Motherhood, or, When Sleep Became a Dream

Maybe I should have expected it. Maybe I just wasn't familiar enough with it to know better.

I knew that when I had a new baby in the house, I wasn't going to be getting a whole lot of sleep. What with diaper changes and feedings every two hours, and a little one uncomfortable because it is in unfamiliar territory, it's just to be expected, right? But after all, it'll get better. They'll start sleeping through the night, and then ... and then ...

Well, ok, maybe I didn't think beyond the "and then."

I used to think my Mother was really odd. Seemed like she'd come home at the end of the day, have dinner, sit down in a chair, and be completely ready to go to bed by about 8 pm. I mean, hey, 8 pm?? What, was she nuts?

More and more I'm discovering that getting my kiddos sleeping through the night does not mean I'm always able to sleep. Seems like there's always something. This one's got a cough. That one's got a tummy ache. The other one wants a drink. Someone is banging the bathroom door in the middle of the night making a mid-night bathroom trip ... which one is it, and do I need to shoo them back to bed in a minute or two because they've fallen asleep on the bathroom floor after they got done? I don't sleep soundly now ... my ears are tuned to unexpected sounds that wake me up abruptly, and then once I finally identify them it takes me a few minutes to go back to sleep.

Anything and everything is a deterrent to Moms sleeping, believe it or not. There are always too many things to do during the day, which means some of it invariably gets pushed back until after the kids go to bed and there a fewer distractions. It also means staying up later than you might prefer. Then, once you actually manage to climb in the bed, you still can't actually go to sleep, because you're rehashing problems of the day and possible solutions for tomorrow. Plan of attack for tomorrow ... cleaning, laundry, homework, peace negotiations, den meetings, grocery shopping, where did I last see things that weren't put away, what am I gonna make for dinner?

Then you fall asleep, but you're not exactly sleeping, since all your dreams are about chasing things or running from things, or trying to find lost things, and never having a minute to sit down. Strangely enough, it sounds a lot like being awake. So am I sleeping or am I not sleeping?

Which means I now have a better understanding of my Mom. By the time dinner is over I'm just ready to go to bed. I don't know that I'll actually be sleeping, but one can always dream.

Raising children and growing a parent

I've always been the quiet type. Mostly introverted, I think I went through most of my high school years with my nose in a book. I've grown and learned a lot in the intervening years, and now I can carry on a conversation with nearly anyone without thinking twice about it. In some ways, though, I am much the same person ... I like doing things I can work on mostly on my own, and helping out in ways that involve little to no fanfare. It's part of the reason I love research, and writing ... because I can do things I enjoy, but I do them mostly on my own. I occasionally teach a children's Bible class at church, but I'm not really comfortable doing it, because I'm not one who likes to be out in front of people ... I'd rather do my helping and encouraging of other people by listening when they need it, or cooking a meal to help out.

So what has this got to do with parenting? Well, a lot, actually.

Yes, I grew and matured in the years after I left school, but in all the ways that really mattered I was mostly the same person I had always been ... until I had children. Suddenly, I was in a world that I had no experience with. I couldn't even fall back on things like baby sitting, since I'd only ever done that job once. Somehow watching an 8-month-old for two or three hours (most of which time he was sleeping) hardly prepared me for keeping track of a family. And then almost nine years ago I brought my first child home from the hospital. Here I was, a mother ... the job I'd always wanted, and yet it was a nerve-wracking crash course in "Ack! What do I do now?" Sometimes it felt more like a demolition derby than a job well done. Sometimes it still does.

I have a one page article from a local magazine hanging on my refrigerator. It's been there for years, and once in a while I try to go back to it to remind myself of what this is all about. It is called "The Butterfly Effect", and the basic crux of the article is learning to change your life from something you don't like to something you do ... one thing at a time. You find some aspect of your life that you are unsatisfied with, and then you go about changing it to what you want it to be ... a little at a time, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly. When you've accomplished that goal, you go on to the next thing, until your life becomes more of what you want it to be.

It's a lesson I'm continually learning as a parent. We learn a lot of things as we are growing up and attending school, but parenting is not one of them. Our children don't come with instruction books, and each child is different, so sometimes what applies to one doesn't apply to another. We can learn from our own parents (if we are fortunate), but those lessons have to be tempered by our own lives, situations, and priorities. We are trying hard to raise our children, but at the same time we are being required to grow as a parent.

Sometimes these lessons come from family, sometimes they come from something we read or hear, sometimes they just come from the experience of day to day life with our own family. I remember thinking several years ago that I felt like all I ever did was spend my days being angry and frustrated and yelling at my kids for their actions. That's not how I wanted to be remembered by my children when they were grown. So, I started an internal campaign to change things. It was a long, hard fight for me, but things have changed a lot. There are still times when I yell at my children, but they are much fewer and farther between now ... because of this, they are happier and so am I. I am much more relaxed as a parent with my third child than I ever was with my first, and I hope that carries over into how I care for all the members of my family now, each and every day.

Because of my family's medical history, I know it is possible that one day, perhaps long before I am ready, I may begin to lose my abilities to remember things, even the people I love most. But whether that happens or whether it doesn't, I am determined that I will grow as a parent ... I will do my best to become that beautiful butterfly my children will remember fondly. And with God's help, while I am growing I will be able to teach my own children these lessons, so that they can form beautiful wings of their own.

Me First!

Being a Mommy teaches you a lot of lessons. Some are practical hands-on lessons, some are gut-wrenching wear-you-out-emotionally lessons, and for me, some are reminders of the spiritual lessons that I already knew, but hadn't thought of in quite that way before.

Being a full-time Mommy doesn't allow a whole lot of time to put oneself first. I try to do things for myself once in a while, but a lot of times I am too busy to worry about things I want or sometimes even need, because I am busy caring for the ones that God has placed in my charge. That includes my husband and my children. I will buy them clothes every time if they are needed before I spend money on clothes for myself. I cater to their interests and their taste buds, and whatever else happens to come along. It doesn't really bother me, because I've learned that I can find great contentment in being able to do for others, especially those that I love. Once in a great while, I decide I want to do something for myself, but the rest of the time I try to do for them, because I love them.

I have three children under the age of nine. And boy children at that. I hear "Me first!" day in and day out ... over, and over, and over again. Well, except when I want to. They struggle for first place in so many things ... who is going to open the door, who is going to get the first plate at dinner time, who is going to play with a favorite toy. Of course, it's NEVER "Me first" when it comes to bath time, or bedtime or any of those kinds of things. They are brothers, and they are in a perpetual state of competition, and probably will be for many years to come. I talk to them of kindness, and respect, and consideration, and other Biblical principles, and I trust that with consistent reminders and a lot of prayer, they will eventually learn that "Me first!" is not necessarily the most important thing there is.

But I got to thinking about the whole "me first" mentality the other day, as I was out with my youngest running errands. A lady in another minivan just about ran me down, trying to get from the right lane (of three) into the left turn lane. Never looked, never signaled, just swerved over and just about took my front bumper and half my engine with her. I hit the brakes and sounded my horn, ("Wow, Mommy ... that was a loud horn!" said my four-year-old.), and I'm not sure she even noticed. She wasn't even on a cell phone. A day or so later someone else was behind me and trying to run me off the road because they were in such a hurry to get to wherever they were going. I shook my head, and got to wondering about adults (well, ok ... they're old enough to drive ... I don't know if they're adults) who've never outgrown the "ME FIRST!" mentality. It's as if they have no concept that the world even exists outside of their immediate proximity.

As that thought rolled around in my head over a couple of days, though, I began thinking about other ways that it can sometimes manifest itself ... mostly in ungodly ways. After all, when God has given us a standard to live by, and we choose not to follow it, isn't that what we are basically doing? Crying "Me first!"? Wanting what WE want above anything else?

"Well, I do what God wants me to do most of the time!" we protest. Which makes me think of James 2:10 ... "For whoever shall keep the whole law, and yet stumble in one point, he is guilty of all." In God's eyes, we are either law keepers or law breakers ... we can't be both. Can we really be the people God wants and expects us to be if we don't learn to step away from "Me first!"? This is the whole reason that we should, like Christ, pray "not my will but Thine be done." It's not always easy, but it is always right.

It's a lesson I knew, but was reminded of yet again by my children, and the people around me who are acting like children. And it's a lesson we could all, from time to time, use help remembering.

Learning about my Father by being a Mother

Yes, I'll admit it, and admit it freely. Some days with my children are extremely wearing. They have days when they do so well, and they have days when it seems like they can't listen, can't obey, can't anything. I suppose that's true of everyone, not just children, but sometimes it leaves me feeling emotionally and physically wiped out. Makes me want to go curl up in the bed and not come out until next week, but that's neither possible nor practical.

So, when that happens, I've learned that it's time to reorganize my thinking. Sometimes it takes me a little bit to remember it, but that's usually when I most need what the country singer used to call an "attitude adjustment". I have to remind myself that raising my children is not primarily about how I feel things are going. It's about me trying and trying and trying again, as many times as it takes, to teach my children the lessons they need to know to grow into the kind of men they should be. No one ever said it would be an easy task. No one ever said it would always be an enjoyable task. But it's the job I chose for myself, and it's my job to do the best I can at it.

Which got me to thinking the other day about a poem that my grandfather Glenn wrote years ago ... when my own father was only about two years old. It was called "Daddy, Fix It!", and spoke of how children look up to their fathers as being able to do it all. There was no problem too big or too small that couldn't be taken to Dad to be fixed. Broken toys or any number of other things ... the children came to him with confidence that "Dad will fix it!" The last verse of this poem, though, shifts gears ever so slightly, and compares a child's confidence in their Father to fix every problem to what our own attitude should be ... in taking our problems to God, with a plea that he help us fix it.

And so when my children can't seem to listen, and keep making the same mistakes again and again, I try to ask myself if God ever feels as impatient with me when I struggle with things in my own life, and keep fighting the same battles over and over? Does he shake his (imagined) head in disbelief at times, wondering if I'll remember to choose the right path, instead of the easy or habitual one? As I have learned, grown and matured, I have worked harder at making the right choices and being the best person I can be. I have faith that he will be compassionate when I come before him in prayer, head hanging, and tell him of some known or perceived wrong, and tell him I'm sorry, because I know he loves me and only wants what is best for me. Can I really expect that my children, in the long run, will be any different? It takes time, and it takes patience, but they learn, grow and mature every day. I am guiding them along the path that I walk, so that we can all reach the same destination.

Taking the time to stop and remember the love of my Father, reminds me to reflect that love to my children, especially on days when they least seem to "deserve" it. Because that is when they need it most. And because being a good Mother is something I am constantly trying to learn from the Father of us all.

Dealing with frustration

When we are first handed our bundle of joy on the day they are born, we naively expect (especially with the first one) just that ... joy. We find ourselves imagining their first word, their first tooth, their first steps, family games, Christmas morning, and so many other things. What we don't always think about ahead of time is the way kids always manage to try our patience as they grow up. Sometimes it's just (what we consider) dumb mistakes. Sometimes it's them doing things that they've repeatedly been told not to do. If Mommyhood is anything, it's a lesson in patience.

It's one of those lessons that I'm still working on, too. I think, or at least I hope, I'm improving. Things that used to just drive me nuts I usually now manage to handle with relative calm, just from being repeatedly required to do it. When I get through a situation without losing patience, I feel a little better, both for my children and for myself. Last night, for instance, it was a six-year old that wanted to see if the milk that was left in his dinner glass would go through the holes in my colander. Science experiment, right? Trouble was, the colander was upside down, clean, on top of a dish drainer full of clean dishes which now had to all be washed again. Oh boy. But I didn't yell at him ... I took a deep breath and reminded myself that he was a kid and was doing what kids do to learn ... experiment. Then I told him to be more careful and to think about what he was doing next time, because now all the dishes had to be washed again ... and besides, he was supposed to be DRINKING his milk, not pouring it down a hole.

I've been working really hard, the last six months or so especially, to do my best to deal with my children calmly. It doesn't always work, but I don't want them to grow up and have most of their memories of their Mom being times she yelled at them. Sometimes, my day just seems to have nothing going right, and I've got three boys constantly saying "Mommy" every 30 seconds, and I have to take a step back and say, "Sweetheart, I'm feeling really frustrated right now, and I don't want to talk or to listen for a few minutes. Can you go play and tell Mommy in a little bit?" Most of the time they say "Okay!", and run off to do something else, and somehow, magically, a small ray of sunshine shows through my cloud of frustration.

That's partly why I'm looking forward to some of the things I am working on for the kids this summer. I've been wanting to do some character lessons with them for a while, to help them to think about and develop things like obedience and thankfulness. Most of the information I'm using to back up the lessons is from the Bible. I found an website that had some good information on it, and I'm filling in around the edges with my own ideas and tweaking it to fit our family. It won't be one of those all-day, every-day things, but rather something that we might spend an hour or so working on in the morning, and then referring back to throughout the day as a reminder. I have really high hopes that it will not only help my children grow and learn, but will help me as well. Because becoming a good Mommy is a learning process that never ends.

Self-Image

If there's one thing I've learned about myself in the last 8-1/2 years, it's that I'm never gonna manage to live up to my own self-image. Maybe that's a good thing, and maybe it's not ... I'm still trying to figure that out. I just know that the picture of who I am in my head doesn't really line up with the lady I see in the mirror anymore.

Don't get me wrong ... I love being a mom (at least most of the time). It's the one job I always wanted, and I'm grateful that I'm getting the chance to fulfill that dream. Somehow, though, there was always a gap, I guess, in my head between actually BEING a mom and LOOKING like a mom. In my head I still see the size 6-8 young lady I was in my teens and twenties. I found a look that worked for me and I loved it. Accenting things like my trim waist and long legs became second nature to me ... in many respects, it was just who I WAS.

Then I was blessed with a wonderful husband and 3 children in 5 years. I jumped into the role of full-time mommy whole-heartedly, and even though I'm still learning how to juggle all the joys and responsibilities, I'm thankful every day for the chance to do it. Being a Mommy has become almost as natural to me as any other part of my normal life.

Once in a while, I pass a mirror, though, and wonder what happened to the person I remember. Now I actually LOOK like a Mommy. I spend most days in jeans and a t-shirt, because it's easy to go from cleaning to cooking to child-care to whatever in it. More often than not, I've got my hair yanked up in a pony-tail or some such thing, because it keeps it out of the way of the chores and little fingers. Where I used to somehow feel undressed without my makeup on, now I'm doing good to "put my face on" on Sunday morning before church. My trim waist isn't any more ... I'm not heavy, but I look like I've had three kids. Most of the time I don't worry about it, until and unless the occasional someone asks me when the next baby is due. Then I start pondering an old-fashioned girdle or something. Or doing something unthinkable, like trying to find extra time for a dreaded "regular exercise routine" beyond the normal stuff I do during the day. (Fortunately, something usually comes up and that thought doesn't last long!) I look in the mirror now, and see my mother ... and though I love her dearly, somehow the thought always startles me as I'm sure it does every generation of women.

When I occasionally get to feeling discouraged about the whole thing, though, a ray of sunshine brightens my day  ... most often in the form of my husband. He is loving and caring and so many of the things I hoped for in a man I would marry. He doesn't care whether I wear makeup ... he says he prefers me without it. He has even been known to tell me he likes to come home and see me all frazzled, because he knows I've been doing all the things that I need and want to do. He tells me I'm beautiful when I feel the most bedraggled, and though I don't always completely believe him, I am glad that he thinks so, because I don't really think of myself in those terms anymore ... I'm too busy being Mommy.

And perhaps the biggest blessing of having a man like this in my life is that his children listen, and they learn. They randomly call me beautiful on days when I don't necessarily feel that way, and I smile at the future, because I know some day those words will probably encourage a Mommy of my grandchildren, and she, as I, will feel blessed.

Old age, digital age, and somewhere in between

I don't know if it's because I'm a Mom, or if it's because I've hit "middle age" or what, but it seems like I've been thinking a lot lately about things that seem to have gotten lost over the years. When I was growing up there were things that we learned and it was just taken for granted that this is the way things should be done. Things like learning to write letters and thank you notes, or calling folks older than yourself "Mr." and "Mrs.", unless you were given permission to call them something else. Things that we thought of as common courtesies, and yet as I ponder them now, I wonder if most kids will ever learn a lot of them. Of course, I know it's my job to teach my kids these things, but for the moment that's not what I'm talking about.

I want my kids to be able to take advantage of all the things that our "digital age" has to offer, but I also want to be sure that they don't get caught up in the mentality that says you have to hurry through your life trying to get to the next milestone. Sometimes as parents we make that mistake, because when our kids come into the world we instantly start looking forward to the day when they will be smiling, sleeping through the night, sitting up, crawling, walking, talking, and everything else we can think of. Our kids pick up on this and start looking forward to the day that they can start school, start hobbies, sleep over with friends, get to the weekend, learn to drive, graduate from high school, get a job, get their own place, and so on. It seems all of us, as a people, are in so much of a hurry to "get there" that we forget to enjoy the journey. And in an age that seems to be determined to make everything quicker and more convenient, it seems to me like it's even more important to teach my kids about how to slow down and be thoughtful, how to make memories and how to share them, and how to be thankful for the experiences of others.

Most of what I have been thinking about in the last few days is the fading art of letter writing. There was a time in this country that letter writing was the only way to keep up with what was happening with friends and family. I didn't live in that time period as much as some older folks I know, but I do remember when getting letters in the mail was more common, and we looked forward to the arrival of the mail carrier. There was nothing quite like the heart-leap you felt when you found an envelope with familiar handwriting in the mailbox, and you went off immediately to find a quiet spot and find out what your loved one had to say. In this day and age, although we can communicate with folks much faster by email, it seems that our incentive to communicate has dwindled.

When my husband and I were first engaged, I made it a point of writing my grandmother every week, keeping her up to date on all the plans and other things that were going on. I did this because I loved her, and because I didn't think she was going to get to come to the wedding. (She did get to come due to the generosity of my uncles, and I was thrilled!) Before my oldest son was born, I often wrote him letters, telling him about the things that I wished for him. As one child and then another came along, I lost the time to sit and write letters as much, but I've been thinking I'd like to get back to doing it. And one of the main group of letters I want to write is to my sons.

It may be, Lord willing, that I will live long enough to teach them all the things I want to teach them and more. Or, with the family history that we have of dementia and Alzheimer's (at least four generations that I'm aware of), it may be that I begin to lose the memories before my kids are old enough to take an interest in them. But I can write them letters about our life together now, or about my life as a child. I can tell them about people that I've known and loved, and places I've seen. I can tell them about my outlook on life, and the things I hold most dear. I can tell them family stories and about the people who came before us. I can tell them so many things that I want them to know, and I want to be sure I have time to tell them these things no matter what life has in store. I want them to be able to sit down and not only read what I have to say, but the way I say them, so they have memories of what their Mom was like long after I am gone.

So I hope you'll excuse me now ... I have letters to write.