Brave, Anyway

Tag: momlife

  • Mom Things

    Mom Things

    Of all the things about adulthood that I didn’t expect, susceptibility to Mom Guilt is probably the most surprising to me.

    Healthline defines Mom Guilt as the pervasive feeling of not doing enough as a parent, not doing things right, or making decisions that may “mess up” your kids in the long run.

    Urban Dictionary adds a bit of flavor: Guilt a mother feels anytime she takes time to do something for herself, outside of work, that does not involve her children.

    I am not a person who coexists with regrets. While I certainly have my moments of despair, my natural mindset is how do I deal with now or what is the next best step right now. I guess because I am a project manager at heart. I like maps and outlines and project plans. I like confidence and I like decisiveness. And maybe above all I like clarity, both in how it’s going and where it’s going.

    Parenthood comes with the complete opposite of all those things.

    The opposite of plans and clarity is way, way, way outside my comfort zone. And being way outside my comfort zone on the most important job I have just doesn’t feel good. And so Mom Guilt gets a little traction in my brain and before I know it I’m laying awake at 3 am wondering if the decisions I’ve made will result in humans who are go-getters or who are spoiled or who feel stifled or who are self-aware or who can think for themselves or who are paralyzed when it’s time to make a decision.

    Worse: will my not loving (or understanding even a tiny little bit) the 876th hilarious TikTok they’ve shown me today result in children who don’t want to share things with me?

    Or even worse: will my refusal to cave to a last-minute activity request result in an 18-year-old who tattoos profanity all over her body before she runs off to the Lollapalooza of the 2020s so she can find herself and her soulmate?

    Sometimes it’s very easy to wonder if you’re getting it all wrong, like at 3 am when you’re brain is stuck in panic mode or when your child stands in front of you and says you’re no is ruining EVERYTHING.

    The only thing that really fixes that wondering for a time is the occasional glimpse or insight into what my children think when they are not having “a moment.” Of me, of the world, of people, of God.

    This week I was blessed to find this gem in the bouquet of Mom things Audrey made. It’s a reminder that I have a lot to live up to, and also that maybe I’m doing OK even though I have those moments when I’m sure I’m not.

    Suddenly, everything was right with the world. At least for a few seconds, until she shared that she added the one that says she likes when I cook because that’s what all the other kids were writing about their Moms. She didn’t color that one, like it was lacking truth. Or maybe just lacking flavor, much like some of my cooking. Raising truthtellers is not for the insecure.

  • Counting Every Blessing

    Counting Every Blessing

    Sometimes we don’t know what we don’t know or we don’t know what we’ve been missing, until we experience a thing and realize that’s what we’ve needed.

    For the first time in over a year, I went to church to worship in person this morning. I’ve been watching the service online each week and that’s been a beacon of light and hope amidst all the darkness and chaos. Online church offers many things in-person church doesn’t – you get to choose the time you want to listen, you can sit in your jammies and pause if needed, and you have privacy to have a moment or be moved without anyone noticing. But what it doesn’t offer, and that I’d forgotten and perhaps taken for granted, is things like hugs from people who feel like family, prayer in unison with others, and conversation with people with whom you have the most important thing in common.

    I was nervous about going into a place with so many people, even though I knew we’d all be wearing masks and social distancing. We’re all vaccinated, but still the thought of being physically close to people again seemed strange and a little scary. I resolved to arrive at the last minute, keep my distance, and leave promptly – and I broke every single one of my own rules.

    We arrived early because Audrey and I were excited to go and ready early and trying to decide if it used to take 25 minutes or 35 minutes to get there. We walked into an entry filled with familiar faces, and within two minutes I had hugged someone – not because he hugged me, but because I found myself saying “we’re vaccinated so you’re getting a hug!” And then when the service was over, we stayed around to chat and were among the last to walk out and say our goodbyes on the stairs.

    I didn’t want it to end, I was so happy.

    It was in the middle of the service that I looked at the pew in front of me and noticed the emoji face etched into the wood. Two eyes and a mouth in a straight line. The emoji that’s not happy or sad. The emoji that’s blah. It’s the one called Neutral Face, and it’s how I didn’t know I’ve been feeling because of the absence of worship with people.

    As we sang and talked about counting every blessing, these are the ones that filled my heart and the things I want to remember about this day.

    • When I mentioned the possibility of going to church to Audrey, I thought she would be hesitant because it’s different than what she was used to. But without any hesitation she eagerly asked “Will Mrs. Reesee be there?” I’m thankful for every Sunday School teacher I and my girls have ever had – from Mrs. Nunn and Momma Gloria in my day to Mrs. Wendy and Mrs. Edie and Mrs. Reesee of more recent days. I’m sure they’ve all had moments where they wondered if any of the kids around them were listening, but the impact they have on lives is so great and just beyond measure.
    • I sat next to my Mom and together we prayed The Lord’s Prayer.
    • Pre-COVID I attended the service that had the progressive people – the one with the band instead of a choir. Right now we’re hosting just one service in person, so that service has a mixture of music types to have a little something for everyone. I had forgotten in my years of always singing along with a band what it’s like to hear voices of all different ages and strengths sing together – from the traditional hymn to the modern song, it was just beautiful to hear the voices of the young and the old and everyone in the middle all mixed up together.
    • Audrey wore wedges today – her first “big girl” shoes. Her triumphant and naughty smile when she raised up on tip toes as my Mom leaned down and said “you are not allowed to get taller than me!” was the absolute best.
    • And finally, I want this visual reminder to stick with me. The further I get from spending time with God in the company of His people, the more my face goes from happy to neutral.
  • What just happened, and what did we learn?

    What just happened, and what did we learn?

    It’s an absolutely gorgeous day, sitting in the 72 degree sunshine listening to Duran Duran while my Mom gets her second dose of the vaccine.

    Tomorrow is the anniversary of my last “normal” day – the girls went to school, I spent the morning in the office, then had lunch with friends on a similarly warm and sunny day. It was Friday the 13th, and we thought COVID must be this thing that caused drastic intestinal issues because that seemed like the only logical reason people would be buying crazy amounts of toilet paper. The prospect of being home for a couple of weeks seemed nice, and yet there was an undertone of apprehension. More than anything I guess I felt Michael Scott-ish: I’m not superstitious, but I am a little stitious.

    A whole year of quarantine…

    What a terrible time for USPS to not be at the top of its game. We needed mail and packages, not just for meds and necessities but for breaking up the monotony of our days.

    Sometimes I was so excited to get an Amazon box that I ripped it open without scissors or a knife. This almost always resulted in a giant and deep cardboard papercut, and after a whole year I still have not yet learned to control myself.

    All things related to food are different than a year ago. Grocery shopping online became a pain in the rear and a giant blessing. Worst. UIs. Ever. It’s great to not risk getting COVID just because we’d like cheese and Raisinets, but the likelihood of getting all of what you want into an online cart in less than an hour and without having to start over is almost zero – and suddenly my swear jar has the potential to make more than my 401K. It’s no surprise that DoorDash revenue increased 267 percent in the last 12 months.

    Masks seem like they might be here to stay and they aren’t all bad. They delay recognition of, if not entirely hide, our runny noses. They hide the WTH facial expressions we’re not always good at keeping under control. And they keep our faces warm in winter.

    I used to always complain my office was cold. But now that I work from home I still think my office is cold. While there’s a possibility the issue is decreased circulation due to aging, I am leaning toward two broken thermostats. I also used to complain about having to wait the 1.5 minutes it took for the office Keurig to heat water and produce a cup of contentment – but that 1.5 minutes is even longer now that no one is standing around with me questioning my hair color and shoe choices.

    I have had so much more time this year to read and watch. I had forgotten how much I like documentaries in particular. In terms of fluff, I will watch half of one episode of a show (Cobra Kai), or every single episode without sleeping until I have consumed the whole series (You and Virgin River). There is no middle of the road.

    I also had time to just live with my girls. To pay attention because we weren’t rushing in the mornings or evenings. I love love love to listen to my daughters sing in the shower. We have laughed at and shared thousands of TikToks and youtube videos. I’ve seen every guinea pig photo on Instagram. I’ve listened to and read the lyrics of the songs on Ella’s worship playlist in Apple Music, and I found so many things that really moved me.

    I know lots of moms miss the baby phases but I am enjoying talking to and meeting the kids with whom they choose to be friends, answering the questions they ask and that they don’t think to ask about history and current events, and seeing what interests them when someone doesn’t place in front of them what to read or watch or give attention to.

    We’ve taken a ridiculous number of pictures this year. I regularly pick up a device and find that the girls have filled it with silly-faced photos.

    We’ve also taken a stupid number of selfies, which is fine for kids and teens but such a strange thing for adult people to spend time on. Additionally I am apparently terrible at it because I don’t use filters, don’t want to take 30 and try to figure out which one is best, don’t use an artificial lighting device, and don’t remember to think about the fact that you’ll be able to see my hand taking the picture in the reflection on my sunglasses. Selfies are too much work!

    Of all the “finds” I’ve saved on my phone this year girl, read your bible might be my favorite. I don’t eat kale or lift weights, but this piece reminds me where my soul rests and how to get back to rest when my soul is worked up or weary.

    This year has been so good and yet so hard, sometimes all on the same day. I’ve thought what is even happening right now over and over and over again. I’ve mulled over what we’re supposed to learn from all this and how to live more purposefully. Sometimes I thought I was killing it, and sometimes I thought I was failing at it. Some days I was happy with how I spent my time, and other days I wondered why I didn’t keep up with The Joneses and paint murals or translate an ancient text from Latin to English. Some days I thought I’d figured out my next step and maybe even my path and purpose, and other days I knew that what I’d thought the week before was all wrong.

    Perhaps only one thing was true on both day one and on day 365 of this quarantine year. Again, in the words of Michael Scott: I understand nothing.

  • Winter of our Quarantine

    Winter of our Quarantine

    It’s been the longest winter ever. The winter of our discontent, you might say, even though I don’t have fond memories of that book.

    Months of cold and rainy weather. A crazy election. Half of America acting like we’re not in a pandemic and now half a million people in our country are gone. Steinbeck’s words could not be more appropriate for all we witnessed this winter: I know three things will never be believed – the true, the probable and the logical.

    All that during a time without church, activities, happy hours, travel, or even two-hour staycations to the movie theater. Homegrown terrorists attacking the capitol was almost a fitting wrap up to this year of upheaval and uncertainty.

    And yet our year of quarantine hasn’t been without benefits, learnings and blessings. Time with family – uninterrupted and without the constant hustle from school to work to activities. Time to read, watch, dream, listen, research, and create. Time to discover new music.

    Gratitude by Brandon Lake is my favorite new music discovery.

    Time to assess priorities and wants and needs. Time to set goals. Time to rest. Time to heal. Time to help. Time to talk. And talk and talk and talk…about everything from mean girls to anxiety to TikToks to the guy on New Amsterdam to voter suppression. And time to just think.

    A few months ago, someone I’ve known for a very long time accusingly told me I’ve changed. A couple of other folks had previously said something similar and I dismissed it. But you know what? They’re right. I have changed. And, in fact, I’m glad about it. And I really should have responded by asking them why haven’t you changed? We’re all supposed to be learning and growing and getting wiser all the time. If we don’t learn from our mistakes and our life experiences and what’s happening in the world around us, what are we doing? Who wants to just run around on a hamster wheel to nowhere?

    I am different. Motherhood changed me – I think of everything in my life in relation to the two most important people in it, because every place I go and decision I make impacts them. Responsibility changed me, in my personal life and in my professional life – it’s not my job to bear all burdens but it’s also not right for me to share all burdens. A cancer diagnosis for my child changed me – it made me question my faith but ultimately strengthened my faith, and it also changed how I think about health care. That’s the thing – experiences are supposed to yield learnings and also greater empathy for others. If we’re staying the same our whole lives, we’re doing it wrong. If we don’t care more about people as we age in years and experience, we’re doing it wrong. If we don’t prune areas and people that don’t want to grow and be better and do better, or that want us to stay the same, we’re doing it wrong.

    Perhaps that’s my most significant quarantine realization: I’ve changed, and it’s good. My lesser learnings can be summed up in a couple of bullets.

    • When I cannot wander the aisles of shoe stores and I don’t have anywhere to wear shoes anyway, I will have Amazon deliver slippers of every kind and in every color so that all work from home outfits still have matching footwear.
    • What the world needs when locked up at home is not at all complex: carbs and Bridgerton.

    A year ago in my wildest dreams I did not imagine that I would not hug my Mom and Dad on Christmas Day, that school would be virtual even though I was clear with the universe and God that I did not find that plan acceptable, or that my temporary home office would become my permanent office. I had no idea how much I would miss lunch with my faves and the sounds and hugs of my church’s hallways. I have missed worship, even though I was not generally a loud singer when I did go in person. I went to two funeral services recently and while I was sad about the passing of both women – both lives well-lived and both women walking the streets of heaven now – my eyes filled with tears in each service because I was in a church and singing old hymns with a group of people. There is something really special about voices in unison, in prayer or in song.

    My very smart friend Joy recently reminded me to read from Job, a book I never turn to. And I realized that the lessons of Job are the lessons of quarantine. We are never alone, even in isolation. We won’t always know the why, and we have to be OK with that in order to grow. Bad things don’t just happen to bad people – they also happen to good people. The times when it’s hardest to have faith are the times when we grow and change the most. And as Job trusted God more…he grew and he changed.

  • Lingering Disappointment

    Lingering Disappointment

    You should never ever tell me how you voted. This is the conclusion I’ve come to. In order for us to coexist peacefully or for me to not be disappointed in you, I cannot know that you voted for a candidate who would not support my daughter. I cannot know that you voted against my daughter.

    I logically know that no one voted against Audrey. In fact, I’m one hundred percent positive that she never crossed your mind as you voted. And yet, she’s one of the two most important people in my life, so I cannot do anything – especially vote – without her at the forefront of my mind.

    As a cancer survivor, it’s incredibly important that Audrey always have health care. I’m a believer that health care is important and necessary for all people, but it’s truly critical that those among us who have battled or who are battling serious diseases or conditions receive care from childhood into adulthood. That means the parents of the most vulnerable need access to affordable health care and coverage, and that those kids who are the most vulnerable have access to affordable care and coverage as they move into adulthood.

    Maybe Audrey will be waiting tables when she’s 26, trying to finish grad school or medical school or law school. Maybe she’ll be an artist or a missionary or fixing cars. Whatever she wants to do, whatever she’s called to do, she will need access to health care. Which means she likely needs to be a cube dweller (and maybe not focusing on her calling), working in a job that doesn’t need advanced education, or she needs some form of the ACA to be in place.

    I want my child to have the same access to health care as anyone else’s child. Not only is she deserving of that as a human being, she fought very hard for life.

    So we can disagree on things like the second amendment, climate change measures, and taxes – but we cannot disagree on health care without me harboring a grudge against you and wondering if you really care about Audrey. Because no matter why you cast a vote for a candidate, I see your vote against Audrey.

    And maybe that’s not fair and maybe it’s mean. But it’s how I feel, and it feels good to give it a voice. I am longing for the day that America is a country where health care is not a partisan issue. Because sometimes I feel like West Virginia in the 1860s.

    How It Started and How It’s Going