frazzled & frumpy

(This was originally written four years ago. Funny how time passes, but the feelings about motherhood stay the same.) This afternoon, Noah begged me to push him on the swing. I dragged myself outside to help him. No underdog, he informed me. I complied .  It only took a couple pushes because (hooray!)he’s learned to pump.  I stepped back and laid on the warm, black surface of the tramp.  The backs of my eyelids blazed red as I soaked up some much needed vitamin D.  I laid there, listening to the creak of the swing, taking deep breaths,  thinking about my day and how much more relaxed I felt than the day before.  I’m not made for being a chauffer.  I counted a total of 7 trips I made on Wednesday. (Almost a half tank of gas! Ga!)  I came home angry and frustrated.   I growled at my kids and was prickly to my husband. Once dinner had been served, I parked my car-seat-shaped-butt on my bed, announcing that I was  not...

  This is a series I will be writing as I try to find a way to get past my self-criticism and love myself 'As I Am'.  I hope you'll join me in the challenge. I don't think I called myself 'fat' in front of my kids. (I don't think.)  I do remember times when one of them would say something about me being fat. My husband would get angry, I would tell  him, "It's ok, they're not being mean, just truthful." I smiled and brushed it off. Inside, it felt like a white-hot dagger. While I may not have called myself fat, I know my attitude and actions said it loud and clear. Not wanting to put on a swimsuit, not doing activities (like volleyball or other sports) because I worried about how I'd look, cringing at myself in the mirror. Yesterday, I read this article, which is a letter from a daughter to her mother. It gripped me and made me cry.  It needs to be read. By mothers, sisters, friends, anyone who is a role model to young girls. I...

"You're so much like your mother." I am often told that. In looks, mannerism, even my laugh.  As a teenager, I didn't see it. Didn't want to. Mom was, well, mom.  I wanted to be me. Wanted to look like myself. I distinctly remember the first time I did see. I'd just gotten a hair cut. Chopped it all off in a fit of anger after a break-up. I sat in my car and glanced in the mirror. My mother's face looked back at me. My mom and me. My mother's face. The first face that welcomed me into the world, and into each new day for years after. Hers was usually the last face I saw before going to bed at night. Hers was the one I missed when I fell off the swing at school, right into a mud puddle that covered my pants. The one I called out for in the night after a bad dream. Her kind eyes were the ones I longed to see when my heart broke for the first time. And the last. Mom with one of my brothers. Marc? My mother has a way of 'lightin...

My parents had 7 children. I'm number two. That means that I've never been the boss (that's Heidi) or the baby. Unless you count the 20 months before Ellen was born. Funny, I don't remember it. Yep, jipped out of that experience. (I have issues.) (Me, Ellen & Heidi) It was a different time and discipline was, of course, very different as well. My mom did have moments of genius, though. One of them was her way to get us to stop fighting. Three little girls, close in age? Oh, yeah, we fought. Slapping, hair-pulling, and, if I was involved- scratching. (What? I had freakishly long nails at a very early age.) After a bought of slapping/pulling/scratching, my mom would separate the melee. Then, she would make us face each other. "Now," she'd say, "if you want to fight, go ahead. Hit each other." Blank stares. "Do it. Hit. Each. Other." At which point the two girls involved would dissolve in tears. "We don't wa...

(This post originally ran a year ago for Mother's Day. Sorry for the re-post. I'm having a bit of writer's block tonight.) Being a mother can seem mundane. The cleaning, the cooking, the chauffeuring, the laundry. Then, you collapse into bed for a few hours of precious slumber before you get up to do it all again. This is mothering- a verb. But, being a mother is more than just the verb form of the word. Mother is also a noun.  I am a Mother. (My niece, Rachel, and her daughter, Rowe.) I believe without any doubt, that I was called to be a mother before I ever  came into existence on this planet. I agreed to this divine role because I understood how god-like it is.  I am sure that I couldn't wait to give life to my spirit brothers and sister.  I am a Mother.  A mother like Eve. I think that all too often, our first mother gets a bad rap.  She is blamed for committing the first sin.  She did not, in my mind, make a mistake. S...

(This was written yesterday. No surprise, I'm a day behind.) This afternoon, Noah begged me to push him on the swing. I dragged myself outside to help him. No underdog, he informed me. I complied .  It only took a couple pushes because (hooray!)he’s learned to pump.  I stepped back and laid on the warm, black surface of the tramp.  The backs of my eyelids blazed red as I soaked up some much needed vitamin D.  I laid there, listening to the creak of the swing, taking deep breaths,  thinking about my day and how much more relaxed I felt than the day before.  I’m not made for being a chauffer.  I counted a total of 7 trips I made on Wednesday. (Almost a half tank of gas! Ga!)  I came home angry and frustrated.   I growled at my kids and was prickly to my husband. Once dinner had been served, I parked my car-seat-shaped-butt on my bed, announcing that I was not moving for the rest of the night.  I didn’t.  When I said my ...

Being a mother can seem mundane. The cleaning, the cooking, the chauffeuring, the laundry. Then, you collapse into bed for a few hours of precious slumber before you get up to do it all again. This is mothering- a verb. But, being a mother is more than just the verb form of the word. Mother is also a noun.  I am a Mother. (My niece, Rachel, and her daughter, Rowe.) I believe without any doubt, that I was called to be a mother before I ever  came into existence on this planet. I agreed to this divine role because I understood how god-like it is.  I am sure that I couldn't wait to give life to my spirit brothers and sister.  I am a Mother.  A mother like Eve. I think that all too often, our first mother gets a bad rap.  She is blamed for committing the first sin.  She did not, in my mind, make a mistake. She made a choice.   Because she understood.  She was the first of us who took a step and did what needed to be done for her family. ...

There are some things that 'I am' that are easy to prove. For example: I am a mother - I have the children, the stretch marks and saggy, uh, skin to prove this one. Whethe or not I'm a good mother, is not so easy. If you listened outside my windows at certain times of the day you might doubt that. I am a young women's leader - the stooped shoulders caused by the big, fat notebook that I carry around every Sunday would prove this one. Along with the e-mails, meetings and the worry lines that I contribute to stressing over these precious girls. I am a stay-at-home mom - not because I stay-at-home that much, but because I can tell you who won the showcase on Price is Right and what my friends posted on Facebook today. I am a friend - how can you prove this one? Well, have your washing machine break down and see how many offers you get to 'come on over'. I had enough that made me feel very friend-ly. My point with this post is that some things 'we are' are...

Hold your breath, Make a wish, Count to three. I loved this movie as a kid, still do. To me, the idea of going into a room where everything is not only edible, but edible candy , was truly paradise. I thought that nothing would make me happier than having all the chocolate I could eat. As a grown-up, I could eat chocolate all day if I wanted. I now know that this would not make me happy. It would, in fact, make me sick. If you'd asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, other than being a chocolate taster, I would've said, "A mom." That's really all I desired. Be carefu l what you wish for. Just kidding. I love my job, really. But, as you know, it's a 24/7 occupation. My children do make me happy. Depending on the day, they also make me frustrated, angry, sad, and just plain tired. (I wonder if I have the same effect on my heavenly Mother? Probably.) I try to be patient and revel in the moments when I can get a break. (One of the reasons I love Young Wom...