the phases of motherhood

mother's day was started by a woman who was never a mother.she was a woman who had a vision. celebrating her mother. 

have you ever looked up the definition of mother? go do it. i'll wait. once you get through the more obvious words, you come to this: a woman in authority. and if you keep reading you get to: something that is an extreme example of its kind especially in terms of scale <see the mother of all construction projects>.

so today let's talk about construction. the construction of a mother. or as in my case perhaps the deconstruction as i gingerly negotiate writing censorship <mine> and the request to write less honestly <boys i live with>. i wish i was more like nora ephron whose boys remember her always saying, "everything is copy" meaning anything that happens is fodder to be retold in print. unapologetically. maybe i will someday. but until then, i type ever so gingerly. i tread lightly on the writing.

speaking of treading lightly. nearly 17 years ago, my life took a turn down a path that i don't know if i'll ever clearly understand or fully grasp the rigors it brings (present tense). i've written about it here <see censorship comment>. aired my dirty laundry. expounded on the triumphs and the trials. mostly, i am still that incredulous person wondering when am i going to set sail onto calmer waters in respect to life and specifically mothering. but y'all. it's not happening. and based on the conversations i collect with older mothers, i am beginning to realize that calmer waters are a myth. 

i can only venture to guess that it has something to do with the fact that i am trying my best to wrangle some pretty fierce and often ferocious people who i hope will be fierce and ferocious grown ups someday. in all the best ways of course. ferocious for good and for justice and for mercy. fierce for truth and perseverance and grit and courage. those are my hopes. for these souls that have been set in my life to watch and learn from and enjoy and to try REALLY try to instill with bits and pieces of wisdom. 

but also to be humbled by these boys of mine who remind me that i've worked really hard to make them independent and then they go and be INDEPENDENT! sometimes in good ways. sometimes not. 

the bigger the kid, the bigger their, ahem, let's call them situations.the stakes just get bigger and bolder and grander and potentially more fantastic, right? 

this year, i've been stunned by mine and their situations. i've been bowled over by them and heartbroken and clearly as you can tell by my lack of writing, silenced. all in good ways. mostly. 

That time your son was recognized by the College of American Pathologist and you stood in the wings and watched.

That time you were checking your phone and looked up to see...

That time you heard a voice overhead-and this time is was a real. 

That time your youngest wrote you a note.

That time you watched from your front porch as your boy ran by on his way to his cross country meet. 

That time your kids decided to entertain the neighbors with a little FIRE works show.

That one time the coast was clear so you sat to flip through stacks of magazines. 

EVERYDAY.ALLDAY.

The time your kid asked you to give him some ink. 

He tried. So did she. 

That time a boy wondered what he would look like with bolder eyebrows. 

Middle school p.e. uniforms. Enough.Said.

THOSE MANY HOURS CHEERING IN THIS FIELD. 

That time you sold stuff from a parking lot to raise money for these boys' school. 

That time your boy decided he wanted to try a new hobby. 

Snoop Dog just cause.

so i continue to tread lightly as i wrestle through writing and parenting. and wondering how i can do both with honesty. i would love to hear from you bloggers who have older kids. how do you do it?

but before i go, i leave you with this, one of my favorite photos with one of my favorite reminders...

happy mother's day to all of you cause we all have mothers to thank for our lives. may all of us strive to be the mother of all...you fill in the blank.

and if you have an hour to spare, listen to this podcast. i was the mother's day guest. we chat bono,jeans and b-12 shots just to name a few. 

xo, 
gf

this woman's work

last week i stood on a stage and gave the following talk before a room full of strangers and friends. this is my story. personal and honest. it's not meant to be a rubric or remedy. the topic of the talk was faith and work. this is about my work. 


let me tell you about what happened last week. on thursday my 13 year old jumped the fence after our dog jumped the fence. one made it over, the other did, but sustained a broken arm. the next day whilst i was driving this dear 13 year old to the doctor, i got a call from my oldest's son's school telling me he had fallen and needed medical attention. so my husband took two boys to see the orthopedic surgeon. and you know what? only one ended up needing surgery. that was halloween. a mess. and speaking of a mess.

i am nothing if not a mess. a fully flawed ridiculous unpredictable dormant volcano that could spew volcanic ash in the form of expletives at any moment or sit down cuddle up and read a loving bed time story. in other words, i am a mother. 

and as a mother, it's not like i planned to wake up one day and pull my oldest child out of one of the most desirable suburban schools in one of the best school districts in the area (which i did) only to move him and his brothers to one of the lesser desirable neighborhoods in the inner city (which i did). it's not like i decided that after nearly 10 years of homeschooling, the school the oldest would attend, was the one that just happens to be across the street from where we live and was once considered to be one of the most dangerous schools in america (which i did). that wasn't my plan. but that's what happened. even though i didn't plan it. i am not much of a planner really in fact...

as i was preparing for this talk, i sat in front of a white screen. for a like a long time. trying to think up what i had to share. i had so much swirling in my mind to share. to narrow it down seemed daunting and somewhat impossible, but as i was driving away from my childhood home with my darling 13 year old after tending to my terminally ill mother, i knew. 

i told him to look at the sunset in our rear window. and it came to me. one chapter of my life is setting. the one in which i am a daughter of a mother. 

i find myself in a surreal place right now. sandwiched in between taking care of the one who mothered me and taking care of those whom i mother. 

i remember when i was in college studying the women who were caring for their parents whilst caring for their own children. it seemed like that demographic was older. much older than 43. but here i am. driving in between tending to my dying mother and tending to my lively boys. and it's just well, weird.

i didn't choose to be somebody's daughter, but i chose to be somebody's mother. 

in my talk tonight i want to make two things clear. one, i think we need to change the definition of what, yes i said what, a mother is. i think we can all agree it is more that a woman in care of a child. it's more broad.

and here's why i say that. you see i have been mothered by someone, my friend jacqueline, who is younger than me, and she would love to hear me acknowledge that. and who does not have children of her own yet. being a mother isn't about hierarchy or birth plans. i've been taught about what makes a good mother by women who are without children in their care and may never "have" children. 

i consider a woman who seeks to leave the world better than she found it by remarkably and altruistically looking out for her fellow man and woman, a mother. that's broad i realize, but so is the job of motherhood. broad. not 9-5. there is no retirement package with a gold watch either. are you following me?

and the second thing i want you to know is i didn't become a mother because i didn't have anything better going on. it was not a last resort. it was a first resort. 

i approached motherhood, or rather it approached me long before i had my first child.

like most vocations, it was something i knew from early on, i am talking like 4 years old, that this was what i wanted as a career. to be a career mother. it was what occupied me so it became my occupation if you will. 

my story of motherhood is a little like a drunk fest. sometimes i feel like i woke up with four kids without any recollection of how they arrived (sorry, honey). and i feel hung over. a lot. i sometimes still feel like that 18 year old teenager waiting for the parents to come home. only they never do cause i am the parent. 

i think it is because i felt so much of the weight and joy of mothering even way back when i was working in the nursery at church, babysitting and teaching school. children have always held my gaze and my passion. other's children first, eventually my own. 

i have to say after living almost 16 years with children i feel no better at being a mother no better prepared for what is to come.

as a family, we hike. and motherhood is akin to a hike. adventurous and beautiful, but it can be horrible and daunting. and much like a tricky hike, once you reach what you assume to be the summit, you are shown that this is just a base camp. so you arm yourself with an extra tank of oxygen and continue the sojourn. 

when two of my boys decided they wanted to jump off the trail of homeschooling for a more traditional public school experience, i breathed deeply and went with it. and on those trails, one to high school, one to middle school, i saw a lot. much like a naturalist, i captured conversations and samples of family dynamics of their classmates. 

it continues to prove to be one of the most remarkable experiences of my life. being called "mother" by children who have painful relationships with their own mothers. watching my oldest son thrive in a school where he is challenged academically yes, but where he is challenge in even more beautiful and redemptive ways. ways i think he may be completely unaware of. like being a minority, having friends who are in pursuit of academic excellence like he, but who may be of a different race, socio economic background, living in homes with different family dynamics. 

i remember introducing some of his cross country team mates to pumpkin muffins. after they got over the initial shock of eating a food that was orange, but not neon orange, they asked me to bring this homemade goodness to each and every cross country meet.

i remember stifling laughter when another of his classmates asked, "why is there grass on my chicken?" he was referring to the rosemary we had sprinkled on his chicken leg before we set it on the grill. 

motherhood has schooled me. still does everyday. what i have learned is motherhood isn't about shaming-myself or my children. it's about instilling. it's about knowing what you want and knowing how to ask for it from yourself and your children. 

motherhood isn't about protecting as much as it's about equipping. motherhood isn't about always having the right answer. there is courage and wisdom in saying, "i don't know."

being a mother isn't as much about reaping as it is about sowing. it isn't about saving the day as much as it is just showing up.

it's not about hiding behind an embankment that can become our children. it's not about hiding at all. it's about being known. and being known can be terrifying. motherhood is like an excavation-digging to find treasure. to see good.

but here's the thing. some days, like a lot of days my thoughts on becoming a mother are less "hallelujah" and more "shit! what was i thinking?"

there is a tension i straddle between the lord's prayer of "thy kingdom come, thy will be done" and the promise, "it is finished". living in my neighborhood, being in my oldest son's school, i am reminded of how hard life can be and knowing how the story ends helps me metabolize hard stuff. i know that in the end the good guy wins. and that is my comfort as i raise men to leave this crazy world better than they found it. 

and the way i do that is by teaching them to root for the underdog cause guess what we are all the underdog and the one whom my boys and i follow was once an underdog. 

so i scramble around with my brood of boys, seeking justice which means i have to get up off my sofa and go out into the world. i aim to love mercy. so we leave our four walls and go out into the world to kick up some community. and my heart is to walk humbly with our god by stirring the stick in the proverbial camp fire. to light a torch for those who are apt to adopt a stranger as their mother and call her out at tailgating event. or maybe that that just happens to me. and boy and i fortunate to have that happen. i know that. just like i knew nearly 40 years ago that i wanted to be a mother, anybody's mother.

god used motherhood to make me a living witness of his goodness. especially when i find myself caring for a dying mother and boys with broken bones. 

this is my story-

and i'm sticking to it,

xo gf

I know you are, but what am I?

you may be a mother if…

your bookshelf looks like this

your kid sneezes, and your instinct is to give him your sleeve rather than a tissue

you happily eat the leftovers off your child's plate, and call it lunch

you want to throw your child across the room one minute, and hold him close the next

you walk down the diaper aisle at the supermarket just to smell that "baby" smell (or maybe that's just me?)

you find it difficult to part with certain articles of clothing despite the holes that have gathered from 4 boy-wears

you call the dog the child's name, and you call the child the dog's name

you find Legos in your Bible, and you leave them there

you can count the sleepless nights-in years

there are always snacks in your handbag

your handbag looks more like carry on luggage

you leave the house with some ufo (unidentified food object) on your shirt-and you go with it

you have a first aid kit in your car


you bite nibble your child because he is so yummy, and you want to eat him alive because you are so enraged

no matter where you are, you mentally map out the quickest route to the e.r. (maybe that's just me?)

when cereal is served as dinner, no one makes a fuss the crowd goes wild

you can't wait for the kid to go to bed, but once he's tucked in you miss him

your jewelry box looks like this

you spend hours writing your kids' quips on Facebook blogging just so you can prove remember what a great happy mother you are!  

yours truly,

girl friday xo




p.s. and if you aren't a mother, you really should try it out. you just might like it. 

More is More

More paint brushes for art with our darling neighbors.

I adore children. Had I never met, married and mated, there would have been children in my life-that I can promise you. I would have worked in an orphanage. As fortune would have it, I did meet, marry and mate. If I had my way there would be more little people in my household-a lot more. But for today there are 4. 


About a year ago when the littlest was long passed the toddler stage, I looked wistfully to my Mister and said, "I want another." He rolled his eyes and snapped his fingers in front of my face as if to waken me from a dreaming stupor. He could've reminded me that I cried throughout my entire 4th pregnancy because our last was supposed to be our 3rd (surprise!). He could've reminisced of all the nights when sleep alluded us. He could've played back the voice recording of me crying,"Can I please have a flippin' minute to myself, please?!" He could've cited the many times I greeted him at the end of the day by handing him a baby and walking out the door. But he didn't. He very lovingly said, "You know, I think 4 is a lot. How about we really love the ones we have?" O, what a guy. But being the Girl Friday that I am that little nugget of sweetness lasted about as long as a cheap piece of bubble gum. Then I was back to my parlor tricks. "What about foster care?" "What about adoption?" "Wonder if that young girl would want to give me her baby?" I painstakingly explored many ways to have my cake and eat it too-a baby, sooner rather than later. Hey, I am no spring chicken and with 4 C-sections under my belt (literally and figuratively) the idea of a 5th biological baby was not possible. 


And then it came to me-an epiphany if you will. Only having 4 means there is always room at the table for more-like more friends over to play, more food for an extra mouth to feed, more time to encourage the younger women in my life as they stumble through the early stages of motherhood, more energy to invite an extra child to the park, more patience to hold a crying baby in the nursery at church, more seats in the car for a couple extra playmates to take on an adventure, and more love to give back to my own little boys who really do need me-not to mention the Mister. And so I guess I really don't have to stop at 4. The possibilities are endless. There is always room at our table for more. xo

More energy to enjoy.

Walk of Shame

Falling asleep at night has never been difficult for me. I usually collapse into bed with a grateful heart in the throes of pillows and enough blankets to make even the Princess and the Pea claustrophobic. But around 3.30 am I wake with a start. Full of regret. Like that extra glass of wine you poured. Or those words you used. Or that tone you took. Or that look you gave. Or. All of the things you didn't do. You didn't read to the 5 year old. You didn't look in the eyes of the 10 year old. You didn't hear the 12 year old. You hurt the 8 year old. And don't get me started on the Mister. I tell you my night terrors rival those of Freddy Krueger-only worst. Mine are real. It's torture, I tell you. Living with regret, resolving to do better only to wake with the light of day unchanged. You fall back into those familiar patterns. Until you wake at 3.30  and vow to do better. To enjoy deeper. To love with abandon. To serve gratefully.

It's like the thought I once had, "If I wear my workout clothes to bed I will be more motivated to wake early to hit the gym". On those mornings when I sleep in, my spandex  taunts me all day like that infamous "walk of shame" you experienced in college. I say you because I never experienced that in college. High school,  yes. Not college. Lord, have Mercy! That is all I can say…to it all. Lord, have mercy. Thankfully, God is bigger than regret as well as resolve! Mine. and Yours. xo

A letter to myself 20 years ago a.k.a.Your life can change in 5 minutes

Are you siting down? Okay. Here goes. 

Dear Future Girl Friday,

You are going to fall in love and marry someone you went to high school with. No not the football player. The intellectual from a crazy family. Yeah. He'll totally get you.

Your wedding vows will be tested when you come down with cancer. He doesn't mind the scars. You can live without a thyroid.

You will work to put him through Vanderbilt Divinity school.

After a short stint teaching kindergarten, you will take an early retirement where you will go on to give birth to 4 boys. Relax. They come every 2 years.

You will move to the inner city.

You will like it. A lot.

You will homeschool. Four boys.

You will have a love/hate relationship with homeschooling. Mostly love, but hate is definitely there too.

You will allow your oldest child to adopt a rabbit.

Those cute jeans will get too tight to wear. (Remember you were pregnant 4 times).

All that smiling (and sunbathing) will begin to show on your face.

Go with it.

You will encourage your husband to quit his job. That won't go so well.

Your family will take off on a wild, Mid-Atlantic field trip that lasts 3 years and counting.

You will have a love/hate relationship with your new home state. Mostly love, but hate is definitely there too.

A dog will find his way into your home. And you will like it. A lot.

You will wax, you will wane, you will whine. Then...

You will rediscover writing. And you will like it. A lot.

Love,

the Present Girl Friday

I hear voices

Sitting at my feet, asking persistant questions whilst I work

The dog needs a friend

And the opinionated 12 year old weighs in on the chaos

today my 3rd born son said, "i can't hear myself think! you people! geez." the room fell silent. it was hard not to feel a little sorry for the guy. we have a lively household. the dog and rabbit don't help matters.

i have noticed something: having children means having no privacy personal space. zero. zilch. my dresser drawers are hiding places for treasured marbles. my makeup is used to paint clown's faces. the piece of chocolate i was saving is squandered on an undeserving, unappreciative palette. i could go on, but you get the picture. surely you understand. or know someone who does. 

just now one child began speaking to me completely obvious of the computer on my lap. another one found a newfangled contraption in MY desk box tucked away in the basement that he desires to keep (even though he has no idea what it is-it's a staple remover). boys running through the room. shouting to me in the bathroom. interrupting my scolds with their wistful monologues of jet packs and planet ownership. i am a nobody to my offspring. a mother in her own home is …o, what is that phrase? o, yeah! jesus said, "a prophet in his own country has no honor". and he was speaking of himself. the creator of mankind. so who am i? not a paranoid schizophrenic-even though i do constantly hear voices. but those voices are real. they are the voices of my children. 

A fetching friend

C.S. Lewis wrote, "Friendship is unnecessary like philosophy, like art. It has no survival value rather it is one of those things that gives value to survival." When we first moved to this strange land I knew no one. Then I met this girl.

Have you ever heard the saying, "opposites attract?" I have. I believe it. I see it in my own life with my friend Joli. She is kind and soft spoken and gracious and appreciative and wears pink nail polish. I am fickle, loud, opinionated, quite selfish and usually have my nails lacquered in black. She was raised the oldest of 10. I am the youngest of 5. She saved her money at age 12 to buy her own grain mill to make bread for her family. I squandered my quarters at the skating rink. We are a fetching match (She uses words like fetching. Me? Not so much). She was raised in a family that rivals The Little Women of Louisa May Alcott fame. Mine was like something off an episode of Jerry Springer.

For some crazy reason she likes me. If I were her I would stay clear of this sarcastic spend thrift. It's clear to me why she is a necessity to me. She brings a little kindness and civility to my madness. Whenever we spend time together, I leave a bit tempered. That usually lasts about 15 minutes.

Yesterday we had coffee. I had a nonfat, extra hot, double shot mocha to her simple green tea latte. We laughed. We cried. I gave her a bleak forecast to future parenting as mine are much older than her little darlings. She asked thoughtful questions. I reveled in her wholesomeness.

I feel so undeserving of this altruistic girl who clearly is a poor judge of character, bless her heart. But until she figures out better, I am going to enjoy her winsome ways as long as she can handle my wildness. Friendship is essential to survival. As John Donne once wrote, "No man is an island." The same is true for mothers.

THE best for last

I am a mother to 4 boys, 5 if you count the dog. This one is my favorite. He doesn't talk back. He follows me around, sits at my feet, comes when I call and sleeps in a crate. It's a good thing he came last!

Enjoy

When I was pregnant with my first child a friend told me something that changed my life. She said, "Growing up, I always knew my mother enjoyed me." I have savored that word enjoy for going on 13 years now. I have rolled it around in my mouth like a delicious piece of chocolate. At times I have ignored it. On occasion (more times than I wish to admit) I have considered the word with contempt. But for the most part it has become the trajectory of the way I live as a mother.

Deciding to forgo a career away from home in order to raise my children was one that came to me almost like deciding to drive to a familiar place not knowing how I got there. It just happened. The road to motherhood has been full of many twists and turns, peaks and valleys, moments of euphoric delight and instances of fury that rival Joan Crawford and those infamous wire hangers.

I cannot imagine my life without these souls who are my children. Our relationship is tender, but complicated. They were made to be relentless in their needs. I was made to be selfish in mine. And here we are put together to spend our hours, all 24 of them, til they find a path that takes them out my front door, down the lane and into a world that does not include me. So for today, I will muster all my motherly might to Enjoy my beloved boys who I desperately love, but who make me desperately aware of my own depravity.