busy mom – Best Faith Forward

More Than Words

Buckle up, guys…I wrote a novel tonight…

water overwhelm

I’m sitting here at the table, looking around at what there is still left to do. A husband on nights, a couch of unfolded laundry, food to make and pack, a load of clothes from a sick child, random toys that didn’t make their bins, trash to empty for garbage day, and dishes to finish cleaning….all before I settle (slump) down on a chair to finish reviewing paperwork that I need to catch up.

Most days are like this. A scattered brain with too many things to accomplish, and all just to keep the house and workload in some type of “working order”. Busy, young children, all vying for conversation and time and touch, talking so much that having a thought long enough to remember what you needed to do for work in that moment is a long shot. Going, going, going.

I’ve been composing this post for a few weeks in my head…along with many others, and I know full well it may become a messy conglomeration of tangential thoughts. Ever since an oceanfront revelation, my brain has finally been going there again during the day. But by the time I settle to write (or work), it’s 10pm, and the headspace I felt during the day that was able to process ideas (usually in the car) has become a puddle of sludge, just hoping to finish the top of the list before I crash with my computer on my lap.

seasons

At church, we’ve been going through a series titled “Seasons”, and it’s all based off of a very well-known series of verses in Ecclesiastes…”to everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under heaven…” (Eccl. 3:1, KJV) I love the series. It’s been refreshing, insightful, encouraging, and uplifting, to the very definition – it’s provided hope. Hope that things can change. Hope that this season is not forever. Hope that there is more.

But I can’t help but wonder, do we overuse this phrase? Has this become yet another cliche? How many times have I heard, “this is only a season”? Probably as many times as I’ve been told, “I’ll pray for you” or “this too shall pass” or “he’s in a better place” or “you’re doing great”. Don’t get me wrong, these things are awesome. The logical, rational understanding and internalization of these ideas IS hope providing, and well-intentioned. But the older I get, and the more I pay attention, I realize…I’m an actions person. I used to argue it. I mean, I’m in my head CONSTANTLY, and sometimes with simultaneous thoughts running (that’s more for another day). But I really am an actions person. You love me? Show me. You’re concerned for me? Show me. You can tell I’m anxious/overwhelmed/ depressed/decompensating? Show me. You want to help? Show. Me.

We’ve gotten so caught up in our lives that we have lost the idea of a village. Of a community. We don’t have the time to offer it. And we don’t get offered it in return. I’ve often thought myself, “How can I help someone swim when I’m drowning?”

I have the sweetest friend. She and her family have been here almost a year and a half, but are originally from Portugal. They do things so much differently…and I’m almost jealous. It’s not that I want to completely emulate her life or culture (though I’m not sure I’d completely complain…). It’s more…well…it seems to me (from the outside) that they’ve got a strong piece we’re missing. When you build a house, you prep it to hold you for as long as you are able to live independently. When you go to church, it’s to the one your entire neighborhood/area goes to. Holidays are a progression of family and friends. Life is about community. She is currently a stay-at-home mom after being kind-of a big shot in her business (my words…she’d likely balk at the notion). She’s loving it, and is so thankful. But if I need help? Whether or not I ask, she’ll offer, “because we’re neighbors. That’s what you do”. She could be tired, her kids could be sick, she may have slept three hours the night before and is a single mom much of the time due to her husband’s work schedule. She plans their trips, cleans their home, gets up multiple times with her young children, and doesn’t bat an eye at offering to take on another child so you can get a task completed. It’s definitely a mentality. And to me, it’s a heart thing.

Sometimes I wonder if we’ve started to rely a little too much on our cliche responses, feeling good that we offered a prayer or a half-hearted “let me know if you need anything”. I heard once this offer being described as adding another weight to shoulders who are already too burdened. And honestly, how often do we know how to answer this? How can we? The thought of needing a live-in person daily, or every morning, or every evening…well, that’s my first thought. “can you come over every evening?”.
need anything There’s a song that’s hit my heart many times, knowing full well the countless times that I’ve been both the offerer and receiver. In ‘Shine the Light’, Babbie Mason sings, “In the parking lot of the coffee shop, Just the other day. She smiled and she said, “Well I’m doin’ okay” But I felt her pain. I took her hand in mine, Said, “It’s gonna work out fine”. But as she turned I wondered, did I just hand her a line?” We pat ourselves on the back, *hopefully* lift up the prayer we promised, and move on our way.

I know, I know. We’re all stressed and overrun and tired and busy. I get it. But I also had to ask myself, how can I expect something I’m not giving? If you feel the need to tell someone, “this too shall pass” or “enjoy it now, it’ll be gone too soon”, use this as a red flag for yourself. I PROMISE the person knows this, tells themselves this daily, even feels guilty for still struggling. I PROMISE the person is trying so hard to get through the day to day and WANTS to enjoy the season or push a little harder and a little further. Trust me.

So, let me put out a challenge to you. To me. To us all. If you find these words on the tip of your tongue, think about what they really need so you can HELP them enjoy (survive?) this season. To paint a picture for you, let me go one step further and be very raw and very real. Words like “it’s only for a season, enjoy it now” sometimes make me cry. And not because I feel warm and encouraged. Because I KNOW this to the very depths of my heart, and I cringe that I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t often stop and enjoy it without decreasing my 5-6 hours of sleep even more (less? I digress). I fear that I’ll forget it because I’m stressed and exhausted, and I can’t remember what I did yesterday, let alone that super funny, adorable, cute thing my daughter did an hour ago. I covet prayers, and I’m so thankful for them. Prayers can move mountains, and I believe that to my core. But I also know that I need real-life, hands-on support, and I think I speak for us all.

We were made for community. For connection. And not just for joy. What can you do? Say the words if you need, but follow up. Be more than a passer-by on the street. Check in on them. Clean their bathroom. Bring them coffee or dinner. Wash their car. Take the kids randomly for an hour or two. Don’t ask for permission. Just do it. If you can’t? Send them a good, old-fashioned letter, flowers, a $5 coffee shop gift card, an audiobook, a song, a movie. Call them and be ready to listen, not fix. Be ready to sit in the depth – the muck – of what might come out, and let it be okay for them to vent, even if it doesn’t sound pretty. Offer encouragement to strangers. Pay for the next order in the drive thru line. Recently, I heard a woman speak of a friend who would put a wreath on the person’s door, and one concept I heard of helping kids be Santa by identifying someone to give a surprise gift to by figuring out what they would like/need and giving it to them with no credit just melts my heart. I cannot count the number of times I have been brought to tears by a godly-timed letter, text, gift, or blessing, large and small. But on the flip side, nothing makes a person feel so incredibly insignificant than being heard but not listened to, seen but ignored.

support

I look around our world, our country, and my heart breaks. SOMETHING has got to give. A little kindness, a little connection, a little community – can go a very, very long way. It starts with us, my friends. With me, with you. Be more than a greeting card…we have enough of those already <3

To the mom of three

Dear mom at Wegmans,

This isn’t another letter saying, “I see you” or “you’re not alone”. Lord knows we have enough of those floating around. Instead, this is a letter to say, “thank you”, because I didn’t have the guts. Because this time, the “I see you” sentiment is because you gave me hope.

You see, I had a day today that I don’t often get, nor imagine I will often get. A day to “myself”. Of course, my 7 week old was with me…but I still consider him an attachment 😉 But nonetheless, the girls were at the sitter’s for the day, then headed to their Gigi and Papa’s, and I experienced some quiet time for reflection and peace. Do you know what happens in those times? God speaks to me…and He strengthens me. Every. Single. Time. Fortunately, today, I was listening (other days, I can’t say that with quite such confidence).

God first got my attention as I took a break from our walk to feed the puffin. As I sat on the rock, staring out over the river in front of me, I heard and mom and 3 young children come over to the same space to sit. In the past I might have become annoyed, and these thoughts began to enter my mind…”She’s a mom, doesn’t she understand the need for solitude?” “Seriously, my own kids are talking and screaming and yelling…it had to be somebody’s…” “Did they really have to stop where I’m sitting, of all places?”. But on this day, I was feeling particularly relaxed, and as I observed my thoughts, I actually smiled as I realized, I need to learn to be peaceful WITHIN the chaos – I won’t always have the opportunity to separate myself from it (though, as a strong introvert, I have also learned that I need occasional times away to reboot).

As I resumed our walk, I began to think. I hadn’t yet taken all three kids out by myself, mostly for fear of our precious cupcake, our middle daughter. What would she do if I needed to stop to feed the baby? Or if she dropped on her bottom in the middle of the street in an early toddler tantrum? But for the first time, I began to have the desire to be active with them outside the home; to go on adventures, even if if my husband was working; to explore and have fun and make the most of my leave. It’s amazing the freedom your mind has when it’s not being inundated with questions from my curious preschooler, such as, “why is she riding a horse?” “why did her mom let her go into the trees by herself?” “why is a rock hard?” or the 20minutes meltdowns of my smart, independent, toddler. I love them both to death, but if I want to write, I need just a moment to myself. <3

Dear, fellow grocery shopper, here is where you come in. I noticed you initially because I liked your top, and was about to compliment you on it. But when I looked closer, I stopped in my trackers. Here you were, with the same kids as me. Two girls who looked perhaps 5 and 3, and a little boy in the front of the cart – perhaps approaching a year old. As I watched you walk calmly with your children, put together but not overly primped, talking sweetly with your girls about snacks to pick out for a picnic you were planning, my heart felt a sense of relief. You see, my heart has been feeling overwhelmed, burdened, heavy, stressed, worried, isolated – and even though we all logically know that things change, things get better/easier/fillintheblank, I don’t know that we all believe it to be true when it really comes down to it. It’s much harder to feel a sense of peace and hope in your heart than it is to rationalize one.

As I continued to shop, I saw you a couple of more times, and each time I tried to work up the courage to thank you. But each time, I flushed and hesitated with embarrassment, slowing my step as if you might know what I was thinking if our eyes connected, wondering how completely insane I might sound if the words ever formed.

So here it is. My thank you. Thank you for showing me a light at the end of the tunnel. Thank you for providing me hope that the swirl that life is right now won’t always be. Thank you for being God’s third sign (He works in three’s with me…seems to be the number of times I need to hear something to get it 😉 ). Thank you for just being you, walking through a grocery store with your tag sticking out, debating over the type of granola bar your kids would enjoy, reminding me not only that “this too shall pass”, but to take each moment as it comes, being present with and enjoying my children no matter the experience.

Day 6: Sunday rest day

Today was definitely an off day, and I’m chalking up the week to a “prep week”. You know the like – taking note of my weaknesses, remembering my flaws and struggles, getting back into the swing of not just eating anything in sight. It’s no easy task changing that mindset.

On Sundays, though, I don’t track. I don’t over-indulge, but I take a break from the overly intentional eating. You know – I have lactation cookies with my morning coffee, I have a piece of fresh, homemade bread with my dinner. That kind of relaxed.

My first Sunday on my prep week was no exception. We made chocolate chip cookies as a treat for my Chickpea, and I made lactation cookies for my own milk production. I had a couple of decaf lattes (4-6 oz unsweet almond milk, stevia, and espresso). I was treated to Carraba’s family menu as a celebration and support with my newest arrival, and had a piece of fresh bread. It was a delicious and lazy Sunday – perfect for a day my husband is on nights.

But tomorrow? Tomorrow I start for real. And by for real, I mean being able to pay attention to what I eat, not just at meal times, but during the day. Not finishing everything my girls don’t eat. Not eating the grains/sugars (other than oatmeal. That’s a necessity right now!). Even after a week of being more intentional in my eating, I noticed the off day and some swelling in my joints. I want to be more mindful. More intentional.

And that’s a goal that I’m implementing into every area of my life. <3

Letter to a First-time Mom

Dear first-time mom,

As I sit here, cradling my third – and last – baby, my heart fills with emotion. I am taken back to the time when I held my first newborn. I remember the anxiety as I left the hospital, a new mom let loose in the world with this new life, this bundle of beauty that I was now given the responsibility to care for. And I remember the questions and the fears that filled my mind – What happens if she gets sick? How will I know what to do? They’re really trusting me to keep this thing alive???

The next few months were filled with hazy moments and blurred days from the sleep deprivation that only a new mother understands. The anxiety and hormones came in waves, and there were moments I wished it away. Not the child – never the child – but the lack of sleep. The continuous nursing (every hour and a half for approx. 45 minutes… each… you do the math). The emotional meltdowns. I remember all too vividly a night that my precious husband was on night shift, and I was sitting on the bed in her nursery, crying, willing her to sleep at that all too familiar time of 3am – the time she believed would be her bedtime. I had been nursing her almost constantly since about 11pm, and had laid her in her crib asleep about 4 times at this point – only to have her wake again and searching for comfort. I cried, desperate for sleep, desperate to be able to sit her down, desperate for comfort myself.

Then I was taken to another time – on vacation, when my bundle was only 2 months old. Still desperate for sleep (my precious firstborn would not sleep for four consecutive hours until after around 9 months of age, and not longer than that until well after she turned a year), I melted in a puddle of tears because I felt isolated. Feeding her and putting her to sleep could easily be an all day event. If you’ve ever had a comfort nurser who also could be pictured by the definition of “cluster-feeding”, you’ve felt my pain. Nursing a cluster, comfort feeder can be exhausting, overwhelming, isolating, and extremely lonely.

But mama, I don’t say all of this to scare you. I don’t say it to make you nervous or to tell you not to breastfeed or to even warn you of the hormones. Dear mama of your firstborn, the reason I share all of my information is this: I already miss it. 11 days ago, we brought home our third child (first boy) to a home with two toddlers. Female toddlers, mind you. I knew it’d be difficult. I knew there would be challenges. I anticipated having moments of just wanting to hold him but needing to rise to the needs and responsibilities that having an almost-4 and 2 year old require. But I never imagined that the moments I would struggle with most would be the first “lasts”. As I carry around my precious newborn, I’m quickly taken back to those moments with my first, wishing I’d had a different perspective. Wishing I hadn’t felt guilty those days she wouldn’t let me put her down and we spent the day snuggling. Wishing I had slept when she did in the daytime so I didn’t feel resentful during the multiple times we awoke at night. Wishing I’d had taken it all in just a little bit more, breathed her in, thanked God that I had the ability to feed her and love her and hold her. Of course, I did these things. But I wish I had done it MORE.

There’s a drastic feeling of reality that hits you when you realize you’re holding your last. You want to be present for every moment: every doctor’s appointment, every ultrasound, every heartbeat, every kick and turn, every cry, every feeding, every snuggle, every “first meeting” – All. Of. It.

So my urge to you, pregnant and current mamas with your first – do these things NOW. Do them with your first. Soak it in. Write it down (ok…I did this…but it didn’t cover it). You’ll want to remember – you’ll try hard to hold on – but your sleep-deprived brain will only hold on to some. Record it in writing, in video, through FB – however you document – and just soak it in. Don’t feel guilty if there are days you do nothing other than snuggle your baby, breathe in their sweet smell, and spend all day just taking in those moments. There will be days you’ll have plenty of time for showers and meal prepping and deep cleaning the bathroom.

But for today, just soak it up. You’re doing exactly what you are meant to do.

blake