Jagged Little Pride

Swallowed any pride lately? I just did and it was sort of like when you accidently swallow a potato chip that is only partially chewed. You feel it scraping the whole way down and for a split-second you think it just might rip open your throat and kill you. It’s pretty unpleasant, but once it passes there is complete and utter relief because you made it through alive. Yup, that is exactly how I feel.

I wonder what makes saying I’m sorry - or even worse saying I’m wrong - so difficult. Is it the little argument (or occasionally all out war) that you have in your head beforehand? My mind moves swiftly between defense and offense, listing explanations and reasons and excuses about why I am justified in my actions– while that judgmental little voice nags in the back of my head telling me why all those reasons are complete and utter B.S.; and let’s be frank here, I know which voice is right from the beginning, but I try to justify anyway.

Isn’t it frustrating knowing what’s right does not make things easier? You would think righteousness would make everything easier, but it doesn’t because righteousness is holding onto a huge, jagged edged potato chip with wrong written all over it. You have to swallow down all of the wrong in order to get to the right. And boy does it hurt to force it down. It is as if that one little act of taking blame threatens who you are as a person.

It is human to want to believe that we are good, right? We need to trust we are living a life of meaning and justice. Sometimes, I think we hide behind a façade of perfection in hopes that we will be loved for our humanitarian efforts. We seem to think goodness makes us more human somehow. But the truth is much messier isn’t it? We aren’t always good, precisely because we are human. We make mistakes. We get insecure and defensive and flat out careless sometimes. Why is it such a crime to be human in our own minds? How often have you put yourself on trial for behaving poorly? How often do you put others on trial for their humanness? (I personally enjoy these trials much more than my own). Why is it so hard to just let things go? To just live and let live?

Forgiveness is a word that is carelessly thrown around in our culture and so I thought I understood how to forgive and what it conveys. But, I never really grasped its true meaning until I felt real forgiveness for another who had wronged me. It tore down walls within I never knew I had built. Forgiveness created space for love in my heart which cascaded gracefully throughout my life. Eventually that wave of forgiveness allowed me to absolve even myself. There is nothing more freeing than forgiving yourself and those you love for being simple humans. And yet, I still struggle to admit fault.

And so as I sit here, my throat still sore from all I swallowed by accepting blame, feeling the sting of humiliation. I realize it is exactly because I am human that I must sometimes force down my need for righteousness. My humanity demands it from me. Knowing I’m wrong and saying it gives me the opportunity to wash that hard, crooked, sharp potato chip down with the love and relief of a little yellow m&m (The Yellow M&M), and for that I am grateful.

On Being a Parent

Okay, so yesterday was an interesting day. I somehow figured this out as we were sitting at the dinner table with our children screaming in unison, a barking dog, and a kitten having digestive problems (otherwise known as diarrhea). Did I mention the phone was ringing too? My exhausted husband and I began to get upset and then realizing our efforts were futile just started laughing – because there was literally nothing else we could do. And so rather than joining the craziness by adding even more screaming, we proceeded to have a pleasant conversation about our day, literally shouting  over all of the chaos. Occasionally stopping to address our 3 year old when she had crossed the line, and overall I left the dinner feeling it was a fruitful conversation. Not necessarily because it was extraordinarily engaging, but rather because my husband and I made it through without resorting to a verbal wrestling match over the whole scene.

Now, fortunately I was able to escape the madness shortly after dinner to go and meet a friend (thank you honey). Upon telling her and another childless friend the story, rather dramatically resting my head in my hands and rubbing my face I might add. I glanced up to see the look of horror on their faces. What struck me was not that they were looking upon me with such concern, but rather I thought I was telling funny story of perseverance and triumph over the extreme exhaustion of parenting, but I don't think they got that. Instead what I had done was effectively spook them about ever having any children of their own. I proceeded to talk about the fact that raising small children is so unbelievably tiring and difficult, not taking into consideration that I might be scaring the pants off of both of them. So this blog is for them, and my other friends who have not had children – I need to rectify some things about being a parent that I left out.

First and foremost, I want to impart how absolutely and undeniably humbling it is to be a parent. No one is as honest as a child and no one is as special as your own child. Combine those two facts and you get a crash course on what it really means to take yourself with a grain of salt. You have so many plans and ideas about how you will raise your children. You prepare with books and magazine articles that teach you the 10 steps to being a great parent, convinced this is all you need to be ready for the job. You even bring these articles to the waiting room of your prenatal visits like some kind of badge of readiness and ability to parent (or was that just me?). But, the truth is nothing can prepare you for the wonder and pure love that awaits you in your baby’s eyes. Having a child reminds you how precious life is, and also how imperfect. How no matter what plans you make – God may have something else in mind for you. How sometimes you just don’t have the answers. How sometimes just surviving another evening without anger and yelling is an accomplishment in and of itself.

Now I am not here to deify parents or parenting in any way. We are all in a constant flux of worry and extreme joy within any given moment; believe me, I wouldn’t wish that kind of mood fluctuation on anybody. And yes those of us with young ones look harried and tired most of the time for a reason – namely complete and utter fatigue. There have been moments (usually when I have had a total of 6 hours of sleep in a 48 hour period) when I have entertained the notion that my children may be trying to destroy me. Now, stick with me here because maybe they are – but not in the intentionally cruel and destructive horror movie sense. Maybe they are tearing down walls and preconceptions that I have developed over the span of my life, because they are meant to push me beyond my comfort levels. They really are ripping through my selfishness and teaching me the beauty of complete compassion and love for another human being. They are essentially destroying the limitations and walls I have built around myself over the years. Teaching me that yes I can survive and even thrive on very little sleep. That stress is there to remind me of my humanness – to remind me of my failures - instructing me to embrace those very failures because they are gift. Giving me a chance to remember to always get back up when I fall down. To always reach out for help when I need it and that sometimes my “plans” are not as important as the lessons I can learn from the ruin of those plans. Because what often takes the place of those plans is something much more precious than I dared to imagine. 

As John Lennon put it in his song Beautiful Boy, “Life is just what happens to you while you’re busy making other plans.” And that is so true isn’t it? As a parent and recovering perfectionist I am so guilty of making plans and ignoring the life that is happening all around me. And sometimes, it takes a dinner of screaming children and barking dogs and laughter to remind me that life is always happening whether I plan it or not.

So, to my friends who have not taken the leap of faith and sanity required to knowingly produce a child, know this: The treasures of being a parent greatly outweigh the challenges by far. As I emphatically mentioned above, children are exhausting, but they are much more wonderful than you can imagine too. Please do not allow the fear of screaming, crazy, demanding children keep you from one of life’s greatest gifts. Please look onto my dark circles, frizzy hair and snot stained clothes with courage, because behind all of that is a woman who’s heart is full. You will certainly need a really big jar of yellow m&m’s (The Yellow M&M) to remind you of this, but assure you will not regret the sunshine and hope a child can bring.

Company is Coming!

Upon waking this morning I realized I survived something significant over the weekend. In fact, I had even prospered and hopefully made a new friend. You see we entertained visitors from out of town. Now this normally puts me in an all out frenzy of intense cleaning the entire week beforehand. I ignore the kids and drive my husband insane in the hopes of having my home in pristine condition by the time the guests arrive. I have caught myself literally following my family with a mini-vac sucking up the evidence of their existence as they go about their day. Or behaving like a paranoid conspiracy theorist because I just know my husband has left that sock on the floor to put me in a padded room. In my moments of clarity the level of perfection I strive for never ceases to amaze me, and this time it pushed me to ask what am I trying to accomplish with all of this?

Do I want our guests to think this house is not lived in? Do I want them to exclaim they are proud or jealous? Or worse, was I challenging them to a duel of some sort….look at me, my house is perfect, I win – so what if you didn’t know we were in a competition! I imagine that this little craziness of mine can, and probably has been interpreted in all of these ways.  When I dig deep I find that what I am looking for is acceptance.  When I dug even deeper I recognized all I wanted was to have a nice time. No praise, no judgment, no competition – just the simple pleasure of their company.

As I was preparing the mountain of work that I impose upon myself before visitors come, I decided to turn things down a notch. I vacuumed. I dusted. I did the dishes - but, I did not use the fine tooth comb to which I have become attached over the years – and this made me VERY uncomfortable.  In fact, I had to make a promise to myself so I would not turn into a tornado of mops and furniture polish. I promised to live as I live when nobody is here to watch me. Picking up as I needed to and letting things go when necessary. I would trust myself to get everything of priority done without allowing the fear of judgment rule my actions. Yes my friends, I made a promise to be human – and to maybe even have a little fun. So, I filled a jar with yellow m&m’s (read The Yellow M&M) and ate one when I felt the need to use a toothbrush on the kitchen counter grout.

It was hard, very hard, not to get the vacuum out or follow my 3 year old around like some kind of maniac picking up the toys as she played throughout the day, but I did it. And I had fun. I was a human being. I spent time getting to know our guests, I cooked, drank wine and played scrabble. I went out on the town and sat on the couch to watch movies. I allowed the weekend to fall where it wanted and it was deliciously imperfect. Don’t get me wrong here, I ate about 92 yellow m&m’s, I am still a recovering perfectionist, but what I learned was priceless and beautiful.

The thing about having another woman in your home is she knows your disposition. And so is an empathetic partner who is not there to judge. She understands the craziness that comes with having a guest in your home – and without fail, like some kind of angel she steps up and just helps out in every way she can. There is a connection, a sisterhood if you will, amongst women. An unsaid covenant that we will never let the other work alone – a woman steps up to do what is needed and her sisters follow and carry the load with her. There is no need for competition. No need for perfect, because the perfection lies in our connection to one another. Trust that you are not alone on this journey – you are walking on the hands of all women before you. They are carrying you through this messy, crazy, wonderful life – easing your burden and offering yellow m&m’s with the loving, helping hands of a mother who knows.

Dishes in the Sink

So, while talking to a friend about various household annoyances she profoundly says this “A woman completely judges her self worth based on whether or not there are dishes in the sink.” I had to laugh at the statement because it was so completely and sadly true. Now I should tell you that there is an all out war against the dishes in my house. I have theories that they are conspiring against me to test my sanity and possibly move me into the loony bin. I believe that it is completely possible that the dishes reproduce once in the sink; any of you who have children or even just a husband (or live alone for that matter) can vouch for this. So in the spirit of true transparency I must admit that I have a vendetta against dishes before moving on.

Shortly after our discussion the holiday season exploded and this concept screamed out to me so loudly, I couldn’t help but balk about it to my fellow female family members. Now I am not sure how parties go in your family, but here is a synopsis of how the parties go in our family: the woman of the house cooks all day, we all sit down to eat, and when we finish the men promptly remove themselves from the table, unbutton their pants, and plant themselves firmly on the sofa for the remainder of the evening. Meanwhile, us women got up, cleared the table and got to the work of doing the mountain of dishes scattered throughout the house. An hour or so later we offer dessert, the men come to eat again, go back to the TV and then we clean up again. All the time doing the majority of care giving for the children in the house.

Now I am not mad (well maybe a little) at the guys for relaxing after a heavy meal. In fact, I’m mostly jealous of their ability to relax with such complete abandon at a holiday party. I realize doing the dishes is a choice we made, the part that gets me going is the underlying assumption that we would be the ones to do them. No offers from the men, and no asking from the women. By the time us girls were finished in the kitchen we were all exhausted and ready to call it a night, while the guys were ready to party it up (after their luxurious naps, I might add). My question is this, “Aren’t parties supposed to be fun?” Isn’t that the point when we are planning it? In my head I plan a party more perfect than a picture out of a Martha Stewart magazine, kill myself preparing and living up to that image throughout the party and before I know it – it’s over, and I forgot to have any fun because I was so worried about how the amount of dishes in my sink would be judged. So why to some women do this to themselves?

 We are taught from an early age that clean dishes equal a clean house, and a clean house equals a good woman. Is this really how we want to be remembered on our deathbed? She was an ok person, but boy was her house clean! Why the connection to our self worth? A cultural legacy of homemaking has embedded the idea that dirty dishes equal a dirty house, and a dirty house equals a lazy woman, and a lazy woman isn’t worth anything at all. Yes perhaps that is over simplified, but when talking to some other women about this idea there was unanimous agreement (even the ones who’s men sometimes help with the dishes).  And for those of us who stay at home with the kiddos this equation becomes even more intense and true. For example, I have a list that is approximately 15-20 items long that I do everyday to ensure that I stay focused on what needs to be done for that day (and yes the dishes are always on the list). There is a part of me that creates it, checks it off, and leaves it on the table so my husband will see it and know that I have worked hard that day. Just to clarify, he does not hold me to this, nor does he care if the house is perfect when he gets home – the need to do this comes from my own extreme requirement to have tangible proof of my own self worth each day. Granted this is only a subconscious undertone, but how crazy for it exist at all! And to clear the record I know I am making a generalization here and there are many women out there who are completely fine with dishes in the sink – I even know some women like this (and if one of you happens to be reading this please bestow us with your wisdom!)– but I believe there are many more of us who are still holding onto an outdated view that a perfect home reflects a perfect woman.

Now let’s be clear I like clean dishes as much as the next person. And I wash the dishes in my home daily, there is no judgment from me on whether or not cleaning a house is a worthy thing to do with your time. I also am not saying that cleaning your home in itself is a representation of oppression of women, that to be worthy you should be out in the world working as an executive for some corporation. In fact just the opposite, do what you love and be aware of your motivation. My big point is this; don’t do the dishes because the “dishes gremlin” is in the back of your mind accusing you of being rubbish. Do the dishes if you like to do the dishes. Do the dishes because it is your turn.  Do the dishes because they need to be done. Just don’t do the dishes out of a fear that you are somehow less because they are in the sink. At no time are dishes in the sink a manifestation of your value as a person. Dishes will never tell the story of your soul. Your inner light shines bright and beautiful even when there is no shiny pot reflecting it back out to the world.

 And so as I prepare to launch an attack my own dishes today, I am humbled by the decision I am making. Not because of the little voice that beckons me out of fear of judgment and worthlessness. But, because I want to have a clean kitchen and I realize that if I don’t feel like it, it is perfectly acceptable to go grab one of those little yellow m&m’s and enjoy that instead.

The Yellow M&M

As I got into the car after a hurried trip to the grocery, in my seat laid a yellow m&m. My stomach grumbled, urging me to eat it, but the little gremlin who controls my diet piped up “Don’t you eat that!, You’ll ruin everything!”. So, instead I sat on it and continued to my next destination. After an invigorating discussion with my Women’s Networking Group, I returned to my car only to find that damn yellow m&m staring at me again – this time daring me to eat it. Representing all of the things I could not have, all of the ways I was depriving myself and limiting what I could and could not do. For what?!? For thinness? For perfection?

You see I am a mother of 2 small children and so the role models I look to fluctuate between Eva Longoria and Martha Stewart. I tell myself that if I could just be perfect in every way then just maybe what I do each day will be worth something. Don’t get me wrong, I know that Mothers are valued on the surface, but let’s be real shall we? Very few girls are supported to have the dream to be a mother. It is a worthy job, but a thankless job when it comes to putting any value of substance on it. It is isolating, scary, rewarding, filled with love, frustrating, and did I mention lonely?

These are the thoughts that run through my head as I look at that yellow m&m in the seat of my car. My power as a woman and a mother seemed to exist in my willpower not to eat that little circle disk.  So, as I drove home from the meeting (sitting on the yellow m&m) I thought about all of the ways I withhold my own power from myself. Always creating a new goal before the next is reached. Always taking responsibility for EVERYTHING in our home. Always undervaluing the worth of my work.  All the ways our culture undervalues my work. 

And then I started to get pissed. Pissed because I matter, even if America doesn’t want to recognize it. Pissed because I have been sitting on my own power, both literally and figuratively, because our culture has been implicitly telling not to make any waves. As I reached my driveway I was feeling strong from my anger, and so I removed myself from that little yellow m&m, and as a symbol of my power and fortitude of being a strong, magnificent woman, I reached down, grabbed that yellow m&m and ate it. I crunched into that sweet hard candy shell, felt the soft chocolate within wash over my mouth and I realized that they cannot hold me back any longer.

By “they” I mean the looming “they”. The “they” there is no name for. The “they” that is the accepted state of our culture. The “they” that perpetuates the stereotypes and oppression of moms in our country. Yes I am talking about the “they” that is us. Our own actions have perpetuated the myths that hold us down as moms. The myth that we cannot have a fulfilling career AND be amazing mothers. The myth that we cannot have both and be happy to our core. Yes it is us moms who are most guilty of allowing these beliefs to sink into our psyche. We then allow the guilt to slowly devour us from the inside until there is little left of our hearts to give to others, let alone our ourselves.

I am frustrated by the amount of time I have wasted with this idea of “perfect mom”. And maybe this anger turns some of you off, but my hope is that it inspires passion in your heart. False contentment has never sparked passion. Lives are not prompted to change by satisfaction with the status quo. Change is sparked by the person who stands up and says I am not happy here – and then proceeds to move, leading anyone who will follow.  This community is about those of you who want change, but have lost the passion and direction you need to make those changes. My hope is that I will infect you with passion, and if a bit of anger is what it takes to get you moving then I am here to provide that. Eat that yellow m&m if for no other reason than you can and you deserve it!

Some of us are walking through a hallway of a thousand open doors and we see none of them because we have on blinders that force our vision to the narrow, never ending length of an empty hallway. Some of you want and need more in your lives and I am here to support you and tell you that sometimes you have to stand up for your dreams. Rip off the blinders forced onto you by a society that does not value you and see the possibilities that God is offering in each moment of this amazing blessed life.

This is a community for women who are tired of being undervalued. Women who need inspiration and connection to fend off the isolation that comes with being a mom, a place to be lifted up to your own personal power and success. This is not a place for moms to be compared to the lie of perfection in media driven images. Pictures of mothers with perfect bodies, perfectly cleaned and decorated homes, and perfectly behaved children not welcome….oh no this is a place for real mothers, powerful women who like nothing more than to eat yellow m&ms dammit!