Coffee and 3rd Wave Motherhood

My not-so-little brothers have a friend who works in a coffee shop in Munich. He's not spending a year there to find himself, he's from there, so feel free to believe what I say next. He described the history of coffee in 3 waves. The first wave is like post-partum cave women eating raw beans. Second wave is Starbucks. Third wave is "a movement to produce high-quality coffee, and consider coffee as an artisanal foodstuff, like wine, rather than a commodity." The "rather than a commodity" part is my favorite, it makes me laugh. 

I have been thinking a little bit about motherhood and a little bit about coffee, and it really crystallized for me when I realized that I'm no longer in the mom-phase of loving Starbucks. Not because I'm better than Starbucks, I just don't need it like I used it, and now I recognize love-of-Starbucks as its own phase of motherhood, especially as I see others loving it. Far be it from me to begrudge them this love. The Starbucks phase isn't about how Starbucks tastes, although they really rope me in with that caramel drizzle. It's not about discovering that "artisanal" coffee tastes better, or even that you can just make decent coffee at home and bring it with you in a thermos in the morning and ice the leftovers in the afternoon for the same amount as one single grande caramel macchiato (with coconut milk, if you're nursing a sensitive baby). The Starbucks phase is about sanity. Not in a jokesy mom-meme kind of way, but like actually staying alive as an adult human being. Starbucks is about having something between your paws that children aren't allowed to share. It's about spending $5 on something you shouldn't, and that making you feel like a real American. It's about identifying with a club of women who are suffering under impossible social pressures and who just can't seem to make their children's lives as magical as they should be. 

A grim narrator surveys the line of minivans in the drive-thru and says, after a pregnant pause, "but coffee was very much still a commodity." 
If you're in the Starbucks phase, hang on, Mother. It gets better. 

This week my boys, now 4 and 5, were both in school at the same time for the first time in human history. Incidentally, I was awarded my bachelor's degree yesterday. I've already been turned down for 2.5 jobs, like a real member of society. We are officially in a new phase of life. I guess it melted away slowly, but I realized recently that it's been a minute since I was really drowning in parenthood. I still break up approximately 17 street (er, young children) fights a day, but DARE I SAY we might be hitting our stride here. I am not miserable all the time. I am not depleted beyond my brain's tiny capacity for hope. I like spending time with my kids, and I don't worry about the time I don't spend with them as much. My kindergartner loves riding the school bus by himself and enthusiastically waves goodbye to me. Everything is so bearable in the parenting department that I've moved on to stressing about other family members. Third wave, I'm telling you. 

I'll just be here enjoying my cheap home made coffee until the Lord blasts me back to Starbucks for being so cocky. 

Arrows in the Hand of a Warrior

One of the biggest struggles of raising children for me has been grappling with the "could haves", "would haves" and "should haves" of what I'd imagined life would be like without children. Efficiency is my drug of choice, and children are not particularly efficient creatures. When I am most frustrated as a parent or with my life in general, I find that frustration often crystallizing into anger that my role and responsibilities as a mother get in the way of everything else I had imagined myself doing in life. 

In a perfect world, the roles and responsibilities of parenting intertwine with everything else and enhance "what I'd imagine myself doing", rather than it being either/or, but I rarely see it that way.

I feel guilt, shame, and disgust that my habit is to begrudge my circumstances surrounding children. It makes me feel powerless that this enormous, unplanned section of my life is always overriding the planned sections of my life. Never the less, I try not to punish myself for valuing efficiency. As long as I don't place circumstances above people or my desires above the needs of my children, there are merits to productivity. [image]

I think it's acceptable that my wants come before their wants sometimes too. Most often, it ends up being a trade off - there's something I want or need to do and since they're along for the ride and neither they nor I can really change that, I try and make it worth it for all of us. I'll sift through piles of junk to my heart's content and they get to bring a small toy home or a quarter's worth of candy for baring with me. Bribery without the term "bribery" attached to it (and not so consistently such that it feels like a right) is an underappreciated tactic. In other words, many things become permissible in the interest of efficiency. I'm fairly honest with my children with what I want and what I need, just like they take every opportunity to tell me what they want and need too. 

Recently, I have begun to see that having children can be an enormous asset in reaching the goals that I've been so worried were out of my reach because of having children. I'm not advocating for using one's children as a means to an end so much as realizing that it seems like they are a blessing in spite of my tendency to view them as a distraction. 

I am not generally a shy person, but I do find myself frequently stuck in social situations that I'd rather not be in. Children are the best excuse for all sorts of things. I don't have to make as much eye contact because I have to keep an eye on my children. It's been nice talking with you, but I really have to leave now to get my kids down for their naps. I can't come to the party because one of my children has a cold. Etc. etc. Of course, most of those situations are not inconvenient at all if we're invited to something we want to attend, but it sure is handy to have legitimate excuses to get out of things. 

I don't feel guilty about using my family in this way. In fact, I find it endearing, like we have a pact amongst introverts to have each other's backs. My dad always let us use him as an excuse to avoid things ("I can't give you my phone number because my dad forbade me", or "I can't go any higher for this item I want because this is my dad's money", both of which he'd happily say to me in advance so that I could say those things honestly) and I will do the same for my sons if they want or need it. 

On the other hand, everyone's favorite thing about me is my children (Edit: I know this is not really true! I appreciate everyone who wrote to tell me so ;)). I might begrudge this, except it tends to work to my advantage too. Recently I've had several opportunities to meet and spend time with women who I've met under unusual circumstances. I am trying to learn Arabic and in general broaden my experience of life in America. The only way I know how to do this is to go directly to other people and ask in the most incredibly awkward way if they would teach me to cook. So far this has not failed to start friendships, but the lubricant is always my children. I set up time to meet with people and they never fail to add, "and bring those kids!" or "how are the boys?". 

As much as I've resisted and bemoaned my status as a stay-at-home-mom-by-necessity, I suddenly see my flexible schedule as a huge gift. The boys are old enough now that we can get in and out of the car without too much trouble and leave the house within 10 minutes of deciding to leave the house. For those of you with kids who aren't there yet, I see that tear of envy trickling down your cheek right now. This forced flexibility has afforded me the opportunity to forge relationships and spend time with people that I would not be available for if I had the jobs I have so intensely longed for and worked toward. 

As I begin to invest in these cross-cultural, sometimes cross-lingual relationships, there are frequently lulls in conversations. Luckily, watching my boys play while sitting silently with someone else is a fairly natural thing to do. There's even the option to talk to the kids when you can't figure out how to talk to adults. Adults are able to talk to children in a way that is also commenting on life or getting information across to adults within earshot. Children are a source of humor and they're also a glue. Children are bridges. 

I look at my sons in this new light and I feel admiration. I see this symbiotic relationship as the beginning of a partnership with them, where we're a team achieving goals with our interpersonal dynamic as a strategy to get there. I marvel at their sweetness and openness toward others and their willingness to trust me.  

I enjoy this feeling of mutual benefit from my relationship with my kids. I often don't feel the emotional tenderness that I suspect other mothers feel constantly, and I resent this, but also find it cloying in others (mostly because I find it very difficult to relate to). I struggle to muster tenderness or doting emotions, but I am beginning to feel the warmth of pride and teamwork. Parenthood is a transaction. Not really one that I can refuse to make, but not one that is of no value to me either. It's also not a transaction in that I don't stop giving, even if I'm not receiving. 

I'm worried that this will all unveil me as the self-preserving human that I am. I don't know how to mother, much of the time. I only seem to learn things and appreciate things in terms of how they affect me, rather than being selfless. I don't know if I'm doing this "right", but seeing the lifestyle of a suburban mother in America as having value beyond the sentimental (which I just don't feel) has been a brutal battle, and I feel that I'm finally wrapping my greedy little fists around its throat and getting things done. Less in spite of my children, and even perhaps because of them. [image]

I knew there was some verse about children and arrows, and thanks to Google, I am now reminded of the full verse, and it makes me feel like a BAMF. Psalm 127:4, "Like arrows in the hands of a warrior are children born in one's youth." I've considered my glaring youth at the time my children were born to be more of an arrow in my neck, but as usual, I am wrong. Now, I can almost feel the gleam in my eye upon internalizing the words in Psalms. It's a rush of power, and a promise of worth in terms that I understand worth. I need not mourn my seeming inability to relish the mom-life part of motherhood, but instead my sons are coming with me and standing at my side as I prepare to fight. Praise be to God, from whom all weird, unknown, sometimes humanly untimely blessings flow. 

Dressing Boys in Style (on a Budget)

I enjoy finding clothes for my sons to wear much more than I expected to. I take pride in the fact that people notice how nice they look, even as my personal style has become largely characterized by granny sweats and bags under my eyes. It's also rewarding to see my boys take an interest in their appearance and express their personalities through what they wear. I'm not a very girly-girl in some ways, but I was really looking forward to dressing a girl at some point. When I had two sons, I thought that I was going to have to wait until my siblings or friends had daughters in order to play dress up, but Ishmael loves nothing better than when I buy him new clothes and he proudly picks out his own outfits too.

On the other hand, I did not expect Ishmael to take such an interest at such a young edge, expressing distaste for some of the clothes I would like him to wear. It's hard to know when I should let him do things his way, and when to put my foot down about my boys wearing certain items they don't want to wear "just because". For example, not wanting to wear vintage sweaters is understandable because they're often itchy (I can usually talk them into putting something on just for a picture), but if they can't tell me why they don't like something, especially if they were fine wearing it last week, I'm more likely to override their preference. This often ends in tears, which is frustrating for everyone, so we're still working on how to navigate some of these personal style vs. hygiene vs. practicality battles.

I don't want their appearance to be something that either I or they obsess over. I want them to be comfortable and able to actually live in their clothing, and I don't want to raise them thinking that people who don't enjoy putting a lot of effort into their outfits are "less cool" or lazy or whatever other labels I might be tempted to affix to the less clothes-loving population of parents and children. Style has everything to do with personal choice and personal taste. It's 100% valid to put your energies elsewhere.

From that, it follows that the most basic key to dressing boys in a stylish and interesting way is to actually take great interest in the task, and that's not a priority of everyone's. (Why can't cleaning the house be a passion of mine too?!) Although it's much easier than it used to be, I still think that dressing sons in a practical yet non-dorky way takes more effort than it does with girls. It's certainly doable, but I thought I'd share some of my tips and tricks for those who have commented on how much they like what my boys wear. Oh, and this should go without saying since we're the near-penniless children of missionaries and hippies, but I'm very much a budget-conscious stylist/shopper! I don't have an actual budget for clothes at this point, but almost never do I buy something at full price. I buy clothes for the boys as they need them or if I see a good deal or something especially cool. They do have a lot of clothes, but what Ishmael has gets passed to Ira, and what Ira grows out of we pass on or save for cousins or resell.

First of all, my ground rules are no white and no text. It truly boggles my brains why people bother even making children's clothes in white! Or is it only my children who stain everything they touch?! Putting boys (and I assume girls, too) in white clothing might as well being burning dollar bills, in my book. I also file this under "dressing practically" because it's sad for parents and children alike to have to say "please don't play in the dirt" or "lean over your plate!!!" (10,000x) just to try and save a white shirt. I did buy Ishmael one shirt that has blue crocodiles on a white background because I loved it so much (so does he) but I make him take it off at every mealtime. Clothing shouldn't restrict play or other daily activities, in my opinion. Some exceptions are made for special occasions, but then you have to be willing to see an item ruined on the first wear. I've more or less given up wearing white or pastels as a parent of toddlers either.

On the subject of clothing with text on it, it's very difficult to do this "right", in my opinion, so we just stay away from it altogether. Text on children's clothing is usually ridiculous ("TRUCK LOVER" or "Auntie's favorite red-headed wonder".... please! This is cute to no one but you) or inappropriate. There are certainly snarky or funny words on kid's clothing that I think is funny sometimes, but the fact is that it's not the child choosing to make this statement, it's the parents. Snarky or funny things on shirts almost always offend someone, so why make your child the object of that sort of attention when they don't really understand the message they're wearing across their chest anyway? To be honest, I generally extend this rule to myself too. I very rarely see someone else's shirt with text that I think is tasteful.

I think my only other advice, beside where to find good boy clothing, is not to confine shopping for boy's clothes to the boy's section of stores or websites. I "cross dress" my boys all the time, and no one knows, including my boys. Clothing made for girls is often slimmer and more colorful, which are both style choices, not really gender-related. Putting my boys in girls pants is a life-saver - both of my sons have long skinny legs and no rump to speak of, so their pants are often much too big in the waist but not long enough. Target sells pants that have that nifty elastic-and-button system inside the waistband so that you can adjust the waist, but if you have trouble finding the right proportions in other brands, definitely take a look in the girls section. I do double check to make sure that back pockets don't have floral stitching, rhinestones, buttons with overly feminine designs, or lining that is obviously for girls. Girls also have a much better selection of leggings, which is very helpful especially for younger kids (crawling stages) because regular pants and jeans tend to be bulkier and have strange proportions that make movement (and even getting dressed) more difficult for babies. To this day, Ira prefers the two pair of [girl] leggings he has, a black and white geometric print and a red plaid, to all his other pant options.

Now, I will share some "secrets" of where to shop for cool clothes for boys. I am not shy about asking people where they bought something that I see their kids wearing. I screenshot it on my phone if it's something I see on Instagram, and then I search for a gently used version online. Some accounts (like @fancytreehouse) have already tagged the brands they're wearing, so you can tap on the picture and find all the sources. Sometimes in order to get a cheaper price you have to wait a while to until the item is out of season of several collections old (like at Target or GAP for example, which have limited runs of each style), but I don't mind that.

I used to buy a lot of clothes for the boys on Instagram from other moms who love to thrift or who are selling off clothes their kiddos have outgrown. Since Instagram moved to the algorithm system about a year ago, buying and selling on Instagram is not as convenient, but many sellers have moved to other platforms where you can still find them, and there's not as many people trying to go after what is still available on Instagram. If you haven't bought on Instagram before, the basic rules are commenting on something you want with a comment like "sold" or "me please" and then the seller will send you an invoice via paypal (after you provide your email via direct message). I haven't utilized this very much, but if you know what you're looking for, you can search Instagram by hashtag, such as #minirodiniforsale.

I don't think I've ever bought clothes for the boys on Ebay, and maybe one item on Etsy, but that's an option. Etsy is expensive and Ebay is hard to navigate, in my opinion, and hard to find items on. I prefer the Kidizen app which is exclusively for children's items. You can enter the sizing and gender preferences of your children (or not - you don't have to set parameters) and search all kinds of kids clothing, mostly gently used. You can also search by keyword or hashtag if you know exactly what you want. Many sellers are willing to negotiate on prices or bundle (a discount for buying multiple items) if you ask (same on Instagram). Some, particularly on Instagram, are willing to trade as well. I use Kidizen to resell too, but I like being able to specify the size I want which you can't do on Instagram. There is SO much cute stuff in the 12 month to 2T range in vintage clothing and even regular clothing, but kids tend to be harder on their clothes in the 3T-5T range, so less vintage clothing from that size bracket has survived the past several decades, and less of it is in good enough shape to resell, even if it's a modern brand. Snatch up something you like if you see it in that size!

I do love to thrift shop, but I don't find many clothes (especially in the 3-5T range) that I like for my boys while thrifting. You have to sift through a lot of junk to land on anything good, and I don't usually have the time or energy. The last time I was in the Whittier Savers thrift shop, they had organized their clothing by gender and size and I actually found quite a few great pieces! But that is rare for me. Also rare, but sometimes you hit on a great pile of stuff (vintage, mostly) that has come in as one donation. If you find one thing you like, it's worth checking on the racks close by in case there are more items donated by the same person. The rarest of all, in my experience, is finding a good stash of vintage kids clothing at estate sales, but those are usually the best - in good condition and all in one spot! I like many vintage styles (often well made and not dorky), but vintage sizing is often considerably smaller than modern sizing. If you're buying vintage online, make sure to go by the actual measurements provided (almost all vintage sellers will offer them), not the vintage tags. Another cool thing about vintage is that not many people want it, so once you have a trained eye and/or dress your kids in vintage, people will start bringing it to you.

Consignment stores or events can be good too. I haven't utilized the stores around here very much (they are quite small), but especially when I was shopping for smaller sizes, the Moo La La Boutique that happens twice a year at the Santa Maria fairgrounds was amazing. There are a few sellers who have styles I really like, and the clothes are tagged with seller numbers, so you can kind of shop by style in that way. I find that foreign brands (Japanese and French, in particular) are often stylish and they are affordable on consignment, especially since most people don't want to buy something they don't recognize, so these really good pieces can be on the cheaper side! Having a non-mainstream style can be challenging, but as I mentioned above, you have less competition when you're trying to buy stuff and it's so exciting when you do find things you like!

I do find some things at GAP, HandM, Old Navy, and Target too. They all have good sales from time to time, so I stock up on basics like tshirts or solid colors or shoes to mix and match with the more unique things I find elsewhere. For some reason, I have a bit of a mental block against used pajamas, but luckily there are some pretty cute ones at GAP, for example.

If you pay attention when buying used clothing on consignment or online, you might start to notice some boutique or even designer brands that you lean toward as well. Again, I never buy these brand new, but if you hunt around, you can usually find affordable used ones. Some that I like are Harajuku Mini (was a line at Target), Tiny Whales, Prefresh, Tea Collection, Mini Rodini (pricey, even secondhand!), and Zara. I'm sure there are more I'm forgetting. My favorite Instagram shops sort of morph as my kids grow and our styles change, but we love @chalkmarks, @lovedthreads, @pipsqueaksinplaid, and @mini_fresh_hawaii to name a few. Both chalkmarks and minifreshhawaii are very popular, so you have to be very speedy (and turn on notifications for their shops on your phone) if you want to buy from them. I think I'm following about 1000 shops (not all for kids, but many are) on my Instagram shop account @retroriot, so if you're really committed, you can start there and see what catches your eye.

Happy hunting! 

Calling Girls Names

So, divulging my girl name stash in this post means I'm pretttty done having kids. Every once in a while, I think it's a bit hasty to say that, because I never know how crazy I'll get in 10 years, but then I tried taking my boys to the thrift store by myself and I got back to writing this post when I got home. ;)

I've always been very interested in names and naming our boys was one of my favorite parts of pregnancy. Maybe the only part, other than that people were extra nice to me. I wrote out the story of both their names (Ishmael, and Ira), and I mentioned in those posts that if they had been girls, their names were going to be Mercedes Magdelena and Ophira Dahl, respectively.

We didn't mean for them to both have "I" names (let alone have the exact same 4-letter initials!) - I've always groaned at families who give their kids matchy names. But I like that the "I"s in Ishmael and Ira make totally different sounds, and I happen to have always loved the name Imanuel, so my current top girl name is Imanuel Matisse, who would be Iman (pronounced E-mawn) for short. Even though it's another "I" name, it makes yet another sound, so it's all good. Mercedes, Ophira, and Iman/Imanuel sound nice together too.

Anyway, here are the other girl names that I've been hoarding:

Beau. French, meaning beautiful.

Berenice. English, meaning victorious.

Samsara. Sanskrit, referring to the cycle of reincarnation. There's a documentary on Netflix with the same name that is beautiful, but/and it puts me into a sleepy trance when I watch it.

Georgia. English, meaning farmer. It reminds me of Georgia O'Keefe who was a fierce and talented woman, and the state which I have a mild love affair with despite having never been there.

Marchesa. Italian, referring to a noblewoman. Pronounced Mar-KAY-sa. There's a fashion label with this name that is beautiful, though generally too girly for my taste. That's where I first heard the name, though.

Wallace. English, meaning foreigner or stranger. I really like Wallace Simpson as a fashion icon and her love story with Prince Edward.

Yrsa Rivera. 1. Unknown meaning, refers to a heroine of ancient Scandinavian literature, pronounced "Year-sa". 2. Spanish, meaning lives near the river, pronounced "RivEEra", rather than "RevAra". Both of these names were from characters in a show on Netflix called Sense8, which isn't very good. These are not at the top of my list, but I want to remember them because Yrsa, especially, isn't the kind of name I'm just going to happen upon later on if I forget it for now.

Rukhsana. Persian, meaning the beautiful cheeks. I've forgotten where I first heard this name. I think it was probably a historical figure with a story I liked, but when I look it up, there are too many Rukhsanas to tell which one was the most legit. I also like Roxelana.

Soirse. Irish, meaning freedom, pronounced "Sorsha". There's an actress (best known for the movie Brooklyn) with this name. I like the actress, but would not name a child after a celebrity. We made this same distinction with Ira - we first heard the name from the radio host Ira Glass, but we did not name our Ira after Ira Glass.

August. English, meaning great. I like this name for a boy, too.

Marcelle. French, meaning young warrior. The proper spelling is Marcel (which is a boy's name), but I think the "elle" makes it more feminine.

Zelda. German, meaning woman warrior. Zelda Fitzgerald as muse, not the video game. It feels both futuristic and antique at the same time.

I'm always finding more. I'm in a class with a Moroccan girl right now who's name is Majdouline. Isn't that pretty? I've also like Margot for a long time, but when I say it over and over in my head, I'm not sure it quite makes the list.

I've noticed that most of my friends who are having girls lately have given pretty classic names (Annie, Alice, Kathleen). Have you noticed any trends among people you know? What would you name a kid if you got the chance? Especially a child with a gender other than the kid/kids you have now? What names were runners up for your actual kids names?

{images: 1, 2, 3}

Amateur Mother

A situation requires a very high level of potential embarrassment in order for me to consider whether or not I should publicly write about it. I am not easily shamed or embarrassed – or rather, when I am, it is easy for me to laugh it off.  However, as any parent of a pre-schooler could probably tell you, children complicate the ability to deflect embarrassment.

My sons are animals. They’re really sweet and cute and a lot of the time, but they’re animals. John Oliver recently likened supporting Donald Trump to having a pet Chimpanzee – they’re entertaining until they start ripping your limbs off. That’s how I feel about my sons. They have two settings: sleep and mischief. As Bunmi Laditan noted, I spend all my time breaking up fights between the two children I had expressly so they would entertain each other. 

Ishmael’s deviance of choice is kicking Ira, or kicking whatever object Ira is trying to use. Ira, in turn, will go up to Ishmael and shove him in the chest with both hands and laugh his bum off about Ishmael staggering backward and crying. I'm convinced that people who believe in the basic good of humanity don’t have young children.

Ishmael's other hobbies include stealing candy, destroying property, and lying about everything. Meanwhile, Ira has perfected acting entirely deaf when I talk in his direction and then by the time I’m yelling at him to stop whatever he’s doing, he turns and looks at me and shouts, “OKAYYYY!” with almost as much sass as my 16 year old sister. Their go-to responses to questions are “I don’t know” (when they clearly do) and “HE did it!” 

Ishmael’s behavior has been especially discouraging recently because I can't find any kind of discipline that consistently changes his ways. And I really don't want to get into a positive vs. negative reinforcement battle right now, because I know that's probably what you're thinking is wrong with me. That's what I would think is wrong with me if I were someone else reading this.

Deep down, I know that he is bored and ignored most of the time, and that’s why he acts out. I feel guilty because I’m the one who isn’t engaging enough with him and I’m the one who is trying to accomplish 10 other things while simultaneously keeping both children alive. More so than any shocking thing my children say or do, I'm embarrassed to write about my life as a parent because I believe it’s my failures that make them unpleasant to be around.

(source)

Let me tell you a little story about something that really broke me as a parent... 

Ira has been sleeping in a vintage crib that I painted when pregnant with Ishmael. All of the fumes I inhaled are probably what caused Ishmael to be born with so much hair and a temperament that challenges mine in every way. Because it's a vintage [probably illegal] crib, it's must smaller than modern sized cribs, which are almost the size of a twin bed. At any rate, Ira could easily crawl out of it if he had the mind to, and I'm pretty surprised he hasn't had the mind to so far. Knowing this, my mother kindly bought us a regular-sized crib at the thrift store, but it was too big to fit up the stairs in one piece, so Jonas had to dismantle it first. 

While I was clearing off a space on the boy's bedroom floor - aka the place where toys go to die, as they become a mine-field for unsuspecting adult feet or lost forever under piles of underwear and broken sunglasses - I grabbed a yellow toy truck about the size of burrito. Something sloshed out of the truck bed onto the carpet in a remarkably viscous, straight line. The color was suspect, so I lifted my doused finger to my nose, and I can not describe to you the feeling I had when I realized that it was urine. Actually, I can. It was mind-bending disbelief coupled with an internal, "What. The. Hell." Jonas and I looked at one another and agreed, "That. That is truly weird."

I share a bathroom with three boys, so I see a lot of urine in places it shouldn't be. I don't love it. But something about imagining my son purposefully peeing in the bed of a toy truck instead of in the toilet so horrified me that I really felt like he might be a troubled person. I was afraid to tell anyone about this, but one of my sisters is a nurse and she thought this story was hilarious and relatively normal, so I've taken a deep breath and shared it.  

Now, I honestly think that this is probably on the spectrum of normalish boy behavior. I'm sure I'm in for lots more surprises in having sons. I think it will only get funnier as time goes on, and I don't think there is something wrong with Ishmael. If he reads this someday, I want him to be assured that I don't legitimately think there's something wrong with the way his mind works. I did some pretty bizarre, unbelievably unsanitary things out of pure curiosity as a child myself. But I have been at my wits end for how to deal with him, and this situation played into a the decision to get him in to school as quickly as possible. I just typo-ed "pissable", which I find worth noting here. 

Ever since Ishmael was a baby, he’s loved to get out of the house. He and I are very different this way. He’s almost always on excellent behavior when we go out, and on worst behavior when we're home. After we’re done at one store or destination, he always wants to go on to another, and begs not to go home. Ira, on the other hand, asks to go home frequently, though he never wants to be left out if we are going somewhere.

Ishmael is dying to learn. I don't just sense this, he tells me so himself. He pretends he’s at school and he talks about school often, even though he’s never been (he's not even 3 and half yet). He immediately focuses, comes alive, and becomes a joy when we read, play playdough, play jenga, go the park, or go to the library, but for whatever reasons (many legitimate) I can't provide all the stimulation he needs at the levels that he craves it. 

He needs more than I can give him, and while I'm okay with that, it's not an easy thing to be secure about when you're an amateur mother, daughter of a professional mother. Even though we’ve always planned to put our kids in school (as opposed to home-schooling), I thought that we’d delay it as much as possible so that the stay-at-home parent (which turned out to be me) got to be with them as much as possible in the youngest years and shape their character. I thought - and have been told - that the opportunity to shape a young character is basically the highest calling a mother can have, and that it's terrible to let anyone else do that. 

As it turns out, spending all day, every day together shaping one another's characters doesn’t seem to be the best thing for Ishmael and I. We're definitely being shaped, just into funky postmodern sculptures with limp arms and dripping faces. I must pause here and say that there is good in being the primary care giver for my sons, and I wholeheartedly believe that parents have the honor and responsibility of teaching a child how to function and flourish, whether or not they're the primary care-taker for their kids. I don't take that lightly or wish that someone else would handle all of it. I'm just realizing that me being the exclusive shaper of Ishmael's young heart and mind may not be the healthiest of options.

If you don't believe me, check out this terrifying drawing that Jonas sketched for one of his classes. When the boys saw it, they both pointed and said, "mama." DON'T ASK. (I don't even know...)

I read this article a long time ago, written by a former nanny who is now a mother to children of her own. This is slightly out of context in regards to what she was saying, but she referred to mothers as "feeling both out of control and deeply responsible". I'm a realist when it comes to rights and fairness in this world, but motherhood can feel like the most unfair, uncontrollable collision of impossible feelings and situations. So responsible, so helpless. 

"They are great at their jobs, even though child care is easier when all parties allow the late-capitalist delusion that it isn’t a job at all. Like maybe they’re doing the work because they just love children that much. Though, having done it, I know it doesn’t always feel like a job but something else much trickier, with fewer boundaries and higher stakes." No rules, all the consequences. 

One of my primary roles in life is to be a mother to these children, and I don't understand why God would choose to give me a task so unsuited to my natural giftings. Why can't this work be fulfilling and uplifting to all parties involved? Actually, I think I do know God lets it be this way, and it makes me not want to have coffee with him. He's forcing me to rely on something other than my own brain power or gifts such that I grow and learn and am stretched and have to admit that I'm a slobbering, blubbering, broken down mess all the time without his mercy and grace (which I am gifted at ignoring). I guess I will have to continue learning this lesson until I no longer have children, which Lord willing, will be a long damn time. But seriously, why can't children eat artwork and learn discipline from hours of delicious sleep? Maybe that will be what it's like in heaven, where everything is as it should be. 

I strongly believe in early childhood setting the tone for life, aka "providing a good foundation", and that makes me queezy, as I don't feel that it's going very well. However, I am still hopeful that my less Catholic-school more free-range approach with result in idyllic scenes of me with two teenage sons, all bffs, co-writing a political blog while monetizing our hobbies together and renovating a pink Victorian mansion somewhere in South East Asia. It could happen, right?

When I see other people who love to be with pre-schoolers and who understand how to engage them, it’s pretty obvious that Ishmael needs that, and I don’t have it. He has always been harder for me to relate to. He is deeply caring, and I think he might be an artist or an inventor, which thrills me, but it also makes me look at myself and wonder if I'm also that mysterious and slippery and complicated a soul. He is often so emotional that I think his constant crying is "crying wolf" and I worry that I'm like one of those 1950s fathers ingraining in him that boys don't cry, only because I'm so exhausted by his levels of sentiment. Is he my carbon copy or my polar opposite? Most likely, he's just his very own brand of person and I don't know him very well yet. Too often, we don't bring out the best in one another.

I found this paragraph in a draft for another post that will never see the light of day. It was about a weekend I spent in LA with some of my siblings and just one son: "It was such a departure from my reality, especially since I only had Ira with me. It was both wonderful and sad to realize how much I enjoyed time alone to focus on Ira. He seemed to blossom in front of my eyes and I loved playing with him, even when I was frustrated at pulling him off the kitchen table for the thousandth time. It made me ENJOY having children. I always love having children, but I do not often enjoy it."

The first few years of my parenting journey were heavily influenced by post-partum depression, which I did not realize I was dealing with at the time. It certainly contributed to my over-all sense of dislike for that time period, and beside being extremely difficult, it also made me feel so guilty to find rest and enjoyment in my "easy" child, and constant frustration in interacting with my "difficult" child. Even the naked fact that there are now two of them meant and means that I can rarely focus all my love rays on either one of them as much as I wish I could.

Showing favoritism is one of a very few things that I find unforgivable in other parents. As usual, I've had to face this ugly struggle that I never expected to have to deal with in myself. This is a taboo topic for pretty good reason, but I think there is a need for these topics to be brought out in the open, because if I'm struggling with it, I'm pretty sure some other moms are too. Nothing makes an amateur mother feel like less alone than having someone else voice our deepest fears.

I must clarify that I genuinely love my sons equally. I don't always like them equally, and they take turns being the more frustrating one. I don't think it's wrong for that to be my reality, but it is wrong to treat them differently in light of that, and that is hard for me. One has been in my favorite age-range recently, the other is at a notoriously difficult stage. I'm sad and fearful as I watch Ira, who has been so much easier, descend into the 2-3yo window (18 months is the sweet spot, so far!). It makes my uterus shriek, if you know what I mean.

On top of that, I quickly blame Ishmael in a situation in which they're both in trouble, because it seems much more likely that Ishmael understood his actions and still deliberately hurt Ira. But recently, Ira has adapted to become conniving and devious in his own right, and I'm less likely to favor his side because he's so "helpless".

"out of control and deeply responsible" (artwork source unknown) 

So far, I've only heard one nugget of wisdom that made me feel less miserable about trying to navigate this situation. "When we're being honest, our favorite kid is the one giving us the least amount of trouble right now." I find that to be true of myself, and I cling to it because it means that my sons both get a chance to be "the good one" sometimes. But I also question why there is a need to compare and why there can only be one that I'm the most happy with at any given time. Or why I base how "well" things are going by the level of happiness I'm feeling.

I can see clearly that they're very different kids and I know that comparison is a deadly habit in general, but I think parents are lying if they pretend they don't compare behavior among their children. Thank goodness that motherly love seems to be an uncontrollable resource that never diminishes based on behavior, no matter who its channeled at. I hope it's not arrogant to say that that's the image of God in us as parents, and thereby the thing that I am least responsible for in myself as a mother.

I think what I had started to say about school got lost in all my feelings about being unjustly subjected to parenthood-by-fire. School turned out not to be the point of this post at all, but anyway, Ishmael will be going to school in the fall, if all goes well. I hope it helps regulate his behavior and gives him tasks to put his heart into and helps me feel less guilty for being the sole ruinner of souls. 

As much as I writhe around under the title of "mother", my sons are precious to me. Precious little ball and chains. Apart from losing a great deal of liberty as an adult upon having children, parenting is most difficult because you do love these young humans with all your might, and that makes the possibility (and reality) of messing them up so crushing. Nothing makes me smile more than to watch them experiencing joy, and nothing rips me up more than feeling like an impostor of a parent, responsible for their miserable human behaviors. 

For everyone's sake, I wish I was a professional mother. But I'm not. I'm only an as-good-as-I-can-be-right-now mother who is actively trying to be a better mother. And that has to be enough. 

Rotten Island

It's been a good long while since I had a parenting vent session. I guess that's good, because it means I've hit my stride in a way, or that the really rough patches are short lived. Or maybe it just means that now that I'm back in school, I will find anything to do or write about other than comparative foreign policy. Not that that's a boring topic, but I'm SUPPOSED to be doing it, so therefore, I'm doing this instead.

You're not going to believe this, but I think we might be buying a van. Don't worry, I can still rock it. And I can say with complete honesty that we're not getting a van because it's the van-phase of our family life, but just that our other cars died and the van is the right price with the right mileage and a reliable brand and we need to replace our car NOW. I was really gunning for a station wagon, but nothing panned out.

I haven't been particularly invested in the process of finding a new car because I hardly ever drive anymore. We have one car between Jonas and I and he's at work or school 7 days a week. I spend an egregious amount of time at home with the boys, which I think contributes to my feeling rather frazzled as a parent right now. We are all pretty bored and don't know how to combat it. It's too hot to play outside. We can't play in the water very much due to the drought. We can't go very far in the suburbs without a car. When we do get out, I feel terrible for spending money. We live in a giant house full of other people's things that are not for babies to touch.

I used to think that my failure as a parent was being too selfish to indulge in the behavior or take the time to do what my kids would consider fun or entertaining all day. I've gotten much better at that, but they have the attention span of gnats, so even when I am able to play with them, they don't want to play for more than 5 minutes, or it degenerates into Ishmael bashing Ira in the head because only he gets to play with mommy. For his part, Ira loves to sit on my lap and be read to, but I've really hit my limit of being hit full on in the face with board books every time he wants to suggest a new title.

I get so frustrated with Ishmael's constant wailing on Ira, no matter how I punish him or how many times I tell him to be gentle or to share. It's hard for me to stay calm when they ruin my stuff, too. I can't always make it there in time before they tear a page, or fall and hurt themselves, for that matter.

I'll be keeping an eye on one of them (obviously, they can never choose to be playing within sight of each other if they can possibly avoid it), and the other takes the opportunity to get into unfathomable mischief. Every single time, I think to myself "there's nothing over there that they could possibly get in to", but they are incredibly talented at defying my wildest imaginings. I would like to, for once, find one of them cleaning up or reading quietly, instead of peeing on chairs or shoving compost in their mouths.

Few things make me die inside more than Ishmael coming out of his room, clearly not having napped, and waking up a sleeping Ira in the process. I can barely fight off the heavy sense of dread as I envision the rest of the sleep-deprived day going downhill, with no chance for me to do homework, or anything else in that sacred nap-time space either, for that matter. It's really, really hard for me not to be furious (or to show him grace despite being so disheartened).

It reminds of me life on Rotten Island, a place where "[monsters] loved their rotten life. They loved hating and hissing at one another, taking revenge, tearing and breaking things, screaming, roaring, caterwauling, venting their hideous feelings." (Story and fantastic illustrations by the one and only William Steig. I want to marry him in a parallel universe.)

Sometimes I just want to GIVE UP. Do whatever you want, boys, tear each other limb from limb if that's what you want so badly. As Jonas puts it, "the boys are taking me on a trip to Nuts. They're driving me there." Incidentally, the boys think Jonas is the BEST and cry for him when I'm being especially strict with them, which is super encouraging, obviously. When he gets home, we all run to him and shake the bars of our day, screaming, "let me out of here!" (aka, "venting our hideous feelings") Get us off Rotten Island!

Having "mastered" the ability to play with my children, should I choose to, was clearly not the answer to all my problems. Perhaps I'm just not very creative with that task, because there's only so much block stacking and airplane drawing we can do before we're all pretty tired of it. They're little Olympians at turning fun stuff into gladiator sports, as I may have mentioned once or twice before. All "fun" eventually comes to a halt with me telling them to stop standing on the back of the couch, or stop kicking each other in the face.

My new parental self-esteem issue is thinking that it's my fault that they can be so unpleasant. If only I were more patient, more carefree, more loving, they wouldn't act so brutish. I think this is actually a lie, but it's mighty hard to shake.

The night doesn't seem long enough to recharge me from the horrible, petty, irritable mess I am by the end of a day of keeping their gnashing teeth away from one another's necks. After a few days in a row, I wake up already upset with Ishmael (maybe because he wakes up in the middle of the night for no good reason most nights, occasionally even waking Ira) and wanting nothing but to escape. I don't like this. I don't want to be in this situation, and I don't like feeling myself unable to reset. Frankly, I feel paralyzed to even ask God for help, and generally abandoned to my own ugly war. I know this is ridiculous and even offensive, but I feel like my day and my attitude are #beyond! Beyond His help, that is, and that if I were to get "spiritual" about motherhood that it would only be a pretty face on top of something that is still incredibly hard and rotten, most days. I fall prey to the idea that if I were a good enough mom or a good enough Christian, Jesus would make my life easy. What a joke. The only truth I know about God and parenting so far is that it is still hellish (perhaps more so when you're trying to guide your children to love the Lord and do what is right), and the only difference is that His mercies are new every morning. My problem is that I have trouble accepting them.

Even my body is aware of my state - bent to the point of pain at standing straight, pain at being on my feet because of bad posture, headaches from coffee or lack of coffee or just emotional exhaustion.

It's very hard for me to see the joys in parenting right now, and there's certainly little to no fun. One of the worst things is that I'm afraid that if I can't have fun, they probably can't have nearly as much fun as they could be having, and that's a shame. As I was cooking dinner today (they were gated in upstairs where it was easier to ignore them yelling at me) I realized that perhaps the crux of my dissatisfaction with my role as a parent right now is that I can't seem to thrive at it. I think most of us would agree that we enjoy doing things that we're good at and find fulfillment in seeing a good thing completed. For me, that has yet to happen with parenting, which seems to be my sole job for the next two decades at least. I know that this is my perspective more than reality, but I have a hard time separating the two.

A lot people are willing to say that parenting at any given moment is typically not the most fun or enjoyable thing, but they always continue with, "but it's so rewarding." In the interest of being honest, I'll throw it out there that thus far, I don't find it very rewarding. I don't see my children becoming incredible creatures that somehow stand above the rest. I don't feel rewarded that everything is a struggle, including my own personhood. Their milestones are cool, but I don't have very much to do with that (I know, me me me again), and while it's amazing in a sense, everyone else hits those milestones too. I like my kids a lot better than I like other people's kids and I still don't find watching them grow to be the pinnacle of my life's joy or achievement. In a Biblical sense, maybe that's okay, but God Almighty is it counter cultural! I love to be counter cultural to a degree, but this is in a realm that just feels completely isolated.

This is a really negative way to look at it, but I wonder to myself sometimes, why do we have children and sacrifice so many other good things in the name of giving them "a good life" only to have them repeat the process? We're raising kids to raise kids to raise kids. I know that we can accomplish other things in life in tandem with raising children, but I feel like a pet store rat on a wheel imagining my kids finally being grown and therefore having "made it" to the goal, only to have them start out with babies right where I'm leaving off with them and feel pulled away from everything we've worked so hard to given them the opportunity to do. Unless the journey IS the goal (see my reservations about that above), we never reach the finish line. I know this sounds so heartless in light of the fact that my children are treasured human beings. I love them, I just don't love this system. Is this the way life was designed to be, for me or them? If so, WHY? And if not, what am I missing?

I've read of a few chapters of Jennifer Senior's "All Joy and No Fun" (buy it right meow) and she goes into a bit of the history of the economic value of children. Right around the industrial revolution, people got up in arms against child labor (which I think we can generally agree was a rotten thing) and in her words, children suddenly became "economically worthless and emotionally priceless". I'm not arguing that children aught to exist to make me happy instead of working, but why is my existence now expected to make them happy? It's not, and I don't try to make it be. Which is not to say that I don't want to see them happy, but again, not bending over backward to mold your child's life just so goes against the grain of middle-class American schools of thought today, and even though I don't buy in to it, I still feel guilt for not living up to a standard I don't believe in.

You know what the real joke of focusing solely on your children's lives is? No matter what we do as parents, they will never turn out exactly as we envision them or want them to, and a lot of people get caught up in their own supposed "failure" over that, or worse, blame their children for not being who the parent dreamt they would be.

It's not a lot of fun to slog through each day trying to teach them life lessons rather than gratify every demon possessed desire that grips them, and probably only slightly less miserable than giving them everything they want and letting them run the world. Maybe we just haven't come out on the other side yet, to the magical land where character building has made fun more rewarding than it can ever be for children or parents who are enslaved to one another.

The 2-3 year old age range is infamous. Ishmael will ask for something to eat, and I will give it to him. Then he won't eat it and will ask for something else. All day, every day. This might not sound like a big deal, but I don't allow him to waste food, so multiple time a day, this scenario turns in to him whining to get down, me saying no and having to prompt him 7 times to eat his lunch. He won't, so eventually he gets down with the understanding that he won't be eating anything else until he finishes the original food that he asked for. Then he will ask me for other food about 15 times through out the rest of the day, and I will say, "no, eat what I already gave you". If this (or any similar situation, such as "clean up this toy before you get that one out") goes on, it's not unlikely that he will get frustrated and melt down eventually. When he asks for other food or anything else for that matter, he will say it many times over with no breaths in between until you acknowledge him. Sometimes you can't even acknowledge him because he's taking up all the air and noise in the room asking you. If you do acknowledge him and give him an answer, he'll ask you a bunch more times or say "why not?" if it's not the answer he was hoping for, or if it was the answer he wanted and you're not making it happen quickly enough, he'll ask you 10 more times for good measure. It's exhausting just to write it out, and probably to read it too.

If he sounds like a brat, I worry that he is. I can only focus on so many life lessons at once, and not interrupting hasn't made it to the top of the list yet. Even when I do everything "right" parenting him, he still chooses to be pestulant much of the time. Perhaps it tickles his insides more than being obedient does.  God knows why, since the look of sheer pleasure and adoration on my face, accompanied by rewards and praise when he does the right thing are probably enough to keep him from sinning again for the rest of his life.

Part of me thinks that one day, they'll GET IT, and just be the lovely cherubs they could be if they just listened to my advice. On the other hand, every single person I know who has ever had more than one boy says that they battle with one another constantly, so I'm not holding out hope that they'll give up their Rotten Island ways for at least 15 more years.

I cropped the rest of this tabloid story out because it's too child-neglectish to be very funny, but I've always [ruefully] grinned at this headline about taking a break from your toddler, like you might with a particularly difficult relationship with an adult in your life. {link}

Sometimes I imagine myself doing yoga instead of actually doing yoga (children just sit on your face) and at least in my imagination, some of the worries melt away. For their part, children are like uncrushable little balls of optimism, ready to try another day, no matter how bad the previous one was.

I think I suffer from never having truly been a child at heart, but at the end of the day, there is some little seed of motherhood in me that I can't drown, no matter how intensely I fight against mom-hood sometimes. I think all women get this magical substance when they see their child for the first time, and it's like their hearts get an injection of fluid elastic so they can be beat and prodden and torn in every direction and still have room for that kid in there. I got it too, except they were almost out at the hospital, so I only got a drop. Even so, it melts me even in the worst of times (or soon thereafter) and makes me want to give my sons another chance and it makes me smile back when they grin at me, even in the midst of their devilry, and makes me reach for them when they reach for me. I can't resist it when they crawl into my lap with a book.

Sometimes it prompts me to call out across the sea of broken toys and shattered agendas that "I love you!". It feels like one good thing against a mountain of things I don't like at all, but somehow it always wins, and not just because I don't have a choice. These kids somehow still love me, even when I'm fed up with them and myself, and when I see that in their beady little eyes, I scoop them up against my better judgement and try again to make sense of all of this. 

The Darkest Hour

I keep thinking I'm going to write THE POST where I solve parenthood. And the problem of sin. It's like how I used to start every new journal as neatly and epicly as possible, because I was sure that upon my untimely young and tragic death, every word I put to paper would be collected, hoarded, and turned into a best-seller. Humility is one of my stronger suits.

But lucky for you (I know, I flatter myself), I'm back to the drawing board.

Parenting (ah yes, this again. Shocking. All my posts are the same these days) is a lesson (beating?) in extremes, and I am not a fan of the extremes, at least the difficult ones and how frequent they've become. It reminds me of that carnival ride with the ship that goes back and forth, like a swing, you know the one. One of my friends was proposed to on something like that, except more of an actual swing. Her now-husband refused to release their swing to fall back down until she answered the proposal. With parenting, I feel like I can't even resolve one extreme before being released, screaming and occasionally throwing up, to the other extreme. I don't get the chance to agree to any of it.



One day can encompass productivity, excitement, joy, contentment, wonder... but also intense frustration, anger, disappointment, exhaustion, bafflement, hunger, depression, guilt, inadequacy, resentment, and despair. The ride makes me sick. Legitimately sick, like sores breaking out in my mouth from lack of control. Sometimes I go to bed feeling totally whooped, other times I'm able to work myself back to the middle somewhere so that I have a better place to start in the next morning.

I only like the boat to rock if I'm the one rocking it, and I'm not even sure I'm in a boat anymore at this point. I don't do so well with emotions, let alone extreme ones. Parenting manages to encompasses both the best (some truly movie-like moments that I would otherwise think myself incapable of feeling or experiencing) and the worst moments of my life. The in between parts feel boring and hard and I feel guilty for just wanting to get past this stage, because what if the next stage is like this too, and I just go through life wishing for something else and never experience life?

Guilt is another theme I'm working on in my life - not guilt over what I've done or am not doing, but guilt over how I'm not living up to what I think other people expect of me. I've come to see recently that I might have a slight "thing" about control. I seriously wish I was a drinker sometimes, but I can't bring myself to get drunk or smoke or take [even prescription] drugs or throw things or scream because "I don't want to lose control of myself." I've always thought of being in control of myself as a virtue, but it's a very tiny step from trying to control everything, and I definitely don't see that as a virtue in other people. In fact, I have an arsenal of names for people like that. Being in control of my life is beginning to feel nothing more than hard-headed, though. Maybe I'm just not that good at taking it all on by myself. Actually, I am kind of good at it, but there's just no off switch, and that's where the issue arises, I suppose. (here's a picture for you, in case you're getting bored of me trying to self-soothe at the end of every single paragraph)

I've also been thinking (jeez, where am I getting all this time to think from?!) about parenting as an introvert. I've become a little less extremely introverted as I've grown older, but I think I'm reverting. Lately, I just want to BE. ALONE. For like a few hours. Or maybe a whole day (attainable goals only, here, people). I think the last time that happened was like 8 years ago. For real. I'm becoming a compulsive showerer (totally against my nature) because the bathroom door has a lock on it and people generally respect that they can't barge in on an occupied bathroom.

I'm about to get PG-13 here, so consider yourself warned.
This whole being-alone obsession is a little rough on the ol' marriage. I was crying in bed about my total lack of romantic or sexual interest recently (recently being since getting pregnant with my second a year+ ago), and really no light at the end of the tunnel. I've been holding out hope for the LST's (Longest Shortest Time) parents-and-sex podcast series, and installment 1, which came out the very next day after my little sniffle fest, did not disappoint. I always get in to trouble when I compare myself, and I'm especially vulnerable to comparisons when it comes to my love life (aren't we all? Please say yes.).

I've had this impression that healthy couples can't even wait the doctor's recommended 6 weeks to have sex post-baby. Seriously, I congratulate you if you're in that camp (I'm not being sarcastic, though maybe a bit bitter). I was so relieved and validated to hear that complaining about your sex life isn't even allowed for the first YEAR after a baby, according to the LST. I still feel kind of sad about the state of things, but it at least takes a weight off my shoulders to know that my complete lack of interest is normal and not shameful. Seriously, listen to the podcast (very, very NSFW) if you've had a kiddo in the past few years. There are some gold nuggets in there, such as: "sex" should not be defined as vaginal intercourse or mutual orgasm. Childbirth leaves you with physical (and sometimes other kinds, too) wounds. That's kind of a huge topic on its own, but I include it because it's a very real part of the overall struggle I'm engaged in with my life right now, and as usual, I think we all benefit when we're able to talk about real things that we have in common, but too seldom have the invitation to commiserate on or the encouragement of knowing we're not alone. (Just call me super-run-on-sentence girl!)

Anyway, another point he (guest Dan Savage, that is) makes is that some parents are being clung to and sniveled on ALL.DAY.LONG, and when you get to the end of the day and have even the opportunity for some private time with your significant other, the last thing you want is to be touched in any way any more (see also, correlation between breastfeeding and lack of libido). I find myself exhausted of being needed so much. Yet how can I say no to little arms reaching out, and my husband needing a hug? I don't really want to say no, but I do slide into patches of burn out. I feel stretched too thin at just about all times. I disappoint myself by finding affection so very undesirable.

I find motherhood to be a relatively thankless job (except on Mother's Day, which I freakin' love), and to be honest, I like to be recognized for things. I'm really working on training myself to care for my sons with no feelings of being put out or like I'm not getting paid enough (hahaaaaa) OR (and this is a mega biggie) resentment over division of labor between Jonas and I. I'm joking about this because I know you guys know that I truly love all my guys, but somehow the soft, cuddly, selfless me makes herself pretty scarce.

I beat myself up for being a "stone cold fox" as my sister Annelise says. Out of desperation, I googled "INTJ parenting" tonight. I know that Meyers-Briggs isn't the end-all-be-all by any means, but sometimes I just need to hear someone else describe exactly what I'm feeling to make me feel less like a floundering failure, and this google search provided it for me. I won't bore you with the whole assessment (I know you're just going to look up your own type, anyway), but it includes phrases like, "will likely never be able to deliver the sort of warmth and coddling that stereotypes say they should", "will take a clear and conscious effort on their part to curb and adapt these qualities to their children's needs, especially in the younger years", "heavily invested in rational thought, logic, and analyzing cause and effect...often unprepared for dealing with someone who hasn't developed these same abilities who they can't simply walk away from" (I said almost those exact words in a previous post!), "struggle to manage their own emotions in a healthy way, let alone others'", "tend to avoid 'unproductive' emotional support, instead taking a solutions-based approach to resolving issues".

There's a good side to this too, but I quake at the image of myself as this dictator, and my boys unable to feel warmth or approval from me, especially since I'm the stay-at-home-parent at this point. It's an encouraging assessment in that there's not something wrong with me for how I see the world or how difficult it is for me to connect with children, but I worry that I'm seriously handicapped when it comes to classic motherliness and I don't want to crush their spirits with my inability to communicate raw emotion and my frustration for childishness, even in children. I'm very much still learning what parenting is going to look like for me, but I can already tell that it's pretty different than what a lot of people think parenting should look like, and the weight of that criticism is no small thing for me. (here's another visual reward/representation of my psyche for you. Cheery, isn't it?)

One of our dear friends is a social worker. His main job is to teach parents how to play with their kids. Everyone who hears him say this thinks that's the saddest thing in the world, but I find myself really in need of that because it certainly doesn't come naturally to me. I watched my sister playing with Ira when she was home from school and she stood him on her knees and used his hands to mimic dancing to some music that was playing. He LOVED it, and I've since done it with him myself, and he continues to love it. This thrills me, and although so simple, it is something I probably never would have come to on my own.

In the last few years, I've been really proud of myself for becoming a happy person, which I really would never have guessed I would be - not because I've had a dreadful life, but because I fixate on heavy things. I've been spending a lot of time being miserable lately, and I'm determined not to lose happiness because I'm in a stage of life that is extremely challenging for me. I am trying to deal with the fact that the next few years might be consistently challenging for me as I try and shape myself into a woman who is not only less self-focused, but one who is focused on something (children, parenting, etc.) that is so irrational. I think this is an excellent goal, but it is really beating the tar out of me.

In the name of trying to preserve happiness (or grow into new kinds of happiness), I'm getting better at playing with my kids and seeking after endeavors that help me move forward in some direction, though I'm not sure what that direction is. It's taken 3 years, but I've finally succumbed to listening to children's music, despite the questionable theology of some children's praise songs and gender stereotypes in regular children rhymes, or downright bad advice. "Miss Lucy put the baby in the bathtub to see if he could swim?" Really? Miss Lucy is fired.

There's this one tape (yes, cassette tapes, people) that I have on heavy rotation (because it's the most tolerable and interesting) called Wee Sing Around the World. You can listen to a sampling here. I remember most of these songs word for word from when I was growing up, although somehow over the past 20 years, "mi burro, mi burro has a headache" became "mi burro, mi burro, mi rockin' rockin' burro." I'm finally realizing that listening to children's music is not about me liking or not liking it, but for the sake of doing something that my sons like. I really didn't believe that they would enjoy it so much more than regular music, but somehow they do, and an added bonus is that they enjoy our new morning playtime so much that I can almost accomplish half-a-thing while they play. Unless I get sucked in to creating the tower of Babel out of duplos (admittedly entertaining) or keeping Ishmael from pushing Ira over for fun or poking his cheeks or sitting on his lap. Ai, mi burros!

Childhood is so foreign to me, as children are little blizzards of being, encompassing contradictions, continuously changing, enjoying or hating things for no rational reason, saying and doing things I have absolutely no way of interpreting. I was never very good at being a child, even when I was one. Beyond the human-to-human aspect, I am the equivalent of a luddite for children's... things. I find myself at other people's houses or around other children and thinking, "if only I had gotten one of those baby round play walkers, if only I had known about hands-free pumping bras, if only....".

Before having Ishmael, I just thought, "what more do you need beside food and clothing and mud to play in?", and while I still hold that to be fundamentally true, it turns out that I am not a great playmate or storyteller or any of that, and so it could behoove me to take advantage of all the inventions for making children happy. It's pretty much out there if you can imagine it, you just have to ask Google where to find it (hellooooo, bra extensions!). Even proofreading this paragraph though, I realize that it's not about finding the right set of children's toys or activities that will make my relationship with my boys - or parenting in general - wrapped up in a box. This business does not fit into any boxes, and I have to come to terms with that.

I think I seriously am burnt out on my life. I just ignore phone calls and bills and stuff because I #canteven. I dread everything because I can't accomplish anything satisfactorily. I do pay the bills eventually, but I work several small jobs from home and sometimes I just let those go for a few days while I get a grip on things and have some more energy or even a shred of will to devote to them. I can't give up, but I also can't win. I will never have less to do in my life, I will never become organized enough that everything is accomplished satisfactorily. I will never find every answer, and I will never survive if I make that my aim. 

I was recently reading this excellent blog, Not Without Salt, whose writer published a cookbook of date-night-in recipes. You should watch the short book trailer (oh 21st century, you!), because her reasons for the book are SPOT ON and will resonate with so many of you who are parents, as it did for me. In a recent post on her blog, she talked about being exhausted from all the work with the book and having to let herself be the one coming to the table and needing to be fed, rather than the one always doing the feeding. Yes. Yes. Yes, on every level. Yes to needing to be filled back up again while things are constantly being asked of you. Yes to the love of cooking being the love of bringing others simple joy. Yes to the fear of losing that joy or that special time creating in the kitchen (ahem, past tense - lost) because it's all I can do to shovel microwaved hot dogs into their mouths. Yes to feeling like my husband is more of a room mate than a lover, thanks to life with little children, and just, life. Yes to that needing to change. Yes to that process feeling overwhelming and like one more thing that I won't be able to accomplish properly.

I have built part of my identity around the love of good food - making is, sharing it, searching for it - and I've had to abandon that to a degree since going from 1 to 2 children. Everyone says that going from 1 to 2 is the hardest jump of all (even more than from 2 to 3, and on up), and I don't know why, but I think everyone might be right. Dan Savage mentioned on the podcast that having two kids is not twice as hard as having one, it's 10 times as hard. The fact that both of my children are napping at the same time right now makes me an jedi master. You parents know what I'm talking about.

Maybe I'm just alarmed at how many bad days there are now. In between the extreme highs of parenting, which do happen occasionally, there's a lot of, "this is the worst day" and the next day,"no, THIS is the worst day!" My friend Heather assures me there will come a time again when things are less extreme, and I have the opportunity to do anything, and am not just be running around, crazy eyed, pj bottoms inside out, yanking drum sticks out of kids throats. I will again be able to wear headphones without taking them off every 10 seconds because I'm worried that one of the boys is suffocating in bed and I can't hear their squeaks for help. Someday, I might go somewhere by myself again (although this seems cosmically unlikely). Someday I might open the door to the JW ladies and not look like this. All the JW ladies want to tell me is about how the end of the world is eminent, and I think they're pretty sure the state of my life is the cause of this. Someday, I will get back in the kitchen and create again, perhaps even with two little sous chefs along side of me.

Heather assures me of these things, but I think she might be lying so keep me alive. 

I hear myself saying over and over as I write this, "I can't do this!". And the truth is, I can not do this. As a person of faith in Jesus Christ, I believe that I need his help, but I don't know how to accept it most of the time. I treat this relationship as a transaction: If I surrender, everything will turn out like I want it to. Even I know that that's not what surrendering control truly means. I'm not quite sure how things will get done if I can't do them and God isn't going to literally accomplish my daily to-do list either. There have got to be some in between options, but I have difficultly thinking in those terms.

One of my favorite songs we sing at Element from time to time has this line, "where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom. Chains are broken, eyes are opened." Last time I heard it, I kept repeating, "where the spirit of the Lord is, there is freedom," all week to myself, because I feel so very confined. Aaron (our pastor) recently did a few sermons on the prodigal son, and put the story in a completely different light for me. The older I get, the more I realize that I don't have everything worked out as well as I thought I did, which is both a sign of growth (I hope), and somewhat discouraging. I realize that although I know what grace is, I do not know how to receive it, and I think I can not have a meaningful relationship with Christ if I can not grow past trying to work my way to him.

I don't question my salvation, but I question whether I know at all what it means to truly follow Christ. Aaron used an analogy for grace that really struck me - he told the story of having had someone pay his bill at a restaurant once (which has happened to me before too), and how helpless it made him feel. It is useless to try and argue with the waitress that your debt is not paid or to try and pay it again a second time, and you have no way to thank or repay the person who paid for you.

I am well aware that trying to be good enough (aka "works") as a person to achieve what I want is a task that I can never do well enough. My natural desire is to try and pay my own way and rely on my own strength, but I am more and more sure that I can never be good enough. What is both amazing and frustrating is learning that trying to live in grace is even harder than trying to be good enough through works. The urge to take control of my own destiny is so powerful that I constantly fail to truly grasp the grace that is given to me. Never, before this past week, had it occurred to me that I might owe my God an apology for even trying to repay him for salvation. The concept of repaying is not only futile, but a slap in the face for someone who is simply giving you something out of love.

I love free stuff, but even when it's a transaction between me and another human, I don't consider anything to be truly free. If its a friend who has given me something for free, I remember it and want to return the favor at some point. If I get something for free from a stranger or a business, or even if I find money on the sidewalk, I feel [happily] like I got the longer end of the stick than someone else did. Being an INTJ is totally exhausting.

This is going to sound silly, but just as I had this post mostly written, I watched an episode (season 3, episode 2, in case you're wondering ;)) of Call the Midwife with my mom and sister Julia, and the in one scene, Jenny runs through the symptoms of postpartum depression and mentions that it can last for a year after having a baby. I have battled depression at various times in my life, which leads me to think that depression is not out of the question as a component of why I'm struggling so much, but I'm so wary of calling myself depressed because I feel it could be an excuse to wallow in a situation that every parent faces. Maybe we just need a cat?

They say the darkest hour is always right before the dawn. That's all well and good, as long as you believe the dawn will come. Sometimes I fear it won't. For my own sake, I can't help but try and rend on a faintly hopeful note, and all I can muster sometimes is the remembrance of one of my favorite promises, "His mercies are new every morning". I need em all, every one. every day.

Dreadful Parenting

I am struggling as a parent. Perhaps just struggling as a person.

Sleep training Ira is failing, potty training Ishmael is failing, my general composure as an adult is failing. We might all just poop our pants into adulthood around here.

Although I've come a long way, and I'm proud of my progress, I do not feel particularly well cut out to parent young children. I expect them to be able to reason like adults, and they don't. I stay home with my kids because I believe that it is my role as their parent to coach them into functioning little humans, particularly in such formative years, but I find myself filling my stay-at-home-mom (SAHM) life with other things than my children because 24/7 childcare is mind numbing. Obviously, avoiding my children while at home really wasn't the point of quitting my other jobs to be with them. I thrash around against the fact that I can't do anything without being interrupted. Sometimes I just let my kids sit in their poop or cry uncontrollably while I do my own thing for a few minutes, and sometimes I think that's fine, but other times I feel guilty about it (God forbid someone else see me doing it!) and it makes me stressed out or try to rush through whatever I'm trying to get done because I can't handle the crying or the poop. I also feel guilty when I think that if I were doing a better job of training them, maybe they would be able to listen better or entertain themselves for a little bit while I make a phone call or try and do some other task that doesn't involve them. In the end, nothing is accomplished effectively, and something needs to change.

I know that most parents struggle with their role - it is a huge responsibility, and probably the most difficult job any of us will ever undertake, particularly because the subtle moments can be the most important ones. There is something very comforting about knowing that countless others understand the feeling of both the lowest lows and the highest highs in this business. Yet, in days or weeks when I can't shift my focus from the avalanche of "downs" I'm dealing with, I can't fathom how it came to be that so many people do this day in and day out. I see my friends who don't have children having more fun then me - there's no nicer way to spin that, they definitely do have more fun than I am having. My mom noted that the difficulty of parenting is probably a large factor in why people have far fewer children (or no children at all) in modern times than they used to.

A lot of people are disparaging about comments like, "I just want to feel like I'm putting my time to good use" from SAHMs, because raising children is a good use of time. I do believe that, but it's not always enjoyable and the reward is far off, which makes it feel less impactful than some other things I could be doing. Furthermore, the weight we are expected to bare as modern parents will so quickly result in burnout that it makes us into desperate and miserable people, and desperate, miserable people aren't the best parents. If we have no way to collect ourselves and instead feel constantly at the end of our rope, of course we can think of nothing else but how to get out of this job as soon as possible.

I know this is exceptionally Freudian, but sometimes I get so overwhelmed with frustration that I bite binkies. If I pick up Ira, I usually need both hands, but want to bring his binky along too, so I put the rim in my mouth to carry it. I find myself chomping down so hard on that rubber to relieve some tension. This is motherhood, people.

Parenting small children doesn't generally stimulate my mind, and that makes me feel like I'm missing out on adulthood. While I think it's good to realize that raising children truly is worthwhile, SAHMs don't need additional guilt over wanting to feel more a part of "real life". I think the fact that so many SAH parents can speak of little else but how defeated they feel says something legitimate about the state of parenting we're faced with. Personally, it gives me dreadlocks. I'm not kidding, I have two dreadlocks. I have been so frazzled and miserable trying to adjust to my new normal, so much that I've neglected my hair majorly. Large tangles got coached into dreadlocks, making me an officially a dreadful parent.

I have asked myself, "am I - and my peers - so pathetic that we can't handle what people have been handling for centuries before us"? I've been thinking about this for two weeks (rewriting this post over and over during nap times), and I've concluded that there are two main societal blockades today that make good parenting exceptionally difficult. I know this sounds so hippy-dippy, but the first thing that I think we've lost that majorly complicates raising small children is communal living. Most of you know that my husband and boys and I are currently living with my parents. This doesn't solve all my problems, but it's worlds better than when I was alone before, because I really was alone so often when we had our own place. My husband - like many husbands and wives - works 40, sometimes 50+ hours a week to take care of us, and on top of that, he goes to school three nights a week. The reality of this situation is that I am effectively a single parent most days. The pressure of being the sole care-giver and instructor of 2 small humans is crushing, and I don't think it was meant to be that way. When we're expected to go it alone and love it (or be good at it), it's a tall order. Looking at history, as well as many other cultures around the world, young parents have immediate access to large extended families as well as their larger community, in a way that many Americans don't.

I found myself so depressed when all my siblings went back to school after the holiday, because when they are here (along with other friends and family), my boys can bounce from one person to the next, not exhausting any one person, and yet still happy as clams and stimulated and loved to their hearts content. All that help allows me to accomplish a few things that I need to get done, as well as be calm and energized when the occasions do arise that I need to step in and discipline them. This segways nicely into the second component that I feel is missing from modern parenting - instruction.

I've really been wracking my brain with the question "how do we learn to parent?" In a healthy communal situation (which I realize is not available to everyone), you have the opportunity to learn from your elders who have experience parenting. So much of what I'm working through in this post is a result of my mom helping to train me as a parent (thanks mom!). Of course, the goal is not for grandparents or anyone else to actually raise your children for you, but their advice and knowledge is a resource that we have forgotten to tap in to in this day and age.

A side note on communal living before I continue: it is looked down upon in Western cultures because it's so often connected to grown people mooching off of others, but that's a broken communal situation. In a healthy community, people are responsible, but help share one another's burdens and get to share in one another's triumphs. Downright Biblical, if you ask me.

Back to learning to parent - is it overwhelming, or is it overwhelming?! No matter what information you absorb before having children, you can not truly understand its meaning until you actually have children, and then much of the time, you change your mind about what you heard before anyway. That, and have no brain cells left from hormones and lack of sleep, so you can't remember what you read.

The "simple" answer to learning to parent is to read about how to do it, right? That is hilarious to me on two levels - first of all, I am a person who loves to read, but have read approximately 2 and a half books since having children because I have at least 12 other exceptionally pressing things I have to get done every day before I could sit down with any kind of book. Secondly, do you have any idea how many parenting books are out there? Possibly a billion, not kidding. Along with the internet, there are so many options that I end up reeling back and closing my eyes instead. I can Google a question as well as the next person (but is what some stranger posted on a message board at 3am really what I want to use as parenting advice?), but then I also end up being bombarded by 10 mini parenting dilemmas a week (should I let my child refuse kisses during the holidays?!?) that I would not have been worried about at all had I not been presented with the question in the first place. Thank you, internet. For the record, I think that article is probably good advice, but I am up to my eyeballs in good advice these days, and sometimes it conflicts with itself.

(this is me right now) 

I have never read a "how-to" parenting book on any subject in its entirety. I'm wary of self help books because I don't believe life can be boiled down to a set of 3 things to remember or the number one thing to avoid. Multiple methods can be found to do just about anything when it comes to parenting, and my general strategy has been to avoid seeking written advice because every source seems to contradict the last, and if you look even one generation back, so many aspects of parenting turn out to be fads. Knowing all the possibilities before I'm faced with a dilemma only makes me more anxious about all the things that could go wrong. How am I supposed to be confident about what the right course of action is when I'm confronted with 10 options, many of which sound reasonable? I end up having to make a judgement call about whether I think what I read makes sense or not, but I don't feel like I have a good enough foundation as a parent to be able to gauge what good sense even is! I try and look at things critically and ask myself, "do I agree just because it's logical or counter-cultural or well written, or is this something I truly think is a good idea"? Ultimately though, I have become unsatisfied with doing nothing because I don't know what to do. Not whole-heartedly pursuing how to be a good parent ends up making my life more difficult because, for instance, sometimes I don't even realize that whatever behavior or situation I'm dealing with is a THING, with a name, that happens with other people's kids too, and therefore I'm not aware that there are tools out there to help me deal with said behavior.

There seems to be no 1 (or even 2 or 3) main schools of thought on parenting today (I feel that there was, when my parents were young). Well, actually, what I've gathered is that there is attachment parenting, and then there's everyone else. I fall somewhere in the "everyone else" category, because I believe that letting your child believe they are the center of the universe doesn't do anyone any favors. It makes me feel like I'm dying when I structure every moment around my children.
I do need to make training them my utmost priority, but not let them control me through my responsibility to them. I realize that's a pretty pointed statement (many, many of my friends do attachment parenting), which leads me to the overall parenting philosophy I hear, which is "do what works for you". I think this is a nice sentiment, but let's face it - not everyone's kids are really that great, so "whatever works" probably isn't true or just isn't actually working. I often hear that "whatever you decide to do, stick with it", and I do believe that children crave consistency. However, I also used to think that that basically meant that all (well, many) parenting roads lead to relatively healthy adults, and it only takes about 5 seconds in the real world to realize that that is a filthy lie. Some people make it, and some get really messed up, you know? It's not like you can just cross your fingers and hope for the best with kids.

A further note on attachment parenting - I'm not saying that I think attachment parenting necessarily leads to entitled or otherwise messed up adults, but I do think giving your child everything they want when they want it will leave with you with no self left, only a slave to your offspring in the body that once was you. Of course that makes people miserable. I also think that attachment parenting has the potential to rob marriages because when everything is child-centered, there is no room to invest in your spouse. Similarly, I think that living in hatred of your role as a stay at home parent can chop your marriage off at the knees (who wants to come home to a constantly miserable, exhausted and spent zombie?), and that's one of the many reasons I'm trying hard to turn this ship around.

Back to parenting philosophies. When people say, "do whatever is right for you", isn't that a thinly veiled "what you're doing sounds wrong to me"? I hate millenial bashing, but seriously, oh millennals, why must we all be so offended by... everything? (This trend actually got a name, it's called outrage porn). I got home from a play date with a friend and her two kids the other day and found myself wondering, "when I was saying how hard it must be to feed her daughter several times a night, did she think I was judging her"? I'm constantly trying to tip toe around every parent or would-be-parent or non-parent that I know, trying not to offend or impose my ideas. Similarly, I find myself getting all bent out of shape when people try and tell me what I should be doing differently. Here's the thing: sometimes we need to be able to hear good advice and consider changing aspects of our parenting, other times, people are crazy and we need to let their crazy roll off our backs. Give me a call if you figure out a no-tears system of telling those two apart.

When it comes down to it, I can be quite confident in some of my parenting choices, but inevitably, someone else thinks it's the most heinous choice I could have made, and then I either question myself or live in fear that other people will think I'm ruining my children. I think the line between "it's none of your damn business" and accepting constructive criticism is made out of spider web silk. I want to be someone who doesn't isn't swayed by every passing breeze, but I also think people who never listen are so arrogant.

Sometimes I crave a situation in which someone would just tell me exactly what to do. But, only stuff I like and agree with. Basically, do all the leg work for me and make me think it was my idea. Wouldn't it be great if there was a step by step, foolproof guide? But I know that if I had that, I'd challenge it and balk at formulas.

What I've come up with so far in parenting 101 is that first of all, you have to come to the conclusion that you have no idea what you're doing and that you need change/help. I have been parenting one situation at a time (which was my intentional parenting philosophy at one point!), but that becomes a problem once your child is a toddler, because they start getting a bit smarter and you have to preempt their behavior rather than run around putting out fires all day. I feel like trial and error is so dangerous when parenting, but even when I do have a plan, I can not dictate my child's every move, and so there remains an aspect of trial and error.  I'm becoming much less of a fan of going in completely blind, though, because you only get one chance sometimes. I can think back to some words that were said or things that were done in my childhood that may have been no more than a passing thought spoken aloud on behalf of the adult speaking to me, but their words or actions shaped me and have stuck with me into adulthood. When I think about that, I'm often terrified that my boys are picking up everything I say and do, and some things that I may do without thinking are sinking in very deeply. Nothing feels more "ready or not, here we go" than parenting.

I'm beginning to see that not having a strategy to follow or a specific goal to reach results in meandering parenting, where everything takes me by surprise, and then the moment is gone and I've lost the chance to teach my sons how to be a responsible, loving, pleasant human beings. Instead, they learn that if I haven't made up my mind about what to do, it's up to them to make the rules. I'm trying to learn to think more long-term and address the myriad issues of each day in such a way that I'm instilling character ("we need to be good stewards of our property and not be wasteful") rather than making ten thousand small rules ("do not stand on that book. or that one. or that one.") to try and corral them into obedience.

Small fixes are at best temporary, because children never agree to stay the same once you've figured them out. I find that when I'm wrestling mightily with my boys' behavior, it reveals my own inner ugliness and my own shortcomings as a parent. I become so lost and frustrated that I want nothing more than to escape my role as a parent, when the real remedy is to lay down my own adulthood where need be, and pour myself in to raising them to be less selfish than I am. My adulthood will resurface eventually, but we can't get their formative childhood years back later. As they are molded into more disciplined beings, I predict that I will feel less compelled to escape them.

I've already realized the truth in this when it comes to disciplining Ishmael. When I am trying to deal with every little situation instead of the behavioral heart of the matter, it is impossible to tell him "no" about everything, so he gets away with a lot, which reinforces to him that anything goes. Eventually though, I become frustrated enough to discipline him after he's disobeyed multiple times in a row. Not only is it unfair to him to discipline on some occasions and not others, it also leads me to discipline out of frustration, and he experiences me losing my temper. Not that I use excessive force or anything, but I've always held that disciplining out of anger is wrong, yet I couldn't see a way around it until understanding that I need to focus on the bigger picture and remain calm and firm when he tests me, rather than letting things slide (because seriously, most of it really isn't a big deal) and then swooping in and laying down the law every 10th incident.

Another major tenant of mine in learning how to parent is to seek the advice of parents with children you admire. My friend Cara told me that we feel like our own situation is the most challenging because we aren't dealing with other people's situations. My friend Jessa assured me that I don't have to find playmates that are exactly Ishmael's age in order for him to be benefited by the company of others. My friend Heather suggested I take Ishmael to the library to help him learn to sit in a group quietly. She also taught me the HALT acronym to run through during a child's meltdown - is he Hungry, Angry, Lonely or Tired? She even suggested a book to me that I might just read. ;) Many people have commiserated that going from 1 to 2 children is the most difficult jump there is.

My husband kindly reminded me that it is okay not to enjoy parenting all the time - the point is that I do it anyway, and that's what makes a good (and perhaps 1% less selfish?) parent. Similarly, a wise woman at my church told me that I do not have to feel like a good parent, only strive to be one. I do not have to live under the burden of trying to feel happy or accomplished as a parent all the time. How I feel doesn't change the fact that my boys are loved and cared for at the end of the day.

While there is a grain of truth in this, I can be haunted by the notion that if my child does something wrong, it's my fault for not teaching him otherwise. In reality, it is my responsibility to equip my children to know right from wrong, and then it is their responsibility to make the right choice.

Lately, the concept of grace has been presenting itself to me everywhere I look. Simply the idea that I can never be good enough - or even good. But I don't know how to stop trying. I don't know how to divorce the doing the best I can from relying on my own strength, and frankly, the struggle gives me dreadlocks. Although I think I understand the concept of God's grace, I don't understand how it's free to me, because free stuff always feels stolen to me, in some sense (yet so good...). You know what I mean? I always feel like I got the best of someone when I get something for free, and it seems wrong to do that to Jesus, even though I know he's powerful enough not to be robbed by me.

For today, I combed out the dreadlocks and only bit a binky a little bit. That's a good start, right? And I keep trying to remember this: Matthew 11:28-30 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light. {image credit}