Day 88: Positive and Productive Protests

I never wanted to change the world until I had kids. I don't know exactly what it is about becoming a parent that stirs up these desires, but it seems to be pretty common. Maybe it's that having a child is the only thing that can truly pull a person outside of themselves and their own interests so completely. Whatever the case, I suddenly cared deeply about things like nutrition, birth, breastfeeding, circumcision, feminism, human rights, medical ethics, freedom of choice, and all manners of equality. Things that weren't even a blip on the radar now consume my life.

If I could clone myself, I'd be at every capitol march and every public hearing, I'd be writing articles, letters, and emails and making phone calls daily. But of course I'm only one person, so I settle for doing all the things I can with the time and resources I have. And while posting a profile picture and passing on articles in support of World Breastfeeding Week or Genital Integrity Awareness Week is a small part of that, there's something else I see as much more valuable, much more productive: Community.

A few days ago, I happened to drive by our local Planned Parenthood to see a (very) small group of individuals pacing with "Respect Life" signs. I got unexpectedly angry. And if I hadn't had to get home, it would've been enough to motivate me to pull over and strike up a conversation.

How they think that providing a negative presence and directing that energy at people who are already in a negative place is supposed to produce a positive result is beyond me.

If they want to end abortion they should start by getting involved in the community instead of wasting their time circling on the sidewalk. If they truly cared about babies, they'd be actively supporting those babies' mothers, not silently carrying cardboard messages of disapproval. If they want to protect life, they should be actively loving women in our community so perfectly that those women embrace their innate value and strength to the point of feeling capable of motherhood.

I care about babies and life, I'd love to see the end of abortion, but self-righteous picketing and targeting legal rights don't make my list of ways to bring that to fruition. And that goes for all the other causes I'm passionate about. If we want to change the world, we have to start by promoting a positive change, not attacking what we see as negative.

So here are my positive and productive protests, and I hope you'll take a minute to think about yours (and share them!):

I protest the cultural and industry breastfeeding sabotage by offering support to every single mother who comes across my path and, through friends of friends, many I'll never meet, by actively participating in my local breastfeeding community and encouraging other women to do so, and by openly and confidently breastfeeding my children where ever I am, in whatever I'm wearing, no matter who's present, and no matter what age my child is.

I protest the unethical withholding of circumcision information by the medical community by being open about our choice to keep our sons intact and honest about its damaging and right-revoking nature when I'm met with an open and wondering ear, and by supporting mothers whose strength wavers in the face of cultural or family expectations.

I protest the dismal quality of our food system by making good nutritional choices for my family and not compromising that based on cultural expectations, by helping other mothers find their way to the best nutrition for their families, by supporting local food sources, and by spreading awareness about infringements upon our rights within the system.

I protest the stripping of a woman's birthing power by the routine labor and delivery system by openly sharing my birth experiences, by supporting every pregnant woman I have the privilege of meeting, and by cheering every woman on to empowerment, to seeing herself and her body as perfectly-designed, capable, and strong.

I protest the stripping of personal freedoms by standing up for the rights of those I don't agree with. By championing all causes that promote personal choice, regardless of how I feel about those choices.

I protest the mistreatment of children by supporting and validating mothers, by offering information to those who feel their options are limited, who want to find a peaceful way to coexist with their children but don't know how, by treating my own children with the respect and dignity they deserve, by offering a new way of looking at children and the parent-child relationship, and by encouraging mothers to follow their instincts.

I'm proud to say that my children will grow up in a community and witness my passionate involvement in that community; and they will be better for it. Caring for others will be second nature to them, and seeing through the issues to the people will come naturally. A genuine desire to promote positive change in their world will just be a part of who they are, and championing a cause will be so much more meaningful to them than waving a sign. Now if we could just get the rest of the world on board!

Day 81: One of These Things is Not Like the Other

I've never been one to fit in, really, but I've definitely never been so far outside of "normal" as I am now. And raising my kids in a non-mainstream way means they're going to be different from the get go.

Of course to us, we're normal. And (stepping up on my soap box for just a moment) biologically speaking, we're the normal ones. But to most people, we're weird. What we eat is different, the way we communicate is different, the products we use (or don't) in our home are different, the activities we do (or don't do) are different, our ideas on health and wellness are different, the way we see the world is largely different. Not across the board, of course we do plenty of "normal" things too, but based on majority, we're different.

Mmmmm...Collard Greens

Every once in a while I have an interaction that reminds me just how "out there" we really are. Like today at ECFE when I found myself trying to explain why Jackson was eating pumpkin seeds yet again instead of having a non-organic apple with the group. It makes perfect sense to me - his body is extremely sensitive to chemicals (apples are about the worst on the list), plus nutrition is a major part of the healing process he's undergoing - but not to a person who doesn't share our nutritional values or health philosophy. No matter how much sense it makes, I just come out looking like some crazy woman who won't let her kid eat fruit! And no matter how I say it, it's assumed we're "too good" for something everyone else is having.

Someday the boys will be old enough to look around and see that their normal isn't the same as most other people's normal, and when that happens they'll be faced with the choice to accept who they are or change it. I'm hoping that raising them in a way that promotes confidence and conscientiousness will lead to the former. Self-assurance will keep insecurity from nudging them toward assimilation, and thoughtfulness will help them understand exactly why they are who they are, allowing them to see the value of their differences and the cost of conformity.

What I hope they learn by watching me interact with the world that's so different from us is that what people think of who I am or the choices I make doesn't have any bearing on who I actually am or the validity of my choices. And conversely that a person's value or "acceptability" doesn't depend on agreement, that seeing eye to eye is a bonus, not a requirement for acceptance.

Jackson is already practicing this kind of acceptance of himself and others. It doesn't rock his world that other people eat foods we don't have in our home or that they don't eat what we eat. He has no problem with the fact that his friends watch DVDs and he doesn't or that other boys like to play trucks while he's cooking or playing with animals (although, thanks to our good friend Carl, trucks are slowly moving their way up the priority list!).

In his perfect innocence, different isn't attached to judgment. The fact that everyone does things in his own way is simply a fact of life, not something that has to be ranked as better or worse. He doesn't know it, but he's living the philosophy I've been working so hard to integrate into my black and white world. So as he models this effortless openness for me, I'll do my best to help him hold on to it as he grows up.

Day 74: Label-Free Living

Trying on the 'lounge singer' role

One of the things I'm loving about Jackson's current stage of development is the imaginative play. Throughout the day he becomes any one of a host of characters, and includes Max and I by giving us roles to play along.

With a play sword he's the Grand Duke. When he dumps out his pillow and dons the case or steps into my shoes, he's Cinderella in a beautiful gown and glass slippers. Sometimes I suddenly find myself talking to Max the Bunny (not to be confused with Max the baby), Prince John, Pooh, or Baby Bear (of the Three Bears). I only know this because when I address him as Jackson I'm corrected: "No, Mommy. Max the Bunny would like more hummus."

These adventures in role play allow him to put on various identities at the drop of a hat. He can be curious and mischievous, strong and masculine, sweet and dainty (that's right, I said it...dainty...Sorry, Daddy), the possibilities are endless.

Whether it's the cause or effect I'm not sure, but the beauty of this is that it shows his totally fluid view of himself. He's not boxed in by who anyone says he is, by his experiences or past choices, or by any label he's come to accept. He's free to just be whoever he is in the moment, without having to perform to some external expectation or interpretation of who he is.

I'm doing my best to avoid playing the label game, to describe his choices or his behavior rather than his person. When he's showing off his spelling skills, instead of calling him a smart boy (*cringe*), I acknowledge how hard he worked to figure the word out or how he was paying close attention to notice the way two words rhymed. Instead of telling him he's sensitive, I try to talk to him about how he notices other people's feelings and pays attention to how he feels about things.

I can look back and see how being "the smart one" or "the serious one" kept me from developing and appreciating my creativity and sense of humor. Being labeled "rebellious" and "strong-willed" certainly didn't help me tap into my innate desire to bring harmony and cooperation to my world.

I don't want him to get bogged down in a few dominant pieces of himself and neglect or fail to ever see the rest. Nor do I want him to only be able to see himself through my eyes, with my judgment of his capabilities and traits, strengths and weaknesses.

This is no small task. Labeling is a huge part of our cultural language and definitely a huge part of my own language.

Training myself away from using labels has been a process, but I see the fruits of that labor every time Jackson shows me a new dimension of himself or tries on a new identity to see if it fits. I can only hope that giving him this space and freedom in his early years will make the labels the rest of the world will try to place on him so ill-fitting that he'll merely shake them off and continue on just being who he is.

Day 44: Freedom Conceptualized Part II

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

When I know better, I have to do better - and I always know better. If it's possible, I'm informed to a fault. There are times when, instead of feeling empowered by information, I feel controlled by it - I let it fill my head with shoulds and rules instead of choices and guidelines. Of course it's not the information that is the problem, but what I do with it. Poorly managed, information sets the stage for the constant internal power struggle that inevitably seeps out to manifest in my relationships.

For those of you unfamiliar with the kind of knock-down-drag-out fight happening in my head on a daily basis, let me give you a window. I know the objective importance of respectful communication and honoring my child's needs as equal to my own, and when I fall short of the goal (which of course is perfection), the internal monologue goes something like this: "What you're doing is wrong. Stop yelling and get it together! You're failing him. You're damaging him. You're not a good enough mother for him. Just stop! What is wrong with you?!" 

I literally fight myself in the very same way I'm trying to avoid fighting my child. I know it's neither effective nor healthy for him, so why would it be for me? I feed my own power struggle by trying to be an authoritarian parent to myself instead of accepting where I'm at without judgment, understanding the basic needs that underlie the feelings and actions I'm projecting, and finding a way to meet those needs instead of trying to treat the symptom by controlling the behavior. 

When I try to enforce an arbitrary standard of behavior on myself, I forfeit freedom and feed my inner control freak. In a sense, I steal my own power, which in turn leaves me searching for ways to feel powerful again. And trying to feel powerful and in control parenting a two year old, as we all know, is a recipe for disaster. In the most basic sense, I'm not communicating effectively with myself, and it makes me unable to communicate with others effectively.

This is a concept that I believe is at the core of my personal and parenting struggles. So it seems, since mothering duties are calling now, that this will be an ongoing posting topic. Hopefully all the rambling and stream-of-consciousness writing isn't totally useless for those of your reading!
 

Day 29: So This is a Tantrum

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Holy. Crap. I thought we had seen Jackson's first tantrums, but apparently that was just child's play. This was the real thing. There was no gentle fall to the floor in protest, no loud complaints, no statement of his need. Instead it was like he was possessed; nothing coming from his mouth was coherent, the screams were louder and more violent than anything I have ever heard from a human being, and he physically fought me so hard I finally had to throw him over my shoulder with no jacket and trudge through the wind and snow to the car just to save everyone in the chiropractor's office from enduring the rest of it.

Here's the kicker: It was all my fault.

This isn't just the mommy guilt talking. This is the reality. I started us down the path toward this tantrum before breakfast, and instead of hitting the breaks, I accelerated through it, causing even more damage. Here's what happened:

I gave myself a free pass on the detox diet Saturday because we had friends over for food and drinks, and I've been exhausted and irritable since. Today was no exception, and on top of it Jackson decided to get up an hour early. I managed to keep Max asleep which meant the living room was off-limits for the morning. Of course that means it's the only place Jackson wanted to be. So I spent the morning hushing and herding him and, I'm sure, making him feel unable to do anything "right." I had set the tone for the day and it reeked of resistance.

We decided to go to a friend's house before our chiropractic appointment, which may sound like a positive turn to the day, but actually made things worse. I should have been realistic about how long it would take to get ready and not scheduled anything in between. I'm not capable of being calm, patient or responsive when I'm rushing to get us out of the house; I know this about myself and should just avoid putting myself in the situation.

We had a power struggle over going potty before we left and with each minute that ticked by I got more aggravated. In hindsight, I think Jackson was showing me with his refusal to pee and incessant request to play with me upstairs that he needed a calm day at home with no appointments, but I ignored it. Instead I got mad and read him the riot act about "not listening" (aka not doing exactly as I told him with no questions asked regardless of his current feelings or needs or how unloving I was in my request). Let's just say it was a bad morning full of things I'm not proud of. We didn't get going fast enough to fit in the play date, so we headed straight for our appointment.

The car ride provided me with enough "alone time" to calm down and compose myself. I apologized and told him how much I love him, but was met with silence, which was really strange. So when we got there I reiterated those things as I was getting him out of the car seat and gave him a kiss, but he still seemed pretty quiet. I saw a problem and didn't take the time to address it.

When we got in he went to the toy box like usual and chose a basket of pretend food to bring in while we all got adjusted. But he wasn't moving fast enough for my liking (God forbid anyone have to wait a minute or two because I allowed my child some transition time) so I grabbed his hand and started toward the room. He protested loudly and said he needed the bread. Fortunately he found it right away because I had no intention of waiting - that's how far out of my mind his needs and feelings were today.

As our chiropractor opened the door for us Jack started saying something about squash (can you tell how closely I was paying attention?), shook his food basket and finally threw it on the floor and started yelling and crying when I turned and brought Max into the adjustment room. He knew I wasn't connected, he knew I had been resisting him all morning and treating him with disrespect, now I wasn't even listening to what he was saying and even walking away from him and he had had enough. 

He cried and yelled as Max and I were adjusted and refused to come into the room. All I could think about was what the other person in the room was thinking about my "lack of discipline" (strange passers by are one thing, but when you know the philosophy of your audience it becomes exponentially harder to ignore them and focus on what you know your child needs). I nursed him for a minute in the changing room to try to calm him down, but for some reason felt like we just needed to go. Again, not taking into account what he needed at that moment. I threw all the fruit back into the basket and shoved him out of the room crying. When I tried to get his jacket on things really escalated. By this point I was so far beyond frazzled I didn't know what to do, so over my shoulder he went.

At the car he wouldn't get into his car seat so I tried to physically force him. He got angrier than I've ever seen a person get and made sounds I've never heard before. All the while poor Max had been along for the ride, but now he was starting to get scared and cry. I was feeling absolutely desperate to stop the tantrum, but somehow I was totally disconnected from all the things I know and believe and I kept grasping for ways to externally control him instead of meeting his needs. 

Was I ever going to get him home? Was he going to freeze to death before I could get a handle on the situation? Was the screaming ever going to end? Were people passing us in the parking lot going to call the police? In an almost out of body experience I found myself trying to force him into his seat with my hand over his mouth, his eyes wide with fear and rage. Oh no! How did we get here!? I finally woke up. I took him in my arms and started bawling. We sat in the front seat together while he calmed down enough to get a few words out. I asked what he was so angry about and he replied, "Because Mommy wasn't treating me very nice today." Devastated doesn't begin to describe how I felt then or how I feel now. This isn't one of those times I can chalk it up to a learning experience; there's no bright side. I flat out failed all of us. And I am completely ashamed of myself.

His every movement had been critiqued and controlled from the moment he woke up, and I had been short, impatient, and disrespectful all morning, meanwhile expecting the opposite from him. I was putting all that on his little two-year-old shoulders and it was too much weight for him to carry. On top of that, I ignored all the signs of distress along the way and even failed to "show up" for his tantrum. It was not his fault, it was mine.

Rather than feeling a desire to meet the need he was showing me, I was feeling angry that I couldn't stop him and mortified because everyone in the office had a front row seat. Rather than loving him, comforting him and helping him through his intense feelings, I tried to smother the symptoms while I fueled the fire. In every way, I was more concerned about the people around us than I was about us - more importantly him.

In hindsight I know the severity of the situation was because of his own detox process and probably my cheating on Saturday. For the second day in a row he woke up from his nap drenched in sweat and his mood and self control are definitely tied closely to what's happening in his body. But none of that changes the seriousness of my poor choices. 

So if you want authenticity, here it is! You've just been invited into the worst day of our two and a half years. I'm trying to be gentle with myself (and I hope you will be too!), but I figure I might as well ride the failure train into self-beating station for the night. Breathe in...breathe out...It's over and I can't change it. I can only move on and thank God for a new day up ahead.

Day 20: Testing, Testing

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
I will choose acceptance over resistance.
I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.

Tests have always been my thing. Multiple choice, fill in the blank, short answer, essay...you name it, I'll ace it because I love answers. A test has a perfectly defined beginning and end, and with the end comes a sense of accomplishment and completion. Just talking about it makes me nostalgic for my college days.

Well, school's over and testing has taken on a whole new meaning. In fact, I don't think it's even fair to call any part of life or parenting a "test" because there is no end and there are certainly no answers. My favorite thing about school has become my least favorite thing about parenting. I'd like to say I've been acing the tests coming my way recently, but I'm not sure what a passing grade looks like.

In the past few days, Jackson has been experiencing tantrums. This is new and so out of character for him that it's really quite traumatic for all of us. It's very clear that they're coming as a result of his body's detox process, but that doesn't make them any easier to deal with in the moment. It's obvious he's feeling out of control, confused and conflicted when it happens, and don't I know none of those feel good. He'll ask me to leave, then scream louder when I move toward the door and beg me to stay. He'll say he wants to be held, then when he gets into my arms, he'll fight his way out, screaming. His body and brain are just saying "no" to everything and all he wants to do is say "yes" and feel calm. If the test is helping him find a way to calm down, I'm failing

This has led us to his first public outbursts. For the first time, I'm the mom with the kid lying on the floor of the store. It feels worse than I imagined. When it happens, the whirlwind of thought going on in my head is dizzying. It's hard to focus and get a grip on myself or him. If the test is avoiding a public scene, I'm failing.

 I'm acutely aware of each person walking by and watching, and I even find myself saying things to him that I'm hoping they hear: "Jackson this isn't appropriate behavior in the store. I want you to be respectful of the other shoppers. Do you see all these people? Your yelling hurts their ears and your body is in the way." If the test is tuning out the world to focus on him and the need he's expressing, I'm failing.

As the stress builds and the desire to avoid external judgment squeezes down on me, I find it harder to be patient. I start to physically remove him, which only makes matters worse because a lack of control over his world is what caused the ruckus to begin with. If the test is helping him feel powerful and in control of himself, I'm failing.

Eventually I'm able to talk him down. Maybe we identify something he wants or wants to do, then draw the connection between leaving the store and getting there. Maybe I identify what he wanted in the first place and can accommodate that need or find a suitable substitute. If the test is stopping the tantrum, I fail because time was up before I could finish filling in the little circles.

But If the test is surviving and even loving him through the storm, I think I'll give myself a passing grade. If it's acknowledging and allowing him to express the extreme unrest and discomfort that are accompanying his body's healing process, I'm pretty sure I'd get the credits. And if it's standing strong against the temptation to use fear, shame, bribery or punishment to manipulate him, I think I am acing it.

I'm teaching him that I really do love him unconditionally. He's seeing first hand that he is secure, that nothing could ever make me abandon him. And, although his little brain might not process it to the full extent, I'm showing him that he matters to me more than the shopping, more than the passersby, more than our schedule, and more than my own feelings. Because let's face it, it's embarrassing. And it would be easy to prioritize that feeling over your child's need for acceptance and support through a tantrum.

I may not like this new kind of test, especially since no one has the answer key, but I'm doing my best to rise to the challenge of living in the answer-less world of parenting. In the end, it'll probably be my kids who get to hand down the grades, and I can only hope that the work I'm doing to build a healthy relationship with them now will pay off when that day comes.

Day 6: Superpowers

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.


This summer as I was running with Jackson in the jogger and my huge pregnant belly hanging out the bottom of my tank top, a stranger smiled at me and said, "Super Mom, eh?" I smiled back and looked down at my little pre-two angel, my miniature best friend who came with me everywhere I went. I pondered our utopian life of sunshine, splashpads, and jogging to farmers markets, libraries and parks, and thought, "Yeah. Maybe I am."

Fast forward to the present and I feel like anything but Super Mom. My house is a disaster. I now find myself at odds with my definitely-two angel far too often. There's not enough of me to adequately meet the needs of my husband and both my children. And I literally want to cry when I think about how far off in the future we will be when I'm finally able to meet my own needs of running, reading and relaxing.

This experience has opened me, made me more understanding, less critical and more compassionate. It's something that will allow me to relate to and support other mothers in a way I never could have before. It's pulled me from my black and white world where clean floors, "perfect" children, and a completed to-do list are necessary to feel happy, to a world where dust doesn't matter, children learn about real life, and the things on the to-do list are unimportant in comparison to the things that can't be tallied. This is a world beyond happiness, a world of contentment.

Do I wish the growing process could be a little less painful? You bet! But the lessons are worth every difficult moment. So I'll still don the cape, but now I'm a different kind of Super Mom. The kind who is able to prioritize relationships over tasks and who is able to see the fellow superhero in every mom.

I will choose acceptance over resistance.
Jackson and I have taken ECFE classes since he was just a few weeks old. It's a place he knows and loves. But today we went to our first class of the new semester in a different room with different friends, different toys, and different teachers. We came a few minutes late (no surprise there), so all the eight other kids, four moms and three teachers were playing and talking. It was loud, busy, a lot for anyone to walk into, but especially my sensitive, peace-loving little boy.

He was excited to be there, excited about all the new people and things, excited about all the activity he was about to be a part of. But he was also overwhelmed. He found favorite toys, one after another, and started hoarding (something tied to the current homeopathic remedy we're using for his eczema, but also a sign that he was overwhelmed). He started yelling, "No. You can't have these toys." as he looked frantically around the room.

Now let me tell you about all the external pressure I was feeling. I was feeling "rude" for not being able to go introduce myself to the other moms and new teachers. I was feeling the expectation was for me to stop him from yelling or force him to put toys down. I was feeling the other adults would make judgments about my child based on this first impression, and by association, judgments about me. I was feeling like I wanted him to show them what a kind and gentle kid he is instead of what he looked like in that moment.

But I ignored all of that. I accepted how he felt and how he was communicating it to me. I acknowledged his feelings, we found a quiet step to sit on, and we talked about being overwhelmed. I stayed close because I know I have to be his calm in the storm when he feels that way in a chaotic environment. And within minutes he was going around the room finding new friends to give his favorite toys to: "Would you prefer to play with this?" "Here, you can have a turn with this." "What's your name?" "Would you like me to make you some toast?" All of a sudden he was thriving in this environment that was initially so challenging for him, and he no longer needed my help.

And wouldn't you know, I still got the chance to talk with all the moms and teachers. Their kids took turns yelling too. And those expectations were probably all in my head to begin with. Glad I'm working on my acceptance superpower!

I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.
Max is obsessed with his penis. He's four months old and he literally can't stop grabbing his crotch. Diaper changes: Crotch. Bath time: Crotch. Potty time: Crotch. It wouldn't drive me so nuts, but his hand is always in the way, making these tasks very difficult to accomplish. I was giving him some diaper free time on the floor the other day and walked in the room to find him lying on top of his arm, face on the rug...you guessed it: Crotch.

I love that he's, um, focused? Curious? In tune with his body? Well, I do know that I love that he makes me laugh. I just hope this isn't a prelude to a really awkward stage in adolescence...

I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day.
Only six days in and I can log a success! Jackson's carrots ended up in his cup along with his straw at lunch time. You better believe I saw it, but I chose to ignore it and let him continue. We talked about other things, sang a song, and he made some cute comment about the carrots tasting sweeter when he dipped them in the water. He played and ate for a short while, looking up a handful of times to see what my reaction was going to be. Then, because he has to verbalize all observations, he said with a smile, "Mommy didn't notice I put my carrots in my water."

This could have been a power struggle, it could have ended in one or both of us feeling really frustrated. Instead he got to play and we got to interact peacefully and happily. And the world kept spinning, even though carrots don't belong in cups.

The Real About Me

Mothering is a daily adventure into uncharted territory. No one else has ever parented these children in this stage in this mood under these circumstances. Consequently, no one has the answers to any of our daily struggles - trust me, I've looked everywhere. It's like we're all playing a game with an opponent who gets to change the rules at will...without telling anyone.

I don't have the answers for anyone else, much less for myself, but I do know this: We're ALL struggling. And none of us are talking about it.

The Perfect Mom you see at the grocery store with the polite children in matching outfits, her hair styled and nails neatly manicured - she's a figment of your imagination. She has bad days, pajama and bedhead days, temper tantrum days, exhausted and frustrated days, even yelling and shaming days. I guarantee it. How do I know? Because I've been told I'm that mom. BAHahahahaha!!...Oh, sorry. Excuse the outburst. I've been told I look like I have it all together, like there's peace and harmony between me and my children, like I have a sense of calm about me...seriously.

But the truth is I'm just as much like the Real Mom at the grocery store, with the screaming kids knocking items off shelves, sweatpant-clad with food in her hair and fear in her eyes. We all have our good days and our bad days, triumphs and failures.

And in the end no matter how prepared we are, we're all winging it. We pick up tools as we go, learn by trial and error, and just pray everyone comes out on the other side in tact. I'm convinced that if we, as mothers, can start showing our authentic, imperfect selves to each other, we would find that the understanding, support and collective wisdom we gain will bring us that much closer to our own version of Perfect Mom.

So here's my real About Me:

I'm a control freak. When I can't control my circumstances (read: my two year old's behavior) I get angry. When I get angry, I yell. When I yell, I feel guilty. When I feel guilty, I get angry at myself for losing control. The more out of control I feel, the more I try to control my circumstances...and so the ugly cycle continues. It takes every ounce of strength I have to prevent this from being a daily occurrence.

I'm a pessimist, a real-life Debby Downer. I have an uncanny ability to see and assume the worst in every situation. The end of the world happens daily for me. It takes all my energy to choose to see the world, and sometimes even the people I love, in a positive light.

I live in a black and white world. Every question should have an answer, and I want all the answers. I naturally value justice over compassion and understanding. My tendency is to value being "right" over all else. It takes everything in me to see the gray that covers nearly all of life, and to choose cooperation over competition.

Except in my very closest relationships, I'm not good at being real. I assume that opening myself up will bring negative judgment from others (hello again, pessimism, my old friend). I place a very high value on privacy, often at the expense of intimacy and all the growth, joy, and satisfaction that comes with it. Vulnerability is terrifying (especially when you expect to be ridiculed, judged or attacked!) so it's easier to pretend I have it all figured out and put together, no help needed. And, drum roll please...It takes everything I have to just be me - the good, the bad, and the ugly - in front of anyone.

That's a list of my defaults. But I'm also loving, dependable, passionate, intelligent, loyal, a good listener, warm, fun-loving, determined, never satisfied with 'good enough' for myself or the people I love, and never satisfied with living in default mode. Above all else, I'm a mom who loves her children more than life, and who would do literally anything for them...even start a blog reveling her failures and weaknesses in an attempt to find balance and a better life for them!

With this much of myself to overcome in a day to be who I truly believe I am underneath all the baggage that comes with 26 years of life, I don't have the energy to waste on constructing a perfect facade anymore. I'm choosing to free myself of that, and to put that energy into actually *being* all the things I look like I am from the outside. Buckle up...It's going to be a bumpy ride.

Day 2: Am I Really Doing This?

Most days I feel like I'm nose-above-water with an anchor tied to my ankle, so it seems a little crazy to undertake one more thing that requires a daily commitment. But the reason I struggle with positive parenting in the first place is because priorities are all too easily jumbled in the busyness of life. So I guess a daily reminder to keep my children at the top of the list and to stay present with my goals is something worth making time for.

I will choose to find a positive perspective under even the most negative circumstances.
Day 2: Jackson throwing his fork, then broccoli on the floor because he's angry isn't "bad behavior." It's his way of showing me that he's aware of his needs and feelings, that he trusts me enough to let me see them, and that he needs my help managing them. This was his way of expressing that he was angry and sad because Daddy had to leave, and I'm so grateful he didn't just "behave" and sit alone with those feelings.

I believe my child's behavior is always motivated by a deep desire to have his needs met. Those needs are never as simple as 'wanting to make me mad' or 'acting out'. Each behavior that elicits a negative feeling from me is nothing more than an earnest attempt to communicate those needs. I have to work hard (really hard!) to act on this conscious belief rather than the unconscious beliefs I've internalized from others.

My job isn't to correct his behavior, it's to identify the need he's trying to show me through his actions and meet him there without judgment. Each time I do this, I reinforce that our home and our relationship is a safe place for him to feel and to be as he is, that he is loved the same when he's angry as when he's cheerful, and that he is understood and accepted. My job is also to offer him the tools he needs to communicate those needs in healthier, more effective ways. Modeling is the most important way to do this, and also happens to be the most difficult for this big-feelings Mom! Is it any wonder he throws something to communicate that he's angry, when he's watched me do the same?

Each time I ignore the real issue and treat the symptom, I chip away at the relationship I've spent two years building, especially the trust and security he so desperately needs. This happens all too often...hence the blog!

I will choose acceptance over resistance.
Day 2: Max has decided that he would like to wake up in the middle of his afternoon nap, the only quiet time mommy has to accomplish things, to poo. I consistently nurse him well in advance of nap time and offer him the potty multiple times before laying him down, but he has decided that a poo before nap just isn't his thing. I can let it bother me every day and ruin my afternoon, I can fight it by trying even harder to encourage pre-nap poos, OR I can simply accept that for now, this is what works for him. I can anticipate it, work it into my schedule, and release myself from the dread of interruption. Maybe I can even enjoy the quiet opportunity to spend a few minutes with him while Jackson's sleeping...even if it is for poo.


I will choose to focus on the things I value about my children, not the things that drive me nuts.

 Day 2: As I was packing the 6-month-sized clothes away and exchanging them for the next size (already?!), Jackson insisted on rifling through all the neatly folded piles to find things that would fit on or over his head. My first reaction was to get annoyed and make him stop, but when I saw how goofy he looked with a tiny little shirt hanging from his head, I decided to cherish his love of dress-up play instead. In the end this meant that I got intense joy out of watching him play, especially once he donned his first Halloween costume complete with yogurt bucket hat, self-made bead necklace, playdough scissors, and basket of food on his way to "hang out with Cinderella's step-sisters."

I will choose to extend the same grace, love and forgiveness to myself that I try to lavish on my husband and children each day. 
Day 2: Jackson was unruly at bedtime. His eczema was flaring up for the first time in two weeks and the manic behavior usually comes with it. He was climbing the walls, almost literally. Instead of acknowledging that he was feeling out of control and just as overwhelmed as I was, I chose to bark demands at him. "Control your body," knowing full well he couldn't. "Calm yourself down," knowing he wasn't capable, especially not on his own.

I felt overwhelmed by the level of activity, angry that I had completely lost control of the situation, frustrated that after weeks of success on a new plan of action for his eczema we were hitting our first obstacle, guilty because it might have been the pizza I ate the night before that was causing the flare up. And the icing on the cake is that I'm fully aware in the moment of the fact that I'm failing him, and rather than latching on to that as a way to change direction, I feed into the problem by letting it make me feel angry at myself for not being able to remain calm! Let's just say a wave of big feelings was knocking me down, none of which he was responsible for.  But I made him responsible for my feelings when I was impatient and refused to do what was best for him. Instead seeing that he needed help, I saw him as an obstacle that I needed to overcome. I failed him.

Once we both miraculously calmed down, I acknowledged that I had let him down. I asked him if he was feeling overwhelmed and told him that I should have helped him, that it's okay to feel that way and okay to ask for help. I apologized, he forgave me. It's done. I will release myself from the guilt and anger that come along with these disappointments, and I will file it away under "learning experiences" not "failures."

This one is the hardest, and most important for me. Forgiveness and grace don't come naturally. I like order and justice, black and white, and it banishes me to a cycle of negativity all the time. The more I beat myself up for my mistakes, the more I make them because I feel unworthy and incapable of change. I label myself a failure and it remains a self-fulfilling prophesy.

But I refuse to continue modeling this to my children. I refuse to pass this family curse on to them. I WILL forgive and accept my imperfect self because they deserve a mom who walks around with joy and freedom, not with a heavy burden of failure and self-loathing. And because I can't bear the thought of them internalizing the message of imperfection as unworthiness. I am worthy of these things because God says I am, and who am I to argue with that?