Category: Parenting

Report cards came home a few weeks ago. I always look forward to report card time—seeing how my kids are progressing, where they’re excelling, where they’re struggling and so on. Report cards give me a glimpse into what they’re doing for six hours each day when they’re not with me.

Each marking period as I glance over their grades, I am reminded of just how much boys are learning and growing every day. Their little minds are constantly being infused with new and exciting nuggets of information. And it got me to thinking: What about me? What about my report card? What have I learned and how have I grown? What nuggets of information have I gathered in my own adult-sized noggin?

As I sit here just weeks after my 40th birthday, I find myself in a place of reflection. I’m looking back on my life in attempt to generate my own progress report. And in doing so, it occurred to me that so much of what I’ve learned over the course of my adult life has come in the way of motherhood.

I’m not talking about the overt skills I’ve learned like how to change a diaper, how to nurse a sick kid back to health or how to adjust a palate expander. I’m talking about the intangibles—the more profound lessons that motherhood has to offer.

Sometimes we break, but we also heal. Last year, my son broke his thumb—in two spots. And oh how upsetting it was. His hand was purple, swollen and throbbing. He had to wear a splint for a month. He had to sit out of gym class, basketball and TaekwonDo for a month. He couldn’t rough house with his brother or jump off his top bunk for a month. He was an unhappy camper… for a month. But of course his body’s natural healing mechanisms kicked into gear and before he knew it, his thumb was good as new. His bone fused and he was back to living his active life once again.

Isn’t that true of our emotions, too? We sometimes break into what feels like irreparable pieces. But our minds, like our bones, have a wondrous capacity to heal. Life ebbs and flows. Sometimes we’re at the top of our game while other times we’re sniffing rock bottom. But the whole of who we are at our core wants to heal. Our healing powers that reside deep within are always working and fighting to keep us going—be it a broken thumb or a broken spirit. Sometimes we break, but we also heal.

Mess is unavoidable. Roll with it. I hate disorder; it stresses me out. But as a parent of two nutty boys, living in chaos is the norm. On any given day, my home looks like a scene from animal house, my car looks like a locker room and my purse looks like a trash compactor.

After years of fighting the uphill battle—working tirelessly to bring order to the overwhelming disorder—I’ve finally resigned myself to the fact that, as a mother, mess simply surrounds me. Rather than working myself to the bone trying to keep everything in line, I’ve learned to let go and just roll it. So the sink is full of dishes. So what? Is it gonna kill me to let those dishes sit while I play with my kids or watch an episode of Modern Family? Will I just crumble and die if I walk past the overflowing hamper of dirty laundry on my way out to lunch with a friend? Na. I’ve come to accept the fact that there will always be some mess somewhere calling out for my attention. But who cares? Why not enjoy life more and clean less?

Flexibility is essential. I’ve always had somewhat of a rigid personality; when things don’t go as planned, I become uneasy. Uncomfortable. Antsy. Flexibility has never been my strong suit. (Just ask my husband.) But life with kids requires flexibility—no ifs, ands or buts about it. Children are such unpredictable little things; they’ll throw a wrench into the best laid plans. Think of that fever that delayed the much anticipated summer vacation or the temper tantrum that cut the shopping trip short. We had to be flexible in those instances—there was simply no other choice.

Motherhood has trained me to take on a more flexible attitude. I have learned to harness the more adaptive side of myself and look at those unexpected situations with a let’s-make-the-most-of-it perspective rather than a why-oh-why-did-it-have-to-go-this-way? perspective. The end result: a happier, less rigid me.

Let go of control. I am a control freak—which is no doubt largely related to my aforementioned flexibility issues. When my kids were first born, I was in my glory; I had complete control over the little buggers. I was in charge of what they ate, what they watched and who they played with. I controlled their bedtimes, their bath times and their outfits. I, and I alone, was the decision maker of everything having to do with them. Sure my husband was right there beside me, but he knew better than to get in my way.

As my kids have grown, I’ve had to give up so much of the control I enjoyed during their early years. At 9 and 11, my boys have learned to think for themselves. Do I love every single friend they have or article of clothing they don? No, but I do respect their choices. Do I worry about them when they’re not in my care? Sure do! But at the end of the day, I have to let go and, to some degree at least, have faith in the decisions they make. This has been a tough lesson to internalize—but it is one that I now challenge myself to apply to all aspects of my life. I can’t control all that surrounds me—or even most of what surrounds me. I can only control my reactions. Being a mom has helped me to accept this fact.

Accept disappointment as a part of life.  Last week, my son found out he didn’t make the “A” travel baseball team for Spring. It was a massive disappointment, given all the time and effort he’d put into his training. He had been feeling pretty confident he’d make the team and was devastated when he learned he did not. But once the knee-jerk reaction of disappointment subsided, I reminded my son (and myself, for that matter) that disappointment is an inescapable aspect of life. Nobody likes it, but everybody experiences it. I urged him to use this disappointment to push him harder towards his ultimate goal: playing competitive baseball.

I have this conversation with my kids often, as there’s always something that pops up in their lives that lets the wind out of their sails—be it a team they didn’t make, a grade they weren’t expecting to get or a birthday party they thought they’d be invited to. And each time I do, the conversation serves as a reminder to myself as well. I have been passed over many times for a myriad of different opportunities. But now, rather than hiding my head in shame, I remember that we are all human; we all feel deflated at times. With each disappointment, I remind my kids and myself that there is a reason for it. The disappointments of life are mere stepping stones on our journey to that something greater. This is true for each and every one of us.

Life is one big classroom. I will continue to keep my eyes open to the lessons this life of mine has to teach me.

Last week while tucking my 11-year old into bed, he asked me: “mom, do you always love me?”

I was taken aback. “What do you mean, ‘do I always love you?’” I asked.

“I mean, when I do something bad or when you’re really, really mad at me, do you still love me then? I mean, are there ever times when you don’t love me?” he asked.

I couldn’t even believe my ears.

“There has never been a time when I haven’t loved you—nor will there ever be,” I said.

“Okay, what if I go to jail one day… even then?” he asked.

“Even then!” I answered. “I will love you no matter what you do or where you end up. Even if it’s jail—which, by the way, I’m confident will not be the case. But that doesn’t mean I’ll always love your actions. There’s a big difference,” I explained.

“Okay, cause you were pretty mad at me before. I thought maybe you stopped loving me for a minute,” he said.

In that moment, it occurred to me that even though I’m usually pretty overt about my love for my kids, they may need additional reinforcement during those times when we’re arguing. Especially during those times when we’re arguing.

1. Always hold the door for others—especially girls.
2. Don’t let anyone boss you around. You are your own person.
3. Admit when you’re wrong and say you’re sorry.
4. Remember, God is always watching.
5. Make eye contact.
6. Before you judge others, put yourself in their shoes.
7. Don’t be afraid to fail. It’s how we learn.
8. Your actions have consequences.
9. Remember that even when you mess up, you are still very much loved!
10. If someone treats you badly, walk away.
11. Clean up after yourself.
12. You can’t be good at everything. Embrace that fact.
13. Always give thanks—even when things aren’t going your way.
14. Make lots of friends.
15. Listen when others speak to you. Don’t just hear them—listen.
16. When you’re upset, don’t keep it in. Talk about it.
17. Always give a thank you wave when someone lets you go in traffic.
18. Tell the truth, even if you think it might get you in trouble. Honesty builds character.
19. Be dependable. Keep your word. Be someone others can count on.
20. Your family is your safe haven… your support system. Come to us with anything.

Last night, my husband had to unexpectedly go out of town. Though I don’t necessarily enjoy when he travels, I do find that it gives me more of an opportunity to bond with my kids—particularly when he’s gone over the weekend. When my husband is away, I make more of a deliberate effort (for whatever reason) to find activities to fill my time alone with the boys.

As soon as he left, I turned to the kiddos and said, “So, what should we do tonight?” I don’t know what it’s like in your house, but in mine, looms are all the rage. Yes, even my boys—3rd and 5th graders—are banging out those vibrant little bracelets like crazy. So I was not surprised to hear that they wanted to spend the night looming. But first, we’d need to go out and buy a few more packs of bands; their supply was running low.

My oldest son is 10 and he believes in Santa.

But for how much longer?

It is one of those issues in parenting that nobody warns you about: when to admit that Santa’s not real.

This has been on my mind for the past two years. When my son was eight going on nine, my husband and I were certain he’d figure it out. He had too much common sense not to. He started asking questions like, “How does Santa fit in the chimney?” and “How can Santa possibly get to everybody’s house in one night?” We saw the wheels spinning in his little mind and were sure that by Christmas day, he’d see it was all a farce.

But somehow, we made it through two more Christmases without a hitch.

Now, he’s ten. He is in 5th grade. Middle school. No way will he be on board this year. No way!

Or will he?

Last night, out of nowhere he said to me, “Luke told me there’s no Santa…but obviously there is [silent pause] … right, mom?”

My mind raced: What do I say? Do I fess up? Come clean? Let him in on the secret? Is now the time? We’re alone in the car… now would be the perfect time.

But it was so clear to me in that moment that he really wanted to believe. So I immediately threw out the old standby line: “You’ve got to believe to receive, honey.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I need to get going on my list. What do I want this year?”

Conversation over.

But I felt horrible. Is he at that age now where it’s nothing more than a lie? He trusts me to be honest with him. And with everything else in life, I pretty much am. But I could hear in his voice that he just wasn’t ready to hear this particular truth.

And this wasn’t this first time he broached the topic with me. A few months ago, he told me about a conversation he’d had with another friend:

“Mom, Josh said that the mom and dad put the presents under the tree, not Santa. But I told him that’s not possible because my mom would never stay up till 12:00.”

At that time, all I could think to say was, “Seriously! My bed time is 10:00!”

So I began to wonder: Is he the only one who still believes? Am I setting him up for ridicule at school?

Unsure of the answer, I called a friend to see where her son, an 11-year-old who teeters on the precipice of puberty, stands on the matter. And to my delight, I discovered that her son had just asked his mom to mail his letter to Santa so it would get there early this year.

Okay, so mine is not the only one still hanging on. My boy will not, as I feared, be the laughing stock of the 5th grade.

But all night this weighed heavy on my mind. I pondered and I thought. I thought and I pondered. When is the right time to tell him? Is there ever a right time? What do I do about his friends who no longer believe?

Then I remembered a conversation I’d had a while back with a friend of mine who’s kids are now grown. She once told me that she’s never had the Santa’s-not-real conversation with their kids. No… she and her husband always told the kids that Santa lived in their hearts. As her kids grew, even through the teen years, the presents under the tree were from Santa. No one questioned it. No one complained.

With that idea in mind, I found comfort. By the end of the night, I concluded that I had responded to my son appropriately. I am not doing him a disservice by keeping him from the truth. I am keeping the magic alive in his world—something that he clearly craves.

Both of my boys will run into the know-it-all kids who feel the need to spill the beans. I cannot stop it or control it. All I can do is try to keep the spirit of Christmas going strong within the confines of my home.

Maybe the time will come—maybe even next week—when he will ask me that question and my gut will advise me to respond differently. But for now, we’re hanging on. For now, Santa is a part of our lives; He is part of our family; He is part of our Christmas.

Youth baseball. That’s pretty much my life from April through November. As the mother of two travel baseball players, I spend most of my evenings and weekends sitting atop hard, uncomfortable aluminum bleachers, enthusiastically (and loudly) cheering on my kids.

Baseball dominates our conversations and our time during this season. But that’s okay. I enjoy watching my kids play. I enjoy sharing in their enthusiasm for the sport. I enjoy seeing them grow into new skills.

While sitting through one of their many recent games, it occurred to me that much can be gleaned about life from a simple ballgame. Little gems of wisdom can be found neatly tucked behind the mask of this popular childhood sport.

Read more at Mamalode.

In a few short weeks, my first-born will enter the word of oversized hallways, dirty lockers and prepubescent troublemakers. That’s right, he’s off to middle school. And it scares me.

But why? What am I so afraid of? Do I believe he won’t be cared for there? Do I fear he’ll have trouble academically? Do I doubt his ability forge new relationships? Do I worry he’ll get lost in the crowd? No. That’s not it at all. In fact, I am confident he’ll be fit right in from day one.

What frightens me most is what this new journey represents: my baby growing up.

With each new age and stage in my children’s lives, a new crop of fears rears it’s ugly head—this stage being no exception. As I lie awake at night pondering this new chapter in my 10yo’s life, I wonder and I think—and I think and I wonder. And all sorts of crazy worries come crashing to mind in the dark of night:

Am I raising them the right way?
Have the lessons I’ve taught them all these years been the right ones?
Will they get sick?
Will they fall in with a bad crowd?
Will they be exposed to something they are unequipped to handle?
Will my bond with them will weaken as they age?
Will they get hurt. Physically. Emotionally?
Will they get rejected? By sports? By girls? By colleges? By jobs?
Will they recognize and use their amazing talents?
Will grow up, leave their mother and never look back?
Will I lose my purpose in life when the kids are too old to need me?

I’m scared. Since the day my children were born, I’ve been scared. Aren’t you? If only there was some way to gain complete control over our children. Life would be grand, wouldn’t it?

Not so much. That’s just not how life works. We simply cannot, nor should we try to, control all that surrounds us—including our children.

Then what can we do? How can we, as mothers, cope with the ever-expanding fears of raising our bambinos? What can we tell ourselves as we lie awake at night pondering life’s greatest fears?

I, for one, don’t want to succumb to the swirling downward drain that is the dark fears of my mind. So I have come up with some ideas as to how to quiet the chatter:

We can have faith in our influence as parents.
Though I sometimes lose sight of it, I know I am doing best that I can to raise kind, well-rounded, level-headed children. As mothers, aren’t we all? Haven’t we all made that our life’s mission since the day they were born? Why not have faith in the influence we’re having on them? Why not have faith that the foundation we are helping them to establish today will keep them grounded as they grow into their independence of tomorrow. I mean, isn’t it possible they’ve been hearing us all these years?

We can have faith in our children.
Let’s just stop and take a good, hard look at our children and the amazing human beings they are. Yes, they’re little. They’re flawed. They’re still developing. But they all have beautiful minds of their own. How wonderful that they are blessed with the ability to think and act for themselves. That is what we want, right? If we controlled their every action and decision, we’d be raising robots. How boring would that be? We cannot be there for them 100% of the time so let’s try to have faith that they’re putting their developing brains to good use when we’re not there to rescue them.

We can let our children make mistakes.
As parents, we know that our kids won’t always choose wisely. But let’s make peace with that. Sure we could step in whenever we see them about to make a mistake, but why rob our children of those brilliant opportunities to learn and grow? Many lessons that I’ve learned in my own life have come from mistakes that I’ve made. So let’s loosen the reins, step back and let our children experience all that goes along with being perfectly flawed human beings.

We can trust in the bond we’re forming with them.
As our kids age, they need us less and less. I already see my kids not wanting to spend as much time with me, which is a drastic 180 from a time when they wouldn’t even let me go to the bathroom alone. But just because they want to spend more time with their friends doesn’t mean they don’t cherish the relationship they have with me. It’s healthy and natural for kids to pull away from their mom and dad as they grow into their independence. Maybe we can trust that the relationship we continue to build with our children will stand the test of adolescence and the teen years. Maybe we can have faith that as they grow into adulthood, the mother-child bond will continue to hold a sacred place in their hearts.

We can do what we can to keep them healthy and safe, but realize that only so much is actually within our control.
If I let myself, I could spend hours worrying about all the terrible ailments and tragedies that might plague my children. It’s a dark place to go. Dark. So when I feel my mind starting to spin in that downward direction, I stop and forcibly remind myself to let go of that which is outside of my control. As moms, we want to ensure—dare I say guarantee—the health and safety of our children. But we can’t. Sure we can make them wear helmets, feed them healthy foods, get them their flu shots and reinforce the perils of smoking. But we can’t control every circumstance that might arise in their lives. I find this concept difficult to grasp, but I must always try. So, join me as I continue to remind myself to let go and let God.

We can see ourselves as a whole people, independent of our role as mom.
It’s easy to lose ourselves in motherhood. When I became a mom, nothing else mattered; it was clear that I was put on this earth to raise these two boys. Period. But what happens when these children to whom I’ve dedicated so many years of my life don’t need me? What will become of me then? As moms, I think many of us ask ourselves those questions—and answer lies within: we must remind ourselves that we were whole people before our children came along and we are still whole people today—even outside our role as mom. Yes, being mom is our number one priority and at times it feels like it defines who we are. But we also have jobs and interests and relationships that are unrelated to our kids. Perhaps those things are less pronounced in our lives when we’re in the throes of raising children, but they’re there nonetheless. We can have a life of meaning even when we’re not devoting every minute to motherhood. So rather than fearing the day when our children no longer need us, let’s remember that we don’t need them to need us in order to feel fulfilled.

Raising kids comes with such massive responsibility. It’s hard enough trying to keep it all together and stay afloat. Why do we need to make it harder on ourselves with all these extra fears and concerns? So many circumstances are out of our control, so why waste time playing the “what if” game? Perhaps a more productive approach would be to turn our focus away from all the unknowns of parenthood, let go of our fears and have a little faith that what we are doing is enough. That is my goal. Will it be yours?

A few months ago, I became the mother of a ten-year old. And seeminlgly out of nowhere, my first-born has become more independent… more mature… more grown up.

Though I am having fun watching my boys grow and develop, I am also freighted by it. Terrified, actually. With each passing year, they become more self-sufficient; they have minds of their own and are making their own choices.

Much as I don’t enjoy this lack of control, I know that I simply cannot have eyes on my children 24/7. I can’t always be there to guide and protect them. I have no choice but to trust in the decisions they make when I’m not around.

What I can do is try to keep the lines of communication open; I can guide them from the sidelines. But any parent will tell you that’s not as easy as it sounds.

So how can we get our growing kids to talk to us… to open up… to admit their mistakes… to ask the difficult questions? Here’s how I do it:

I don’t attack.
Last week, my ten-year old and a few of his friends got their hands on a Sharpie while playing in the back yard. Somehow they thought it would be a good idea to write on swing set, my new retaining wall and the deck. Anger doesn’t begin to capture the emotion I was feeling when I discovered my graffitied landscaping. I wanted to scream. I wanted to yell. I wanted to say, “what’s wrong with you!?!” But I knew if I did, I’d not only make him feel terrible about himself, but I’d also make it harder for him talk to me about it. So instead, I took a deep breath and I calmly asked, “What on earth was going through your head?” With that, I got sincerely-apologetic, “I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry, mom.” Clearly, he acted on impulse, as ten-year old boys often do. We discussed it. He apologized. He cried. He promised to never do it again. He hugged me and I hugged him back. I told him I loved him. I then handed him a Magic Eraser and he got to work cleaning up his mess. He then suffered the consequence of no XBox for the rest of the weekend.

I admit to my mistakes.
It’s all too easy for our kids to look at us parents and assume we’re always doing the right thing. I mean, adults can do no wrong, right? Wrong! I think this perception of us makes it harder for them to come to us with admissions of guilt. So I talk openly to my kids about my own mistakes. A few weeks ago, in a fit of rage, I went on a rant to my husband about the idiots at the Pharmacy who didn’t seem to have a clue as to what they were doing. Unbeknownst to me, my children heard the whole conversation. Now, I don’t like the word “idiot.” I don’t usually use it and I come down hard on them when they do. And here I was, going off on the “idiots” who were just trying (albeit, poorly) to do their job. (I may have even dropped an F bomb in there, too.) When I realized they’d heard how I was talking, I apologized to them. I explained that I was wrong, that I made a mistake and that I was not proud of my behavior. I reminded them that I, like everybody, make mistakes and it’s okay. I told them that I would try harder next time.

I remind them that I was once a kid, too.
Earlier this year, my 8yo was sent to the Principal’s office for shooting a spitball lunch. Sure I grounded him and sent him to his room and all that good stuff. But the fun didn’t end there; I wanted to talk about it and understand what was going through his head at the time. So I asked him to tell me what happened. He just sat there, silent, sad and a little scared.  Seeing this was going nowhere fast, I then explained to him that while I was disappointed with his poor behavior, I was once a kid, too; I, like him, used to get in trouble for my own poor choices. With that, he relaxed a little and he started to talk. He was able to see me not as the do-no-wrong mom, but rather as someone who possibly remembers what it’s like to be a kid. This—the fact that I was once where my children are now—is something I frequently reinforce with them. I never want my boys to see me as the holier-than-thou parental figure who will look down on them for mistakes they make—but rather as someone who’s been there, too and gets it.

I place a very strong emphasis on telling the truth.
I have no tolerance for lying. I frequently tell my kids that the lie is usually worse than the crime. Take my ten-year-old, for example: He recently got in trouble for repeatedly disobeying the teacher’s orders during a tour of the middle school. Though the teacher told me all about it, I wanted to hear it from his own lips. Later that day, I calmly asked him how the middle school tour went. He hemmed and hawed a bit, then finally fessed up. While I was clearly not happy about what had happened, I thanked him for telling me the truth and we talked briefly about the importance of honesty. I then turned my attention to his inappropriate behavior at school. By starting out on more of a positive note, the rest of the conversation flowed smoothly from there.

Does it work every single time? No. Am I always cool, calm and collected? Not so much. But generally speaking, this approach works for me. For now, the lines of communication are free flowing. I can only hope and pray that I’ll have the same level of success as they get older.