Stages

I have been a momma in stages.

I have been a new momma.
Fresh with sleepless nights & spit-up covered clothing.
Walking around clueless & dazed & overwhelmed with joy & fear, in equal measure.

I have been a toddler momma.
Chasing & chasing & chasing.
Listening to “Watch this!” on repeat.
Trying to break all the falls & clean all the messes & sneak all the snuggles.

I have been an adolescent momma.
Watching toys become a thing of the past & eye contact being replaced by eye rolling.
Painting bedrooms in “grown-up” colors & bagging up outgrown clothing.

I have been a teenage momma.
Noting changes in voices & attitudes & bodies.
Stealing hugs & holding them until they are broken by the other party.
Feeling time nipping at the heels of every moment together.

I have been an adult momma.
Hastily answering all phone calls & holding my breath until I’m assured all is well.
Realizing that the rooms in our home only feel bigger because furniture has been removed & clothes have been removed & people have changed addresses…permanently.

I have been a momma in stages.

I have felt presence as fiercely as absence.
I have known abundant joy & overwhelming grief.
I have held tightly & let go & wiped tears…many of them mine.

I have wanted so badly to be not needed & I have equally loved being needed in abundance.
I have plugged my ears to drown out the chaos & I have turned down every outside noise so as to not miss a single syllable echoing off the walls of our home.

I have loved with my whole heart & loved with holes in my heart.
I have gripped tightly to every moment & I have relaxed my hold with each passing day.

I have been humbled & honored & hurt & held.
I have had moments of the euphoric feeling of success & I have felt the capsizing weight of failure.

I have been a momma in stages.

Sometimes it has been with side-splitting laughter.
Sometimes it has been on the floor, on my face, gasping for breath.

There is no way to prepare.
There are too many variables & too many guidelines & not enough hours in any given day.

Lean in, mommas.

You will be a momma in stages.

Sometimes you will be center stage.
Sometimes you will be backstage.
Sometimes you will be stage “right” and sometimes you will be stage “left out”.

No matter how much you read or prepare or plan or schedule.
You will succeed & you will fail.
You will laugh & you will cry.
You will be on the highest peak & you will sometimes find yourself in the lowest valley.
Sometimes those events will happen on the same calendar day.

You will hold until it hurts & you will hurt letting go.
You will pray you did enough & you will still feel inadequate at the end of most days.

You will inhale comparison & exhale frustration or you will inhale truth & exhale peace.
Some days will be a little of both.

Give grace upon grace upon grace…
To your children & to yourself.

You will be a momma in stages.

And every stage is okay.
Love yourselves, mommas.
Love yourselves well.
Tell yourself truth & reject lies.

You. Are. Enough.
Today, tomorrow & forever.
In every stage
you always have been
always are
& always will be
enough.

Rest in that, mommas.

An open letter to my kids

I knew.

I know, once I’m gone, you’ll always ask yourself.

You’ll wonder tortuously silent in your head and you’ll wonder out loud to people close to your heart.

You’ll search over and over for ways to have been able to tell.

You’ll stay up late into the night asking yourself over and over again.

You will walk through a normal day and then, out of nowhere, you will face-plant into a memory and there it will be again.

So, I want you to know here and now:

I knew.

I knew how much you loved me.

I knew by the way you dialed my number first when you had great news.

I knew by the way you texted me pictures of your food and your outfits and your friends.

I knew by the way you stopped by the house, long after moving away from home, just because you wanted to see everyone. Even after you moved out of town and had to pack a bag and call ahead and stay overnight, I knew.

I knew by your hugs and your smiles and your laughter. I always knew by your laughter.

But, I also knew in so many other ways.

I knew by the way you slammed the door when we argued. That’s how you told me: This matters to me and you matter to me and I want you to know both things.

I knew by the way your tears came when you told me news that you knew would disappoint me. Those tears said so much. They told me that your heart hurt for making my heart hurt.

I knew by the way you vacillated back and forth when it came to choosing whether to vacation with the family that summer or hang out with friends and their families. If it didn’t matter to you, the decision would have been easy.

I knew when you stood face-to face and toe-to-toe with me, just certain you were right and you needed me to see things from your perspective. Even when you were wrong. Or mean. I knew. You wanted me to hear you out and rather than just walk away, you stated your case.

I knew when you planned your wedding and included my thought into those plans.

I knew when you stared down the barrel of a budget and called for input.

I knew when you paid for my meals when we ate out or brought home a special surprise, just because.

I could go on forever and ever listing ways you demonstrated your love for me.

Love is patient.

Love is kind.

Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude.

Love does not demand its own way.

It is not irritable and it keeps no record of wrong.

And sometimes, love is messy.

It is packaged poorly and misjudged and presented in a less than stellar way.

Sometimes it is tears and hard words and slamming doors.

But, I knew.

I always still knew.

And so there is that…

That’s not my job

I have a football player.

He looks the part.

He is a tall, strapping boy-man.

He is comfortable throwing and catching and tackling and blocking.

He has man-sized hands and an appetite to match.

He can grip the ball comfortably and hang on to it for dear life.

But, recently, this thought occurred to me and has been plaguing my mind ever since:

This kid, this boy-man athlete who practices daily, studies the rules, dresses out for every game and runs the plays never even touches the ball in a game.

Like, ever.

Unless he somehow recovers a fumble, his chances are slim to none that he will ever place his fingers on that tough leather in an actual game.

I asked him about this because my mom-heart wondered how how it felt to participate in a game where he had almost zero chance of even grazing his fingers across the most important piece of equipment to the game.

So I asked: How does it feel to practice hard, dress the part, show up at game time, run and sweat and listen and follow the plays and never even touch the ball.

His response was simple.

He said it without fanfare or disappointment or even a hint of frustration.

He said, simply, “That’s not my job.”

His answer took me aback.

I guess deep inside I wanted some righteous indignation to rise up.

I wanted him to WANT to touch the ball…to feel mistreated because he was not getting that chance.

I wanted him to be catching the passes and running the yards and scoring the points.

But, I just kept hearing his words in my head: “That’s not my job.”

Here’s what I need you to know:

Everyone wants to catch the amazing passes.

Everyone wants to run the field with the wind at their back pushing away the obstacles.

Everyone wants to score the points and hear the crowd cheer and be recognized for their accomplishments.

But it’s not everyone’s job to do that. .

Some of us are the blockers.

We are the tacklers.

We are the defenders.

We are the ones taking the hits and keeping the opponents at bay so that the ball can get through and the points can be scored.

That means that sometimes we have to watch the ball go by and trust that our fellow teammates will do their part…Will play their positions.

If everyone tries to catch every pass and run to the end-zone and score every point, what we end up with is a chaotic scene.

We end up with collisions and injuries and fumbles.

Lots of fumbles.

We can learn so much from his simple answer.

Some things, simply, are not our job.

The sooner we recognize that, we find our place. We settle in. We get good at the position in which we have been placed and, as a result, the entire team succeeds.

Whether at our job or in our homes. Whether in our personal lives or our professional lives.

Position is everything.

Find your place.

Learn your role.

Study your part.

Follow your coaches and teachers and bosses and mangers.

And then, watch the winning happen.

And so there is that…

Smile for the Camera

I know it drives you crazy.

Everywhere we go and everything we do, I’m there with my phone snapping pictures.

I’m pretty sure you think I haven’t missed a moment of your lives. It’s all documented.

Every first.

Every try.

Every new thing or new place or new season.

It’s all there.

I’ve taken pictures of places we have been, things we have done, and yes, foods we have shared.

Every photo hasn’t been great.

Some are blurry. Some have our heads cut off or our hair a mess. Some look like they could have been taken by a blind third grader.

Here’s the thing I need you to know:

These pictures aren’t only just for me. They are also for you.

The truth is, I won’t always be here. Someday, who knows when, I’ll be gone and these photos, these poorly-timed, last-minute, stop-right-now-and-smile-for-the-camera memories will be all that’s left. They will be all you have.

My voice will fade.

Foods I’ve cooked for you will become a distant memory.

Our favorite songs to belt out in the car will go out of style and you might not hear them very often.

But, these photos…they will last.

When time has played it’s tricks on us and veered our paths in separate directions, whether while we are both still on this earth, or long after, these pictures will be here to take you back.

So, smile for the camera.

Indulge us.

Our view of the “bigger picture” is staggeringly greater than yours. Time has a way of making our vision clearer and our perception keener.

I am sure I’ll continue to stop you at all the wrong moments:

Mid golf-swing.

Mid-bite.

Mid-dive or mid-walk or mid-drive.

This is what mid-life feels like.

We are living and loving every moment and we are so glad you are on this journey with us.

We want to remember, yes.

But, more importantly, we want YOU to remember.

So, smile for the camera.

You’ll thank us one day.

And so there is that…

We Bought This

We have all seen it by now: Cam Newton of the Carolina Panthers wearing his latest getup.

We have seen the meme war that has ensued, poking fun and drawing analogies to everything from Madea to Mrs. Doubtfire; Mother Goose to Thelma & Louise.

It’s ridiculous, let’s face it. It’s outlandish and silly and over the top and so far away from the “original” Cam drafted by the Panthers in 2011.

Let’s face it, though: This is the product we bought.

We live in a country where teachers have second jobs and professional athletes are idolized.

We have made it acceptable to punish to the fullest extent of the law an average citizen who commits a crime, yet we turn a blind eye and deaf ear to someone famous who “made a mistake”.

We have thrown our money at products and advertisements and events touting the fame of these men for being great at a sport, all while complaining that the Back-To-School list asked for hand sanitizer and tissues for our own children’s classrooms.

We have faithfully dressed out, week after week, supporting our favorite athletes, regardless of their record, reputation, performance or sphere of influence.

Meanwhile, our local recreation departments struggle to pay for uniforms and equipment and playing space for our own kids on our own fields and courts in our own communities.

If we have bought a ticket to an event, a drink or snack at a stadium or arena or simply an item of clothing to wear supporting “our team”, this is the product we have purchased.

We have endorsed it, financed it, popularized it and placed our stamp of approval on it.

It is what we get when we say, “You are worth millions.”

Here’s a thought: How about the next time you consider attending a professional sporting event, you also consider donating to your local recreation department. Or school booster club. Or 4H or food pantry or local library or any number of organizations local to us all that are probably struggling to keep the lights on and the doors open.

I’m not suggesting we don’t attend: I’m suggesting we diversify our investments. I’m asking us to all take a look to the right and left rather than at the television screen and find additional uses for our resources than funding the continued antics of those we have placed on the pedestal of fame and fortune.

What we invest in for the youth of today is what we will harvest in the professionals of tomorrow.

Let’s make sure the message we are sending is clear: We all matter. We are all valued. We are all worth investing in. Character counts.

In the meantime, laugh at the jokes. Attend the events. Wear the gear.

Just don’t forget that every dollar sends a message.

Let’s be sure we are sending the message we intend.

And so there’s that…

Dear momma in the bleachers…

Thank you for cheering for my kid.

Thank you for recognizing that cheering for others in no way takes away from cheering for your own person.

Thank you for grasping that there is enough yelling & whistling & straight up hollering to go around and that we don’t have to be afraid that cheering our guts out for one kid means there is nothing left over for another.

Thank you for not counting plays but rather, making every play feel counted.

Thank you for making sure that sitting near you is a safe place to be…for any momma.

Thank you for making this not about first string or second string or side-liners or bench warmers…but, instead, for making this all about the kids.

Every kid out there deserves to feel like he/she is receiving an ESPY.

Every. Kid.

Thank you for demonstrating sportsmanship by not yelling at the coaches & a sense of “team” by making sure every good performance is recognized…and that every bad performance is still handled with kindness and encouragement.

Thank you for seeing that the big picture is accomplished one ring of the cow bell or blow of the air horn or shake of the homemade maraca at a time….and that every kid deserves to be celebrated.

We are all in this thing together.

I promise to yell as loudly for your kid as I do my own…

and maybe, just maybe, we can finally drown out the loud voices of negativity in the world.

Cheer on, mommas.

…and so there is that

I see you, Momma

I see you momma.

I see you the week before school starts back wondering how it can be that yesterday it was the last day of school & somehow, already, the entire summer has come crashing into right now.

I see you with your unfinished lists of things to do.

I see your vacation memories that didn’t line up with your planned itinerary; with teenagers that refused to have their pictures made with you & toddlers that screamed during every potentially relaxing moment & everything costing more than expected. every. single. thing.

I see you stay-at-home momma. I see your living room scattered with toys & your sink full of dishes & your fridge door full of magnetized summer fun ideas. I see you worried that next week you’ll be standing in the driveway staring at the back end of a school bus, wishing for another day to let your littles sleep late & wear mismatched clothes & walk around with unkempt hair.

I see you paycheck-earning momma. I see you with a time card punched full of work hours & void of free time. I see you longing for missed pool hours & rare snuggle time & bygone opportunities.

I see you making Instagram & Facebook your summer fun gauge; I see you giving a thumbs up and a cute red heart to things you wish you had done; places you wish you had gone.

I hear what you don’t say about what didn’t go as planned; the places you meant to go…you so longed to go…you promised to go.

I get it.

There just was not enough time.

The days were short & the lists were long.

The schedule was tight & the money was tighter.

I know you made the plans & you intended to use the plans & you had a heart full of good intentions that somehow collided headlong into obligations & commitments & responsibilities.

I feel your struggle.

Here’s the thing, sweet momma:

The summer you had was only yours to have.

What your family wanted & needed was, and is, and always will be simple enough: it’s you.

The way you laugh at their jokes & kiss their foreheads & hug their worries away…that is what makes them ready to face next week.

Whether you hugged them on a beach far away or in your kitchen right at home…

Whether you packed up the car & traveled to an exotic destination or you camped out in the back yard…

Whether you had every day free or worked 40 hours a week, no one could, or will ever be, the you that you can be.

It was all good enough & fulfilling enough & life-sustaining enough. Your people will always be your people. They will always need what only you can provide & it will always be enough.

Let go of the expectations you think this world has of you and recognize that no one can contribute what you can. You are uniquely capable of giving love & being loved; of fulfilling others & of being fulfilled.

Your summer was everything it needed to be.

And, if not, there is always next summer.

And so there is that…

Dear kids, I don’t want you to have a better life than I have had

You read that right.

It might shock you. You might need to take a seat and let that sink in.

I know as your parent, I should want better for you.

Always better.

A better childhood.

A better first car.

A better education.

A better job, better technology, better relationships, better finances.

Better things.

Parent are SUPPOSED to want better for their kids.

But, here’s the thing I need you to know:

I don’t want you to have better than I had.

I did not have a great childhood.

I lived a great childhood.

I played outside and made new friends. I learned not to gossip. I opened my horizons by reading. I obeyed my parents…respected the boundaries…accepted correction.

I lived a great childhood.

I did not have a great first car.

I worked for a great first car.

I worked three jobs and saved my money and I signed my name to a loan at the dealership that cost me $153.77 a month for 48 months of my life. I paid my own insurance and put gas in the tank.

I worked for a great first car.

I did not have a better education.

I earned a better education.

I studied hard and earned scholarships. I spent time in the library when my friends were out having fun. I attended class and took notes and prepared for assignments and received a degree.

I earned a better education.

I do not have better jobs, better technology, better relationships and better finances.

I have sacrificed, worked hard, waited patiently and earned them all.

And it’s not up to me to see that you have better than I did.

I don’t want you to simply have anything.

If you want a better childhood than I had, live it.

If you want a better first car than I had, work for it.

If you want a better education than I received, earn it.

If you want a better job, better technology, better relationships and better finances, sacrifice, work hard, wait patiently and earn them.

And if, by chance, you have a better life than I have had, then I will know I have taught you the value of hard work.

And that is always better.

Underneath

I found an old box spring today. It’s been tucked away for awhile now. It served our family well. It has provided support for any number of people in this family. It has been a constant structure through the rough adolescent years and the ever-tiring teens and tweens.

It did not cost a lot. It is very basic. It has not needed any special attention in order for it to do the job it was designed to do.

It has been right there as the seemingly invisible step-sister of the mattress. It is needed, but unseen, overshadowed by the beauty of what is on the surface.

It has been good to this family. It has kept many a person from making their place of rest on the floor. It has struggled under the weight of the heavier years. It has rested during the lighter times.

It has had its cover marred by lack of attention, overuse and sometimes neglect.

It has been shoved away, out of sight, when it was not needed and it seems like it has come to a time when its job might be seemingly done.

It has done what it was designed to do and it has done it well. 

So, today, it was almost handed over to the trash heap; discarded and useless.

It felt like the time for it to be a necessary part of the picture was over. 

And then, right when it seemed its purpose was fulfilled, I remembered what I had saved it for.

I started tearing away at the covering.

It had to be cut and ripped.

It had to be pulled upon and clipped away at.

It required effort and struggle and pressure and intense frustration at times.

But, I knew what was underneath. 

 

Momma friends, this is what I need you to know:

Some of us have been tucked away for awhile now.

We have served our families well. We have provided support for any number of people. We have been a constant structure through the rough adolescent years and the ever-tiring teens and tweens.

We have not cost a lot. We are very basic. We have not needed any special attention in order for us to do the job we were designed to do.

We have been needed, but unseen; overshadowed by the beauty of what has been on the surface.

We have been good to our families. We have kept many a person from making their place of rest on the floor. We have struggled under the weight of our heavier years. We have rested during the lighter times.

We have had our covers marred by lack of attention, overuse and sometimes neglect.

We have been shoved away, out of sight, when we were not needed and it seems like, maybe, it has come to a time when our job might be seemingly done.

We have done what we were designed to do and we have done it well. 

Often we feel like we have been handed over to the trash heap, discarded and useless.

We have felt like the time for us to be a necessary part of the picture is over.

But, hear me out, Mommas.

Your time is not over. Your purpose is not fulfilled. Your number has not been called and your contributions to this world are not over.

You are not washed up, used up, finished up or laid up.

You are not done, over, ended or unnecessary.

It’s right when our purpose seems to have been fulfilled that we find what we have been saved for.

Sometimes, we have to be cut and ripped.

Sometimes, we have to be pulled apart and clipped away.

It will require effort and struggle and pressure and intense frustration at times.

But, what is underneath is beautiful, Mommas.

You are still valuable.

You are still needed.

You are still important and loved and desired and admired.

Walk away from comparison. Do not allow yourself to be intimidated by what possibilities are still out there. Chase all your big dreams and follow your heart and do all the things that have been put on hold while the little people have needed you.

You are more than enough. You have always been, and forever will be, more than enough.

Step into tomorrow boldly and without reservation.

That, my sweet friends, is how you find the beauty that is underneath.

and so there is that…