On Not Sleeping and Keeping the Night Watch

 I heard once that babies could sleep through the night from a few months old, and before I had babies I thought that meant babies did sleep through the night from a few months old. I also was under the impression that once babies started sleeping obviously they kept sleeping, and that surely no preschooler/kindergartener/elementary school child would still have trouble waking up during the night.

Let us pause to laugh at my naivety.

Enter Juliana. That child did not sleep. It was a struggle to get her to sleep every single time. She popped awake at the slightest provocation (like if you breathed too hard). She woke up a ridiculous number of times a night and thought 3am was a great time for a party. She wouldn't nap unless we held her. For like, forever. She first slept through the night at a year old, and that was very short lived. Soon we once again up with her for an hour or two every night. Around 18 months she finally started sleeping consistently.

Adalyn was our sleeper. I remember setting her down, patting her gently for 30 seconds, and she was out. At two months old she was routinely sleeping 6-7 hours at a time. She had her regressions, but overall everything just came easier to her. Let the record show it's not just me; I really did have one good sleeper.

When Nadia was born I had pretty realistic expectations. I also felt pretty confident that I wouldn't have another sleeper as bad as Juliana. That just wouldn't be fair, and everyone knows that life is fair.

Nadia started out like your average newborn. Around 3 months she even had a brief spell of 5 hour stretches. Then that 4 month sleep regression hit and she never got over it. For most of the past 5 months, she has been waking up every 2 hours. Sometimes she'll sleep for 3 hours (not recently) often for 1 hour (recently), but there hasn't been any improvement.

It's not that we haven't tried. By 4.5 months, when the whole regression thing didn't seem to be going anywhere, I pulled out my No Cry Sleep Solution book and started going through the various ideas. Nadia kept getting sick, and that didn't help our progress, but I thought surely if we kept working at it we'd see results. We finally got in a full month of working hard on sleep...and it had only gotten worse. I have tried co-sleeping. I like the idea a lot, but practically it hasn't worked well for us right now. Nadia is restless; I sleep fitfully and wake up with a sore back.

I was barely functional and starting to lose the will to live, so at 7+ months we decided to try “cry it out.” I was adamantly, ethically opposed to CIO when Juliana was a baby. I have mellowed on most of my stances since then, but I still don't like leaving a baby to cry. I think there is a reason it feels so unnatural. But I felt like it was the right decision at the time, as what was going on obviously wasn't working.

I still nursed Nadia once a night, but the other times Kevin went in to her. I wasn't even expecting her to sleep through the night – I was just hoping to get to something more workable. But after more than two weeks, Nadia was still either waking up frequently or having a long crying spell. I thought the point of CIO was that they cry and then they start sleeping and stop crying every night. That wasn't happening. As soon as we quit, Nadia went back to waking up every two hours.

So I quit trying. I'm out of plans, and even if I had plans, I'd be too tired to implement them. Do you know how hard it is to be disciplined and think clearly at 3am when you've already been woken up 2-3 times? I have stopped expecting it to get better because it doesn't. I nurse Nadia back to sleep because that's the easiest, and not nursing her back to sleep was hard and took a long time and didn't actually help.

For now, I will be tired. Fortunately I have long since forgotten what it's like to get decent sleep so I don't quite know what I'm missing, except a fair number of brain cells. But in the tiredness I have a choice. I can either be bitter and frustrated and complain all the time (which I do sometimes), or I can accept it. I can recognize that I have survived the past five months and I'll probably continue to survive.

A friend recently brought up an idea from a book she was reading about viewing these night wakings as “calls to worship.” (If anyone else said something all spiritual like this, I would not take it well, but this friend is a mom to five little ones and has had her fair share of poor sleepers. She hasn't just been there; she is there – and that makes all the difference.) What if being up all night with your baby is actually a form of worship? A keeping of the night watch?

It certainly isn't a natural response. It's easily a drudgery to get through, bleery eyed and barely awake. It's easy to resent the sleeping household (the whole world is sleeping except me!), to resent those other people with the babies who sleep (where did they get them??). It's easy to long for this stage to be over and for Sleeping Through the Night to commence. It requires refocusing every single time. Every hour or two, all night long.

But when I stop complaining, I realize this is an invitation to communion. In the quiet of the night, this is a holy place. I may not have a lot of brain function, but I can consciously turn my heart toward God. I can choose to worship, to meditate, to offer a sacrifice of praise. In the midst of physical exhaustion, I can believe that I will find rest for my soul. There remains a rest that only he can give. If I choose to receive it -- There is grace for the night, joy in the morning, and strength for the day.

Related Posts

• Office of the Night Watch: http://rachelheldevans.com/blog/night-watch-nursing

They say the church fathers gave us fixed-hour prayer, but now I know the church mothers marked sacred time long before these hours had names like lauds, sext, vespers, compline, matins, and the office of the night watch. Mamas have been keeping watch for as long as God has cooed and whimpered and shrieked through a baby’s tiny lungs every hour…every two hours…or, if you’re lucky, every three.

• Spiritual Practices with Newborns: http://www.motheringspirit.com/2014/06/spiritual-practices-with-newborns-a-new-series/

In those hazy hours before dawn, I think about the practices of caring for a baby. How simple, yet how laborious they can be. How feeding, diapering, and comforting a newborn fill every hour of every day...I’ve been thinking about how these simple acts can be spiritual practices.

• The Nightwatch: http://sarahbessey.com/the-nightwatch/

But then here it is: hiding in plain sight, an altar. I’m standing sentry and holding vigil for her. It feels like I have become the answer because I have no answers and so I am free to simply show up both during the night for the baby and even as I am now during the day. It feels like a holy act to lift one crying and cold baby up out of her darkness and hold her to my body, to still the cries of at least one soul.

Meditations for the Night Watch

Jesus Christ, Son of God,

Have mercy on me, a sinner.

Be still and know that I am God.

In repentance and rest is your salvation, in quietness and trust is your strength.

.

You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you, because he trusts in you.

Come to me all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.

You will find rest for your soul.

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

What I Would Say to You

Dear Mama Friends,

This is what I would like to say to you, and perhaps you need to hear it. It's what I would like someone to say to me, although it's easier to say than to believe.

You are not a terrible person. I know sometimes it seems like children bring out the absolute worst in you – all the frustration and anger and selfishness. But you are actually the same person you used to be; it's just harder now to kid yourself about how awesomely kind and loving you are. Think about how much patience practice you have gotten over the years. Even if your patience is still not enough to last the 24 hours a day that you need it, you are more patient now than ever before.

You are not doing it wrong. There is that baby who sleeps all night from 2 weeks old. There is that toddler who potty trains in 2 hours. There is that child who teaches herself to read at 2 years. That is not your child. That is not most people's child. It's completely normal for babies to wake up during the night, and to start waking up again once they've stopped. Yours is not the only toddler to poop anywhere but the potty. And it's supper frustrating. But it's not because you have missed the Perfect Window or the Vital Step or the One True Way. It's because every child is different and life is just messy (literally) and much more complex than we'd like it to be. It's not you.

You remember the moments when you snapped and acted like a sleep deprived two year old. And your kids might too. (Let's be honest, they'll grow up and blame you for everything no matter what. That's what therapy is for.) Those are such big moments right now, moments that seem to define everything. But in ten or twenty years your kids will mostly remember sandwich triangles and silly songs at bedtime and all the little moments colored by security, trust, and someone there who cared.

You are not failing. It sure looks like it sometimes. You cannot possibly stay on top the mess. You don't cook enough vegetables. You did not create magical memories for the first or hundredth or last day of school. Some days (years?) your children will invariably act horrible and you will be certain you are raising them to be terrors. They don't sleep. They won't focus on school. They won't calm down for two blessed seconds. They are far from perfect, and you are far from perfect, but you are far from a failure. You battle frustration and lack of accomplishment and invisible progress every single day and what do you do? You get back up again the next day (or every few hours all night long) and start it all over again! Day after day after day after year. If that's not success, I don't know what is.

Those dark circles are beautiful. They tell of so many nights of self denial and caring for others. That saggy stomach sheltered a tiny human being or three or four. Those stretch marks show how you literally stretched yourself to the limit for the sake of new life. Your hair is turning gray before your eyes – because even your hair has worked so hard at this business of life. Your whole body is showing how you have lived and how you have given. All those imperfections whisper of the tears and losses and anger and disappointment that you don't like to let show; they give away how hard this has been. They show how strong you are. The mirror might show something that seems worse than before, but you are a wonder.

What you are doing matters. All those menial, meaningless loads of laundry and trips to the potty and time outs and cleaning up markers off the floor and washing snotty noses and helping focus on another math problem and quieting the screaming and making another dinner. You are providing your children with food and clothes and keeping them safe and helping them to learn some kindness and responsibility and math, and where would they be without that? Human children are pretty helpless. They need you. They follow you around everywhere you go talking incessantly because they want to be with you.

What you are doing matters. In itself, by itself, this is incredible spiritual work. You are literally feeding and clothing the least of these. You are washing feet and showing the extent of your love. You put others' needs before your own day and night. You hear your baby cry, and you answer him. You lift him out of darkness and draw him into your arms, giving comfort. You offer your physical body as a sacrifice.

You are weary and discouraged and wonder if you will ever again do something that feels meaningful, something that you can finish. But this right here, this is IT. This is life. You were made for this life, for this every day, and you are doing it so well. Let us raise our coffee mugs together in solidarity. We are doing this. Carry on.

Ruth

One Word 2016: Moment

It's not even the end of February and I've already had a baby and written about my word for the year. So yeah, I'm pretty on top of things.

Life with a newborn is all about the present moment. Nothing can really be planned - as soon as you sit down to eat or lie down to sleep, baby is suddenly ravenously hungry. For her there is no future. Either she is nursing or starving. She is cuddled with mama or she is unfathomably alone.

The needs of a two year old are less constant but nearly as changeable. One moment she is giving sweet kisses and the next she is screaming bloody bedtime murder because she wants her blanket on but doesn't want her blanket on and it's the wrong person doing it in the wrong way. There will be moments of silliness and toddler slyness and far too many moments of potty training and running away screaming and then suddenly one day Baby Addie isn't even a toddler anymore, she's a threenager (cue ominous music).

It's so easy to get tied up in the minutes of the day. Minutes of sleep and sleeplessness. Minutes til everyone needs shoes on walking out the door. Minutes until the next nursing, until dinner is supposed to be ready, and how many minutes will this tantrum last? Minutes til bedtime and not nearly enough minutes until morning.  This year will be filled with a lot of loud, in your face, strain your patience, labor intense minutes. I won't treasure every minute. Some minutes are just not that good.

The minutes can go by slowly, in the middle of the night, or in the third hour of nursing, but the moments speed fast. Baby squeaks and curled frog legs turn to searching eyes and first flashing smiles. When I look back I want to remember the floppiness of a satisfied sleeping baby.  I want to notice the  toddler's mischievous grin as she wraps arms around my neck, I want to appreciate the dancing five year old yet to discover self-consciousness. 

As this our presumably last baby already moves through new stages, I realize how brief this season of life really is.  I don't want to rush through or begrudge this season.  But in the midst of it all, it can be hard to see beyond. My life looks to be an endless procession of one handed tasks and days divided by a series of catnaps. Any non-mothering dreams will stay on the back shelf. I will be quietly buried under a pile of laundry.

I want to remember that these moments are important. When I am accomplishing nothing and haven't made it outside the apartment because it would take five hours to get everyone ready, when I have been doing and saying the same things over and over with no measurable progress, I want to remember that these days still matter.

These are the moments of nourishing my baby and teaching her to trust. These are the moments of sternness, of gentleness, of silliness - of letting my middle child know she is seen and not forgotten. These are the moments of teaching my oldest how to read and to love reading, of helping her adjust to changes at school and loneliness over losing her classmate-best friend. These moments shape lives.

Mother Mary

Perhaps it's not surprising that I’ve found myself thinking about Mary in this Advent season of being “great with child.” Some pretty amazing things happened to her - an angel appearance seems pretty spectacular, and it’s not every day a heavenly being says you’ve found favor in the eyes of the Lord.  Still, she had to put up with an awful lot of unpleasantness as well.  As I reflected last year on that “holy, messy night,” I imagine the whole experience looked less like a Christmas card and more like Imogene Herdman crying and crying over the baby Jesus.

While her cousin Elizabeth was celebrating a long-awaited baby and the removal of her reproach, Mary was facing shame, suspicion, and likely shunning. The turned backs of neighbors and friends may have seemed a lot more real than the memory of being highly favored. While she was busy laboring in a stable, the shepherds got the whole hallelujah chorus.

Mary experienced a whole lot of trouble along with the glimpses of glory, but after all she had no ordinary role.

After the shepherds and wisemen faded from sight, off to share their moments of epiphany, Mary was still there. She was the one to hold baby Jesus, to gaze into his face, to touch his pudgy cheek.  She nursed him and held him through sleepless nights. Imagine seeing the first of Jesus’ smiles, hearing his childish whispers of love.

Mary was there for the quiet years of his growth. The rest of us know so little about his childhood, but she was there through each moment of it. She knew his favorite food and favorite friends. She laughed at his silly jokes. She wrapped skinned knees and dried tears. He was hungry and she fed him, thirsty and she gave him something to drink, naked and she clothed him, sick and she cared for him - every single day.

Jesus’ closest followers got three years with him; Mary had thirty-three. There was much she did not yet understand, but by the time he started his ministry, imagine how much she already knew of him! She had known he was special from before he was even conceived.

She was there at his birth, and she was there at his death. She stayed nearby and watched him suffer, because how could she turn away now? Though she was helpless and brokenhearted, she gave him all she could: her presence in a time of abandonment. And even in his anguish, Jesus made sure his mother would be cared for.

I think it’s appropriate that Mary was one of the first to know of his resurrection. And how did she come to find out? She was going to fulfill her last motherly duty - anointing her son’s body with burial spices. She wasn’t expecting a miracle - she was doing what she could to care for her son, just as she always had.

How is it that she got to be a part of so many big moments - his announcement, his birth, his first miracle, his death, his resurrection? Certainly she was special, blessed among women. But I think she witnessed these things because she was there.

She didn’t miss the big moments because she was already there for all the little moments. She was already there washing his clothes and making his food, worrying if he was getting enough rest. She swaddled him at birth, and she prepared to anoint his body at death. She had the opportunity to see Jesus from the first to the last. After all, she was his mother.

The Third Child

In most American families, the first and second children are more or less a given. Sure, there are some couples who don’t have any children, through their own choice or not. But since most people expect kids, they probably get a lot of inappropriate questions about why they don’t have any. And there are certainly people who only have one child, but in general after you have one, people are wondering when you’re going to produce the sibling and don’t you want one of each sex?

 

But plenty of families stop at two kids. It’s really the rational thing to do. You have fulfilled your obligation to provide a sibling and reproduce yourselves. You have quite enough insanity to keep your busy and you might as well stop before you are outnumbered. We are well past the age of needing help around the farm, we have access to birth control - there’s really no practical reason for that third kid. (Granted, one could say that having children in the first place is an insane decision, practicality wise.)

 

By the third child, you know what you are getting yourself into. I didn’t love my first pregnancy, but it was more or less a piece of cake compared to these later two. The second pregnancy was pretty much miserable, so this time I knew what I was in for.

 

Maybe you got lucky with a super easy first baby and thought, “I can handle this; I must be really good at this parenting thing.” But unless the universe is super tilted in your favor, the second child is bound to come along and prove you wrong. (I was fortunate to have the “high needs” one first, so the second seemed easy in comparison).

 

At any rate, by this point you have realized that when you finally get through the sleepless nights, you still have the tantrums and potty training and blatant defiance and education worries...and you have discovered that sleepless nights do not end with babyhood. This parenting thing just keeps being hard, so why in the world would you go and start over again with another baby?

 

Unless it’s a total surprise, the third baby is usually more of a decision. You weigh the pros and cons. The house isn’t going to get any bigger, which means three kids in the same room waking each other up. In America you will have three car seats. I know those things are live saving, but it's going to take 30 minutes just to get everyone strapped in. In China you will have to somehow rangle three children down five flights of stairs. Three kids sure don’t fit on a bike, and can you really get that many on and off a bus by yourself? You may never go out again.

 

While I understand the principles of addition, they don’t seem to apply to children. Each added child seems to multiply the laundry and mess and chaos and tiredness. You already rarely see the bottom of the laundry hamper as it is, and now you are thinking about adding 5x the laundry (because somehow, that’s how it works)??

 

So why in the world do you have that third child?

 

Just because you want to. It’s not for convention or practicality or obligation. It doesn’t make sense. But you look around at your two child chaos and feel like something is still missing. Your family is not complete. You have the third child just because you want them. (Hopefully and presumably you wanted the first to as well, but the third child is just special. Which I’m not just saying because I am a third child...) The third child is like a bonus.

 

Besides, you know what you are getting into. You don’t have to worry (too much) about all the weird pregnancy symptoms, and it’s going to take a lot more than a few stretch marks to faze you. You know that pregnancy will in fact one day end. You feel like you could probably deliver your own baby on the side of the road, if it came down to it.

 

You already know about the heart-melting first smiles. You know how incredibly awesome it is to finally sleep through the night, and you will never again take it for granted. The first two have eaten an awful lot of fuzzy stuff off the floor and fallen head first off an awful lot of chairs without dying, so there’s a pretty good chance this next one will survive too. You know that one day this baby will be able to wrap its arms around your neck and say, “I wuv you, mama!”

 

You already know how much the siblings will enjoy each other, fighting and all. The first child is old enough to understand what is going on, to feel the baby kick and discuss again the mystery of just how it’s going to get out of your stomach. You know the coloring and block building and dancing around the living room will be that much more exciting with someone else to join the party.

 

You have seen how incredibly different those first two children are in looks and personality, and you cannot imagine either of them not existing in the world. You know this third will be a totally new surprise.

 

It doesn’t make sense. It’s not practical. You’ll lose a lot of brain cells and gain a lot of gray hairs. But you have that third child anyway, just because you want to.

 

This is the irrational season
Where love blooms bright and wild.
Had Mary been filled with reason
There’d have been no room for the child.
-Madeleine L’Engle

Self Care is not Selfish

[While this is addressed specifically to mothers, the ideas are all pretty universal.]

Dear Mothers,

Self care is not selfish. It’s understandable that we get confused, when advertisements tell us things like “Take care of yourself (with our $30 skin care product)” and “You deserve the best (aka. our cruise to the Bahamas).”

On the other hand, we are continually inundated with stimulating activities for our children (only 90 minutes prep required!), the newest current-most-important-health-ingredient recipes which will require every pot in your kitchen, and incredibly important causes to which we really should devote our whole heart and soul. Who on earth has time for self care, when our children’s health and development, and possibly the state of the world, rests on our shoulders?

It’s tricky because some of those basic human needs and desires take a back burner when children enter the picture. Things like sleeping all night or sitting through a whole meal or being able to lock the bathroom door (without anyone screaming outside it). We do have to give up some of our pre-child expectations. In light of children, they do become selfish.

And yet we still have needs. Our bodies need sleep and food and exercise. Our minds need adult stimulation and an occasional quiet moment to air out. Our spirits need space to connect with God. Our soul needs emotional health.

Neglecting these needs is not selfless; it is foolish. We have limits, and if we keep pushing we will reach those limits. We will eventually crash and burn.

If we are paying attention, we will recognize the warning signs as we draw near the edge of our limits. Warning signs like being irritable all the time. Yelling at our kids. Ending every day feeling drained and exhausted. Feeling disconnected from God. They only become stronger when ignored - resentment toward our children or spouse, illness, feeling depressed or out of control, dreaming of escape (if only to a really quiet hotel room). We all have warning signs: what are yours?

There are times when we are pushed to our limits by circumstances outside our control, when we operate in what my mom calls “survival mode.” There are times when health is just not a reality - say if you are pregnant and throwing up for months. There are times when your needs will definitely move to the back burner, like when you are up every 2hrs with a newborn or when your children are sick. There are crises and deadlines and moves and jet-lag. But these times should not be all the time.

So how do we make self care happen? It might look very different for each person depending on our circumstances and our personality, but some good question to start with are “what are my most important needs?” and “what fills me?”

I need sleep. Even when I am not pregnant and tired all the time, I need more sleep than some (I like to think it’s because I use my brain so much...). If I don’t get enough sleep, I am cranky. It takes twice as long to complete tasks because I can’t think clearly. Right now especially, I need adequate nutrition and protein snacks to feed my body and baby. I need exercise, especially yoga to calm my mind and stretch aching joints.

Even if the “30 minute daily quiet time” (not a biblical mandate) doesn’t often happen, I need connection with God throughout the day. Maybe that means listening to music, writing out verses, reading the same chapter for a month and letting it sink in, appreciating beauty in nature, reciting prayers or verses with my prayer beads, journaling, reading a short devotional...many small, scattered moments of “practicing the presence of God.” I also need consistent time apart to focus and go deeper.

I am an introvert. Surprisingly (or not surprisingly), that did not change when I became a mother to an energetic extrovert. I need some quiet and space. I need tiny moments throughout the day, and I need chances to get out of the house or be in the house by myself.

If I continually ignore these needs, my well-being suffers. My family also suffers, because I cannot care for them well when I have nothing to offer.

Refusing to accept my limits and take care of myself is not selflessness; it is pride. It is working really hard to show I have it together in every area. It is trying to show that I have super-human strength. It is claiming that I am so very indispensable my world might fall apart if I take a break.

Don't ignore the warnings in your life. Allow yourself to have needs and limits. Figure out how to make self-care a reality in your life.

[Linking up with Velvet Ashes: Warning]

On Pretending to be Useful

I have read my fair share of stereotypical gender roles kind of books, many of them talking about how important it is for a woman to feel beautiful. If you look through the magazines with their 15 step facial cleansing routine, it seems like a reasonable assumption.  But as my 360th day of ponytail might suggest, beauty has never been top on my list of concerns. Sure I wouldn’t mind being beautiful, but it doesn’t keep me up at night.

What I want is to be useful. And I don’t mean in a holier-than-thou kind of way, because as much as being useful, I want everyone to notice how very useful I am and marvel at my mad skills. I want someone to say, “Wow, how do you do it all? Raising bright, creative, disciplined children. Making incredibly healthy meals in a spectacularly clean house. Interacting with students every day. All while being an indispensable leader, writing profound books, being famous, literally saving lives - we are truly inspired.”

And that’s why I don’t want to show how useless I sometimes feel. There are days when I do nothing. Not Gilmore Girls marathon kind of nothing. But nothing outside of my home, and nothing inside of my home that won’t have to be done all over again tomorrow. Nothing that says, “Look at me, I’m leading a super important life here in China!

When we tell people back in America we live in China and they get that “ooh exotic” look in their eyes, or when people (untruthfully) say something like, “I could never do what you’re doing,” I don’t think they are envisioning another day of laundry and hitting and tattling about hitting. Because everyone does that. Besides a laundry porch instead of a drier, it doesn’t even look much different than it would in America.

And sure sometimes I do things with students and “impact lives,” generally in a vague, unmeasurable way. I do the “supporting spouse” thing, which is something like more laundry and cooking and keeping the house livable. And maybe at the end of the day I grew my baby a little bigger and I kept my toddler from eating an entire crayon and I taught my kindergartener how to write a 4. But is that enough? Would it ever be enough?

I don’t want to tell how ordinary our lives are sometimes, how full of the mundane necessities of life, because people want to hear the glory and the suffering, the exotic “this could never happen in America.” People want to hear about The Results. Not The Laundry.

(In fairness, nobody wants to hear about laundry wherever you live; it’s very boring. But it is especially anticlimactic when you are talking about China.)

I don’t want to tell how ordinary our lives are sometimes because I’m afraid people will ask, “Why are you there anyway?” It’s hard enough to hear that question from myself. I know this is where we should be now. I want to be here. But sometimes I wonder if it matters that I’m here.

Especially in this not-so-productive season of my life. This season of limited energy and focusing on what has to get done. This season of learning about weakness and limitations, which is humbling.\\

Some would say growing a baby is productive - it feels like a lot of work sometimes, but it looks more like doing nothing much for 9 months and then you happen to get a baby at the end. Most would say that raising children is important, but often it looks like doing and saying the same things over and over for years and wondering if it’s getting through.

So why are we here, living lives that seem way too ordinary?

This may not be the right answer, or the best answer, but this is the answer I have right now.

We are here to do life in China. Laundry, messy floors, home schooling, all of it. This is not just our jobs; it’s our lives. It’s our children’s lives. China is where we work and play and learn and discipline. We want our students to see that we are not just passing through - we are choosing to live our lives here.

In reality, our lives do look different than they would in America, especially in a million small ways we hardly notice anymore. We do deal with unique challenges. We have great opportunities and witness exciting change. But much of our lives are just eating and sleeping and cleaning and doing life stuff.

And it’s not enough. It will never be enough. The need is always before us; the plans and dreams are always more than we can realize; the tasks will never be completed. At my most productive, I am not enough. But then, in the end, I don’t have to be. It was never all on me anyway.

[Linking up with Velvet Ashes: Façade]

Enjoying the Moments

One day I will not wake up to the crying of children.  I will wake up, and it will be after 6am, and nobody will have disturbed me all night long.  I will drink an entire cup of coffee while it is still hot.

One day no one will reach out arms for rescue from the crib-prison and spin circles around the room in a celebration of freedom.  No one will wake up overflowing with dreams and ambitions (what she has decided for her next birthday cake and when she can change her name to Elsa).  I will no longer cling to my coffee as the sweet nectar which sustains all life.

One day I will lie down on the couch and read a book.  Just uninterrupted reading, for more than thirty seconds.  No one will try to sit on my Kindle or suddenly discover a DIRE band-aid situation (can't you see the teeny, tiny cut I got last week??)  that needs immediate attention.  There will be no screaming.

One day no one will bring in a pile of slightly-chewed books saying, “Read! Read!.”  No one will climb on my belly and demand 20 games of "ride the horsey" which end with everyone in helpless giggles.  The chubby laughing face will have become too busy for silly games.

One day I will eat an entire meal in peace.  I will sit down, eat leisurely, and not get up until I'm done. There will be no screaming.  No one will steal the best parts of my food.  My husband and I will hold entire conversations not broken by a single "mama-mama-mama-MAMAAAAAA!"

One day no one will climb into my lap with a mischievous grin while slyly reaching for my bread.  No one will give an animated account of what happened at kindergarten.  No one will say incredibly funny things and then get mad at us for laughing.

One day no one will wipe boogers on my shirt or pee on the couch or talk about poop at the dinner table.  No one will shriek with frustration because the Stupid Puzzle Piece Won’t Go IN!!!

One day no one will dance wildly to "Pop Goes the Weasel," no one will beam with pride over a wobbling tower creation or laugh with joy when it falls down two seconds later.  No one will nuzzle a soft cheek against my chin.

One day we will get out the door without hunting for socks and shoes and waterbottles and toys.  There will be no sunscreening squirmy faces or last minute trips to the potty or how-is-your-face-still-covered-in-breakfast-oatmeal-at-4pm.  There will be no juggling of bags and strollers and babies up and down flights of stairs.

One day we will decide to go somewhere and we will just...walk out the door. We will go out to dinner and then say, "Hey, let's see a movie.  Why don't we walk around the lake?"  And then we will just do it.

One day we will go to concerts and coffee shops and whatever places adults go to.  We won't plan our vacation around the hotel with the good playground and the amount of insanity required to get there.  We will get on an airplane and just watch a movie or read a book.  Maybe we'll even fall asleep.

One day we will stop to point out the playground or the cows or the really big dump truck and no one will care.  One day no one will beg for hide and seek, or plant twig trees in the ground, or ask where the worm lives.  We will get on an airplane and nobody will be wildly excited about the little buttons and the window shades and the teeny tiny bag of pretzels.

One day we will not hurry back from dinners or forgo evening plans because little ones are melting down.  No one will take 30 minutes to put on a pair of pajamas or demand the door cracked at a perfect 13% angle and the right light on and the covers straightened out again and the waterbottle placed just so...   And there will be no screaming.

 One day no one will make a last minute pajama escape, running giggling through the living room exulting in nakedness.  One day no one will cuddle in laps for another reading of Goodnight Moon. There will be no "Jesus Loves Me" and prayers and sweet kisses through crib bars.

So I won't enjoy the 2am wake ups or the 3am throw ups or the 4am attempts at morning.  I probably won't enjoy most of the happenings between 1-5am, because seriously, I'm not crazy.

But I will enjoy the thousand other tiny, sticky, loving, learning, out-of-control-silly moments that fill the day.  Because one day is sooner than I can ever imagine.

[Linking up with Velvet Ashes: Enjoy]

Stay at Home Feminist

[This is not a comment about working mothers vs. stay at home mothers vs. work at home mothers vs. part time working mothers... Nor does this issue just affect stay at home mothers, although I focus on that area. Sometimes  working mothers are respected only because they have made the progressive decision to work, and the whole huge part of their life that is being a mother isn't viewed as significant.  Sometimes working mothers are viewed as inferior mothers because they love or need their careers and don't spend every moment with their child.  All of this is stupid.  How about we respect and value mothers no matter what?]

The other day I read this super annoying, super stupid article from USA Today about this husband who wouldn't let his wife quit her job, even though she wanted to stay home with the kids, because he wanted better for her.  It made me really mad for many reasons, not the least of which is a controlling husband making his wife's decisions for her.  He won't "let" her quit her job? Someone I know said this kind of talk makes her feel "stabby," which I thought was an apt description. 

The ironic part is that this man clearly thinks he is so progressive.  I am all for supporting your wife working when it is what she wants or what is necessary for your family.  In this case it was not a financial decision at all, he just didn't want his wife to waste her degree and career accomplishments.  He is afraid of her "becoming stagnant."

I'm sure the article was written to get a rise out of people one way or another. Some applaud him.  Some rise up in arms, either because of attack on stay at home moms or because of his controlling egotism.  It was some random opinion of some stupid internet guy. It shouldn't matter. Except that it is published.  This idea and so many ideas like it are constantly circulated.  

You may have noticed that I'm a bit of a feminist (aka. someone who thinks women should be treated with equal respect and have equal rights as men).  Few things make me all stabby like oppression of women in any form.  And it does take all forms. Most recently I have found it particularly as a stay at home mom.  Not because I am being kept out of the workforce or chained to the kitchen, but rather because my decision makes me seen as less-than.

I often wonder why it is that mothers, particularly "stay at home moms" continually need to be reminded we are doing something worthwhile. Is it just because we are over-sensitive females who imagine we are being overlooked and undervalued?  Or is it perhaps because we continually experience very real, subtle and not so subtle slights? 

Honestly, from my experience, I have met very few "weak" females.  And when I think about women worldwide, I am astounded at the difficulties they face and still press through.  I don't think we are a gender of particularly fragile egos. 

I am a stay at home mother with a college degree in elementary education.  It will be especially useful as I teach my daughter. That's right, I'm also a home school mom.  Double whammy.  Where is my calf-length denim skirt? I am responsible for my children's education - if they learn how to read and to love reading, if they learn the countries of the world and a global perspective, if they understand math - that's on me.  So yeah, I think I'll be using my degree.

I am a stay at home mother in China.  I have a masters degree in intercultural studies.  My family and I interact in another culture every day.  I practice Chinese language basics with my girls and encourage them to use it.  I remind them of the importance of responding graciously in cultural situations they don't enjoy.  My attitude toward local culture affects the attitude they take with them onto the playground, into Chinese kindergarten, and into the future.  So I'm pretty sure that degree will come in handy.

I am no chef, but I cook for my family.  I may not cook vegetarian, gluten free, grain-free, organic, free range, (insert current most important health initiative) meals, but you can bet I am thinking about their health.  I am thinking about how to cook healthy things the kids will actually eat.  I am providing their framework for healthy eating later in life.  And I am figuring out how to cook without a pile of children wailing at my feet.

I do laundry.  Constantly.  Laundry -unlike stain removal- is not a skill.  Anyone can (or should be able to) do it.  But someone has to keep us all in moderately clean clothes. Laundry is pretty easy due to the marvelous (wonderful, blessed) invention of the washing machine, but the process never ends.  Wash clothes, hang clothes, take them down, fold them, search for missing socks, put clothes away, gather them off the floor and take them to the laundry hamper.  Perhaps I should save time and just take them straight from the drying rack to the dirty clothes hamper.

I clean.  Constantly.  You cannot imagine how much mess children can create until they are running free in your home.  Why are there dry beans in the living room, three changes of clothes in the bathroom, toys from five different boxes in the kitchen, and half of the children's book shelf on our bedroom floor?  Children.  Children are not known for their efficiency in most areas, but mess making - it's incredible.  Of course, anyone can clean as well.  It's a job of janitors.  And obviously janitors don't deserve much respect...right?

I change diapers and I potty train and I discipline and discipline and discipline.  I do all these things, over and over again, but I do something more too.  I gather up little children running to me for hugs.  I tickle and giggle and make giggle.  I point out the beauty all around.  I show my children that they are valuable, that they are loved, that they are worth my time.  I teach them the importance of kindness and respect.  I show them how to love God and others, and how to be loved by God and others.

Mr. Stupid Internet Guy said he didn't want his daughter "seeing mommy at home, thinking she needs to do the same because that's what she grew up seeing." He wants better for her. Well you know what, I don't have any problem with my girls seeing me at home. 

What do I want for them when they grow up?  I want them to be doctors or mothers or janitors.  I want them to be doctors because they feel called to be.  I want them to be mothers because they find joy in it.  Or I want them to be janitors because they are not too proud to work with their hands. 

Whatever they choose, I want them to know that they are valuable not because of what they do but because of who they are. 

And also, if someone steps in to make their decisions for them, I want them to feel all stabby.

What DO I do all day?

It is that age old question. So you are a stay at home mom - what do you do all day? People don't usually ask it outright because of the wrath it may incur, but they still think it. I still ask it of myself.  How is it that a whole day passes and I accomplish so little?

Some days being at home all day with the kids is pretty easy and enjoyable. Some days it is an extreme exercise in patience. I do not believe that being a SAHM is the hardest job ever or even a job in the traditional sense. There is much more flexibility, less time off, more fun, and of course no salary. But perhaps the biggest difference is how little we accomplish. Most jobs involve making measurable headway in some area. At home, you do the same things again and again each day, with small people coming along behind to undo them.

Some days either you hold the baby, or the baby cries. All. Day. Long.

How is it we stay busy all day and yet get so little done?  Here is an example hour in a normal day of my life.

[Note: this story only involves one child at home. The actual amount of accomplishment may vary based on the number and ages of children present, who is sick or in a terrible mood, etc. If there is a pregnancy or baby in the mix and everyone is still alive and somewhat sane at the end of the day - Bravo! Great accomplishment!]

Scene opens (Juliana has just been scuttled out the door to school).

8:01 - Reheat coffee and plan morning: do laundry, wash dishes. Then I should have plenty of extra time to organize the entire rest of the house!

8:02 - First things first: get Adalyn dressed. Where is Adalyn anyway? A quick search reveals her in her bedroom, dumping out the buckets of socks and underwear, happily wearing a pair of Elsa underwear on her head. Put away socks and underwear. This whole cabinet is an overflowing mess. I really need to get around to organizing it.

Adalyn gets a head-start on reorganizing.

8:05 - Adalyn has run off again, this time hiding in the pantry. Catch her eating raisins and uncooked rice of the floor.  Carry her into the bedroom. Change diaper and put on clothes, pausing for some belly tickles. Those baby giggles are so irresistible, we'd better do a few more.

8:10 - Clean off diaper in the toilet, wondering when the toilet was last cleaned. Balance diaper on top of full diaper pail. Maybe I'd better start by washing the diapers. Except I need to make up more diaper detergent. I'd better go on and clean the toilet while I'm thinking about it. And the diaper sprayer and the shower handles and mirror and - what are you doing Adalyn? Don't pull out all the toilet paper!

8:15 - Rewind roll of toilet paper while Adalyn plays in the trash can. Empty trash and wash Adalyn's hands. Catch glimpse of self in the mirror. Wow, I look really tired. Maybe I should put on some make-up. At least some under eye concealer. And one day I should do something with my hair. Maybe next year. Make silly faces with Adalyn in mirror. Notice Adalyn's face is still coated with oatmeal. Wash off face, a finely developed form of torture.

8:20 - Make diaper detergent and prepare to put diapers in the washer. What? There are still clothes in the washer! Oh no, I forgot I put some in last night. Smell test. Yep, they're still okay. Take wet clothes out to the laundry porch and remember there are still clothes hanging up.

8:25 - Adalyn helps pull down dry laundry. She is very good at pulling down laundry. Pile laundry on bed to sort through. Adalyn is starting to understand directions, so I tell her, "Adalyn, can you put the socks in daddy's drawer?" She grabs the socks - and heads off for the kitchen. Catch Adalyn and show her the drawer again. She puts in the socks. And takes out 5 other pairs. She puts her socks, Juliana's socks, and the dishtowels into daddy's sock drawer. She is very pleased with herself.

"I'm pretty sure I can reach that."

8:30 - Okay, maybe I'll fold the laundry later. I'll hang up the wet laundry first. No, I'd better get the diapers started washing. Seperate diapers and fill washer. Return to laundry porch to find wet laundry scattered on the floor.  Adalyn is looking through the books and notebooks by my bed, calmly dispensing of papers she feels are unnecessary.

8:35 - Hang up wet laundry. Rehang wet laundry Adalyn enthusiastically helps pull down. Pause to chase prism rainbows across the floor. Chase dust bunnies across the floor, complements of yesterday's dust storm. Perhaps I should sweep.

8:40 - Go into the kitchen to wash dishes. Discover coffee still sitting in the microwave. Re-reheat. Drink two swallows. Remember the drying rack is still full of clean dishes. Put away clean dishes while Adalyn pulls a stool over to the kitchen sink to play. Check for any dangerous objects and let her play. She is so happily occupied and has already poured water all down her front, so any chance of staying dry is lost.

No dish pile too large

8:45 - Put last dishes into the cabinet and hear a crash. Adalyn looks perplexedly at the pieces of broken bowl all over the ground. Move Adalyn out of the kitchen to clean up broken glass. She wants to help too and does not like being kept out. Sweep up glass while removing a wailing Adalyn 5 more times.

8:50 - Haul still wailing Adalyn into the other room to change her wet clothes. Put on new pants. Discover the shirt is size 9 months. I really need to go through the girl's clothes. Find a new shirt. Discover Adalyn's pants but no Adalyn. Find Adalyn sitting on top of the coffee table with a book, naked and giggling. Read book together and do some belly pats.

8:55 - Redress Adalyn. Put dirty clothes in the laundry and remember the laundry basket is still full. And the sink is still full of dishes. Add to list:
Clean bathroom
Go through girl's clothes
Reorganize cabinet
Sweep floor

Sweep? Did someone say sweep?

9:00 - My list is now longer than it was an hour ago. What have I accomplished? I dressed Adalyn, twice. Take another swallow of coffee, which is cold again. And where is Adalyn? Oh, she's in the kitchen making a tower with the cups I just put away.

What I'm Not and What I Am

The other day a delivery woman asked me, "Are you a teacher here?" I almost answered yes, but then I realized it isn't true anymore. So I said, "No, my husband is."

It was a very simple exchange, but as I discussed in a previous post, small interactions like this remind me that part of what I have lost is a simple explanation for who I am and why I am here. I know I'm not here just for my husband's job, that I have legitimate roles here, but it all takes a lot more explaining now.

When I tell students and neighbors I am not teaching this term they look confused. I explain why - that I need to spend more time caring for the kids, that I am teaching Juliana some kindergarten - and they understand a little more. Everyone says being a mother is hard work. They don’t know how we handle two children and no grandparents nearby. But "stay at home mom" is not a familiar concept. To be an adult and not working is just...not normal.

In daily life, though, I am enjoying having one less role. Even though I was only teaching 4 hours a week, I had to figure out how to fit in planning and grading. I never felt like I had the time I really needed to prepare and teach as well as I wanted. It was good for me to have something separate and outside the house for this past year, but right now I feel like it is good for me to narrow my focus. While I enjoyed teaching, I didn't have enough time to actually get to know students well outside of class.

Not teaching means one less area to think about, so I can focus more on my other roles. I can slow down and have more patience with the kids. I can let Adalyn help wash the dishes (and herself and the floor) and put up (pull down) the laundry. I can sit and read books with her without fretting too much about everything else that needs to be done. 

I can spend more time doing school with Juliana. I found a fun curriculum (Five in a Row) that bases each unit on a children's book. Each week, we read one book together every day and learn about social studies, science, music, art, etc. using the book as a basis. Juliana is loving it, and maybe in the future I'll write another post about what our current home school looks like.

Since I obviously still want to invest in students and focus on deepening the relationships I have, this term I decided to start a book club. I love reading, so I'm not sure why I didn't think of this before! The club is made up of nine students (seven girls and two guys). Most of them are ones I taught or have gotten to know over the past year. I mostly decided who to invite, so I got to ask students I enjoy and want to spend more time with!

We will be reading The Little Prince, and I'm excited for the discussion opportunities it presents. The students are all eager for it as well. They like reading and want to improve their English reading and speaking. Plus, a club is much more fun than a class!

I already feel tempted to fill up my time with other useful roles, but I'm trying to resist that. I feel like I have a lot to learn right now, in my "year of Grace," about not doing. Not living in laziness, of course, but not rushing around in frantic busyness either. I want to live well and really invest in what I feel led focus on. I want to love well, even if I don't accomplish much (and incidentally I've realized may of the days I accomplish the most, it has been at the expense of loving well). 

My role is not so easily defined anymore, but that's okay. I want to move away from being defined by and seeking value in what I do anyway. Maybe I’ll write more about that in the future too!

[Linking up with Velvet Ashes on the topic of Roles]

Everyday Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving morning two years ago, I discovered that Juliana's room was being overrun with mold.  I spent a day furiously scrubbing and bleaching and moving furniture. The next day I painfully sprained my ankle and hobbled on crutches to our Thanksgiving celebration (down 6 flights of stairs, up 5, down 5, up 6... it was tricky, but I was determined to make it to the turkey!)

Thanksgiving morning one year ago, I spent in my parent's warm, turkey-scented kitchen while my mom and sisters scurried around making voluminous amounts of traditional foods.  I made a chocolate salted caramel pecan pie because...we were in America and Americans do that kind of thing.  It was my first Thanksgiving with my family in 9 years, and I loved all the traditional foods and all the traditional people, plus a handful of new children!

This year I am looking forward to celebrating Thanksgiving with the other teams in our province.  Thanksgiving Day itself probably won't be anything out of the ordinary, but this year I am delighting in thankfulness.  If I could go back and re-choose my "one word" for the year, it might be gratitude. It's not that I have been amazingly grateful all year, but it may be the most important lesson I have been learning throughout the year.

Actually I spent the first part of the year stewing in discontent.  I was stressed with the thought of all the changes coming up as we ended our time in the States.  I was frustrated that months after moving back to China, settling into our new apartment and school and teaching positions, I still felt so unsettled!

I pushed against the constraints of mothering; planning my life around naps and nursing, telling my stubborn 3 year old the Same Things every other minute of every single day.  I looked longingly at other people's lives and was frustrated that mine didn't seem to be working as well as theirs.  I stewed over the days filled with endless, seemingly empty tasks.  Laundry and more laundry and didn't I just cook last night and now people expect to eat again?  Shouldn't life be more meaningful?  Where was the Important work I was supposed to be doing?

There were many happy moments as well, as my baby's first year flew by, and as my 3-year old occasionally broke out of her "I rule the world" delusion, but often I just dreamed about getting away.  When I read back over my occasionally-kept journal, I see themes of discontent spring up everywhere.  I was exhausted from discontent.  Also from not sleeping, but discontent emptied my soul every day.

This summer I came across Ann Voskamp's book 1000 Gifts.  I had been hearing about it but started reading a bit skeptically because the writing seemed rather flowery.  I discovered I not only found the writing beautiful (although it was flowery and I did do some skimming), I also loved what she had to say.  There are many times I have read an inspiring book, but soon after I finish reading the inspiration fades.  What I appreciated about this book is that it introduced a practice, a very simple habit of developing gratitude.  While I've forgotten most of Ann's wise, quotable sayings, I have made the practice my own.

Ann Voskamp talked about her experience with keeping a gratitude journal, simply noticing and writing down the small, everyday beauties.  I started keeping my own gratitude journal, but after a few weeks I never remembered to write things down.  However, I have continued noticing.  And in noticing, I have realized how much beauty there is in the most simple things.

The scent of baking bread.
The warm sun caught in the prism, throwing rainbows across the floor.
The soft, warm cheek of a just-woken baby.
The silly words of a stubborn 4 year old.
The feeling of satisfaction over a momentarily clean floor or empty laundry basket.
The way my student's eyes shine as we discuss important things.

I still grumble and take things for granted and notice the ugly, dull, and unpleasant parts of life.  But I make much greater effort to stop and absorb the beautiful moments.  When I see a colorful sunset, I force myself to stop and drink it in instead of rushing off to accomplish something.  I have become a seeker of beauty.  On the days when I am feeling crabby and ungrateful, I look even harder.  I always find something.

My life has changed somewhat since the spring.  We are more settled.  I am getting better sleep.  Four-years-old has been easier than three.  But mostly what has changed is not my life but my eyes.  I see the depressingly old, rusted windows, but I also see the sun reflecting brilliantly in them.  The beauty is there; we just have to open our eyes and see it.

"We don't have to change what we see.  Only the way we see." - Ann Voskamp

[Linking up with Velvet Ashes today]

Dear Mom Friends

I wrote this as a "guest post" on my friend and college roommate Allison's blog.  She (married with no children) wrote a letter to her mom friends that got such a big response she decided to start a series of guest posts from different perspectives.  You can check out her letter, the other guest posts (more to come), and her other thought-provoking posts on her blog.

Dear mom friends,

The early days after my daughter was born were a fog of nursing, diapers, quick snatches of sleep, more nursing, that first delightful smile, and trying figure out why this cute little baby just wouldn't sleep! Mothering was so constant, so consuming, that at first I felt no sense of self outside of being a mother. It was hard to spend fifteen minutes talking to my husband, emailing a friend, or pursuing a hobby when what I wanted more than anything in the world was just fifteen minutes more sleep. I think this stage of “tunnel vision” is normal and probably even necessary for a period of time. Becoming a parent is a monumental life shift, babies are perplexing, and it takes some time to adjust.

The problem is that it was hard to get out of that all-consuming mindset and remember I was also a wife, a friend, and a person.  I knew parenting would take a lot of time, but I was unprepared for how mentally and emotionally consuming parenting would be.  Even when I did have time away from my daughter, time to do my own thing, I couldn't remember what my own thing was! What were my hobbies again?  What did I think about before I thought about parenting all the time? What were my dreams and passions...other than sleep!  It was still in there, but it was hard to dig out.

I've realized that mothering is (hopefully) less of a loss of identity and more an identity shift. Who I am and what I care about most have changed since having a baby.  My identity is always going to be tied into parenthood; it's a huge part of who I am now. I just need to remember it's not the only part.  Some of my interests have also changed.  For example, I am genuinely interested in childbirth and all the related issues. It's completely fascinating.   But I also still have some of the same pre-child interests and passions, like China (where I live), teaching, writing, and all things related to women.

Sometimes I need a chance to separate myself enough from mothering to keep those passions alive, by teaching a class or writing a blog. Sometimes I can share those interests with my daughter, like listening to country music together. :) And sometimes my daughter introduces me to new hobbies, like tickling and laughing and spinning around until we fall over. The answer is not to de-emphasize my role as a mother but rather to see how it complements, changes, and enhances who I already am.

I am happy as a mother. Very happy. Not every-single-moment kind of happy, but deeply, richly happy. Even in the midst of those overwhelming early days, I was surprised to find how happy I was. I love laughing and dancing and playing with my daughter. I am so excited to see her learn new things every day. When she is happy, I feel happy too (except maybe at 5am). I love mothering. It's been difficult, and there are times when I've felt like I lost my identity. But actually, I think I've just become even more of who I already was!

So mom friend: What are your interests and passions?  Have they changed since you have become a mother?   How do you preserve your sense of personhood in daily life?

From,

The Mother of a One Year Old