Brave, Anyway

Tag: parenting

  • 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.

  • 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
  • Blessings in Formica

    Blessings in Formica

    Back in 1946, when my Mom thinks my great Aunt Jean and Uncle Dale got this formica table, I’m certain they never imagined that almost 75 years later their great great niece Audrey (Little Bit) would have this thing called a laptop sitting on it, and would be using it as a desk for virtual school during a pandemic.

    Blessed are those who came before us, who are now in our great cloud of witnesses cheering us on, who prayed and established roots and set examples, and who even bought or built or made things so that their families – and their children and their children and their children – might rely on the strength of what they established.

    And I saw for the first time how, despite the isolation of our own lives, we are always connected to our ancestors; our bodies hold the memories of those who came before us, whether it is the features we inherit or a disposition that is etched into our soul. Alyson Richman

    For the over 50 years that it sat in my great aunt and uncle’s kitchen, this table heard countless prayers and graces.
  • Faith and Trees

    Faith and Trees

    I pray for trees.

    I don’t know if this is a middle-aged crazy lady thing or a just a trust-God-in-all-things thing. Perhaps it’s a bit of both. But yesterday, I found myself praying for my trees.

    Hurricane Isaias seemed like it would be a non-event. Maybe I no longer worry about storms that don’t bring Jim Cantore to town or maybe my threshold for what gets categorized as chaotic and dangerous is greater after the first half of 2020, but I really didn’t think much about this storm. Over the weekend, I did my regular grocery shopping and I didn’t even buy water bottles even when I noticed a few people with carts full of supplies.

    It wasn’t until yesterday afternoon, as I sat in my home office and noticed the wind pick up and the dark clouds roll in, that I started to wonder if maybe I had not prepared as I should. I went outside to pull the basketball hoop down and an angry sky stared down at me.

    Hurricane Isaias clouds on Monday, August 3.

    I checked the forecast and relaxed a bit. Sustained winds in the 50 MPH range, with max occasional winds of 75 MPH, and not too much rain. I have a generator and a pantry full of food, I thought. We’ll be fine.

    But what about my trees? I love the trees in front of my house. They shelter our home, providing shade for us, and they are also the home for a couple of red birds. I lost a giant piece of my favorite tree last fall, so I know they aren’t indestructible. And then my neighbor in the culdesac lost a tree just like one of mine maybe two weeks ago, following a very mild storm. What if my trees couldn’t withstand the coming winds? Maybe I should have had them trimmed back. Maybe I should have at least called the tree guy before storm season.

    I didn’t know what to do and there really wasn’t anything I could do. So I relinquished the worry as I put my hand on each tree and asked God to protect it.

    Audrey caught me and asked what I was doing. Mommy, you’re praying for the trees?! She grinned at me and laughed a little, and I could tell she wasn’t sure what to think of me. But you know what? That’s OK. I decided it was a teaching moment and hoped I wouldn’t regret my words. I love these trees and God knows the desires of my heart, I told her. What’s important to me is important to Him.

    Sometimes we know a storm is coming, and we prepare. Sometimes we have no idea that a storm is coming and we are caught unprepared. Sometimes we know a storm is coming and we fail to prepare.

    I thought about those three categories of storm preparedness throughout the night as I listened to the wind whip around my house. But I did not look out the windows to check on my trees, determined to trust they’d be fine. Hoping that if I had enough faith, they’d be fine.

    This morning, Audrey and I went out for a walk and found that our trees had a few branches that needed tending, but they were standing tall and absolutely fine. Better than fine – they were beautiful, actually, as the bright blue sky showed through their branches.

    The sky through the trees after Isaias, on Tuesday, August 4.

    And I recalled the words of Dharius Morshun Daniels, who I watched preach recently, and I realized there’s a fourth category of storm preparedness: sometimes we have no idea a storm is coming, but we find ourselves prepared. His words came back to me: Just because you’re surprised doesn’t mean you’re not prepared.

    Prayer is part of preparation. Faith is part of preparation.

    3-Minute Video on Facebook: It’s Doubt That’s Illogical

    Dharius Morshun Daniels went on to say When I look at God’s track record in my past, doubting Him in my present is actually illogical. It would seem like faith would be illogical, but when you look at how faithful God has been, it’s actually doubt that is illogical.

    There hasn’t been a time when God has not come through…even with my trees.