my knees.
Motherhood has seen me cry out for the life of my child all the while
praising in thankfulness for the opportunity to have at least met her in the
first place.
Motherhood has taken what confidence I had in myself and forced me to
acknowledge that I can’t do it. Not even a little bit.
I’ve heard it flippantly said that “Motherhood is not for the faint of
heart.” And I get the sentiment behind this, but at the same time, I
respectfully disagree. Motherhood absolutely IS for the faint of heart. Because
we all are.
In fact, I would say that our hearts are even worse off than merely
“faint”. I think our hearts could more aptly be described as “broken”.
“Shattered beyond repair”. Our hearts are the Christmas tree ornaments that we
thought we set up out of the toddlers’ reach but then somehow miraculously
pudgy hands grab hold and the delicate glass falls falls falls to the ground
and the singular ornament suddenly becomes shiny confetti. Didn’t happen at
your house? Mine either, of course.
Jesus
was born in that stable those many years ago, and grew perfectly into a man who
died on the cross for our brokenness. The Christmas story was the beginning of
our opportunity to heal. The manger scene is so much more than a pretty
greeting card or a mantle display. The manger scene is part of God’s intricate
plan to offer forgiveness and hope to mankind. The strength that we need as
mothers to carry on in the hard times can be traced all the way back to that
babe in a manger and the incredible plan that was laid in place for our
salvation.
Motherhood
makes me all too aware of my own sinfulness. Of my own need for a Savior. Of my
own need for grace, strength, and wisdom. Motherhood pushes me toward the cross
in a desperate cry for help. Of God sending his own son to take my sins on his
shoulders. Of him living his sinless, perfect life in such a way that he became
the perfect sacrifice for our sins. Of him dying and then rising from the dead
just thee days later. Of his willingness to forgive me of my sins. Of his
promise of life everlasting.
Our calling as mothers is so much more than keeping them fed, clothed,
and alive. I would venture to say that our calling as mothers is to live this
gospel message out to our children. Not just by the words we speak or the
church services we take them to- but rather how we live in front of them. How
we forgive them for their transgressions. How we love them. How we give grace,
kindness, and love to others while they are watching. And how we acknowledge
our own brokenness and need for a Savior and how this same need is mirrored in
their own sinful lives.
I’ve been doing this motherhood thing for seven years now, and I am no
expert. The one thing that I know is that I know nothing at all because as soon
as I figure something out- they change.
But one thing that I can say with certainty. I can love my babies even
when they are doing horrible things like spraying the kitchen down with cooking
spray. My sin was far worse than that. My sin was enough to condemn me for all
eternity, and yet he still loved, forgave me, and gave me new life.
I have forgiven Carter Henry for the day before his fourth birthday.
(Although this doesn’t mean that I won’t still share it at his rehearsal dinner
someday. That girl deserves to know what she’s getting into!) And I never
stopped loving him.
The
way I handle these situations with my children is far more important than
making sure that they never do it again. Handling motherhood “low moments” is
my opportunity to live the gospel out in front of my children.
Motherhood is such a beautiful thing. It is a rare gift. A unique
privilege. Motherhood is something never to be taken for granted.
Certainly it comes with its challenges. With its frustrations. With its
“How did I get here and how do I get out of this?” moments.
But I honestly think that motherhood was designed to draw us closer to
the Lord. To remind us in a very real way how inadequate we are and how much we
need Him. How forgiveness works as it allows us to be on both ends as the
forgiver and the forgivee. How the unconditional love that we have for our
children doesn’t even compare to the unconditional love that He has for us.
5. Enjoy the Bigger Picture
There are moments that I take pictures of my kids and there are moments
that I refuse to reach for the camera. Moments that I soak in and merely be
present for. Moments that I tuck away in my heart, unwilling to share them with
whoever might look at pictures I take.
And so I enjoy my motherhood moments. The sticky ones, the soft warm
ones, the hilarious ones, the messy ones, the ones bursting so full of love
that I feel like my heart might explode.
I will never get today back again. My children will never be this exact
age again. These moments are quickly fleeting, and I want to remember exactly
the beauty in front of me and savor each and every last bit of it.
I regularly remind myself to look at those peaks and valleys all in one.
The exquisite Vermont landscape in front of me. Sweeping gorgeousness in every
season alike. And when those fall leaves are up, I enjoy the color. When deep
blankets of snow coat the rolling hills? I enjoy the sparkling white. When bare
branches grace spring? I enjoy being able to see more of the startling blue
sky. When greenery floods the scene, I soak in the lushness of the green.
Whatever
your motherhood lens may show today, look for the beauty there. Or just laugh
at the ridiculousness of it as you seek to view trying times more objectively.
And then put it in the big picture, next to those truly lovely peaks, and be
grateful for the view.