Month / February 2019

by bean2bird

Slow Down, Mama

My world is four boys, seven and under. My world is loud and rambunctious and busy. It is a blur of noise and movement. It passes in moments of back flips and wall climbers and shouting and wrestling matches. It marches through requests that I “watch this, mom!” as one of them leaps off of something high onto something low, shaking the walls with his spider-man like landing. It’s a ball of three to four men, training for their inevitable run ins with incoming ‘bad guys’. It is sound effects and fighting over ‘that toy’ and questioning “when is dinner? What’s for dinner? Can I have a snack?”

My world is rushed. I move from task to task: love the babies, start the laundry, gather dishes, clean the kitchen, comfort crying, stop the fighting, make the beds, divide the chores (exactly evenly), fold the clothes, put them away, run the errands, make appointments, go to appointments, read the books, connect with the children, help with homework, start on dinner, work on projects, bathe the babies.

My days end almost as soon as they begin. I blink and they’re over and I’m left with an aching back and a clean(ish) house depending on the day. I’m left with sleeping babies, vague, cloudy memories, and the desire to sleep longer than I likely will. I’m satisfied. And quiet for a moment. And I revel in the stillness.

I’ve been trying to find moments of stillness during my days; moments to reflect on the background noise in gratitude for my life. It’s been a challenge to find and I’m fairly certain these moments don’t exist daily. But occasionally, the baby still falls asleep in my arms while the other boys are busy in the next room and I can lay still and remember how glad I am that my life is what it is. I’m tempted to scroll Instagram or listen to messages from friends or podcast episodes, but lately, I’ve been turning off the noise and laying in the still moments when they are so rarely offered.

There will always be noise and movement and tasks, but there won’t always been sleeping babies, content to be in my arms. There won’t always be four boys who fight over sitting by mama under a big, cozy blanket. There won’t always be nightly Rhold Dahl or Shel Silverstein. So, I’m trying to slow down. I’m trying to be actively present in the moment and take time to rest and remember that I’m so very happy in this life we’re building. In these moments of slow silence, I realize how grateful I am for all of the fast noise.

“In silence we are filled with the energy of God; that makes us do all things in joy.”
-Mother Teresa

So slow down, mama. Take a moment today, if it’s given, to reflect in silence on the fullness and busyness and loveliness of your world. And be still.

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by bean2bird

Lost and Found

*This blog entry is an encore release of one of my favorite entries from my “Classy Lassy” blog circa 2013. When this was written, I was a 23-year-old mama of a two-year-old and a colicky newborn. This entry is being posted in lieu of my regularly scheduled Monday blog release because my current passion project is taking all my free time. Enjoy!*

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All my life I’ve heard mothers say that having children of makes you lose yourself, and boy let me tell you it turns out that concept is not an exaggeration.

I tend to create a highly romanticized version of my past self in my mind. I seem to remember myself as being far more disciplined and perfect then I probably really was. I lost a lot of weight after high school and taught myself to eat very well and exercise frequently. I studied my scriptures every day. My prayers tended to be more fervent and less rushed. I read more often, wrote more often, played the piano and sang daily, listened to music, socialized, took spontaneous road trips, went running frequently and wrote in my journal every night. Before I had kids, I had become, in large part, the person that I’d always wanted to be.
And now I’m just Luke and Samuel’s Mama. I cook for them, clean for them, bathe them, change them, cuddle and kiss them, read to them, wake for them, dance with them and take them to play with friends and attend all manner of toddler-appropriate activities to keep them engaged, happy and learning. img_1073
I don’t run any more. Eating healthy now means adding green beans to the mac and cheese. I have 20 pounds to lose as a direct result of having carried and delivered two healthy little boys. My prayers are (sadly) often a race to the finish line so that I can complete the next task or crash into my bed. My scripture study has become a one-handed activity done on my phone during my nursing sessions. Church is now a battle-field on which I often admit defeat and hand my kid Angry Birds just to keep him quiet.
I have lost myself.
And while I struggle to find myself again and reinvent this new Mama version of me, it occurs to me that losing yourself in exchange for giving someone else life might just be the greatest sacrifice you can make.
“Greater love hath no man than this; that he lay down his life for his friends.”
My life has been laid down for you, my boys. I put myself away everyday so that I can give you the life and love that you deserve. My desires and fears and wants and needs are often put on a back burner in order to allow you the growth and happiness that you came here for. I don’t know of any experience in life that better creates the opportunity to learn selfless service; to follow the example set by Christ and give your life for others. I’m grateful everyday that I am allowed to be your mother. I’m grateful that I am the one who can make you laugh. I’m grateful that my voice calms your cries. I’m grateful to be the person that you run to when you’re hurt, embarrassed, shy or afraid.
Even though she is (for now) slightly nondescript, I’m grateful to be your Mama.
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by bean2bird

How Spaghetti Sauce Hand Prints Taught Me to Find Joy in Unexpected Places

I looked over my countertop near the end of a very long day at the wall leading to the back door and noticed a brownish-red, toddler-sized hand print had been left on the wall. It looked almost intentional. Like it had been a two-year-old’s science experiment. All five fingers were distinguishable. As were all five spices that had been used in whatever kind of sauce had been used as his medium. I sighed, added that task to my ever growing mental to-do list and then finished up the dishes, cleared the counters, swept the floor, picked up the four or five various toys that had been left in the kitchen under mysterious circumstances and then glanced around to double check my work. There it was still. The hand print. But having just spent 45 minutes cleaning, I made the conscious decision to leave it for the moment. The boys were getting restless and fighting in the background and we needed to start the bedtime routine.

The older boys had already showered and the two year old (who’s identity could be confirmed via spaghetti sauce finger prints to be found on the kitchen wall) had been scrubbed and dressed. Now it was just me and baby.

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I mean.

I love giving my babies their baths. Every single one of my boys have been head-over-heels for water. They splash and laugh and blow bubbles and do just about every single cute baby-in-water thing you could possibly imagine.

I sat on the bathroom floor and watched his chubby little 12-month-old body explore his watery environment. I’m sorry, but is there anything cuter than a fat, naked baby bottom?? I submit that there is not. He laughed and cooed and ‘talked’ to me. He dumped water on his head and tried to drink it (ew). He blew bubbles in the water and played with his toys. And I watched him with total joy. It was one of those mom moments when you think, “this is what they talk about when they say enjoy it. This is one of those times I need to slow down as I try and soak in every detail” So I did. I made a mental note of the way his long brown hair hung wet on his forehead and the way he was learning to manipulate objects as he put the wet washrag into his cup and how boisterous he was as he ‘swam’ from one end of the tub to the other, laughing the whole time.

He soaked; I soaked.

And I felt happy.

Later that night, after the boys were in bed, I walked back over to the wall and finally wiped the hand print off with a disinfectant wipe. It took a minute because I’m pretty sure the spaghetti sauce was also part plaster and it had hardened by then.

And I felt annoyed.

While I scrubbed, I thought of that story/adage/piece of advice that young moms hear all the time about how one day we will miss the tiny hand print smudges on windows and walls. Later that night, while I was lying in bed, trying to fall asleep, the image of scrubbing that hand print off the wall came back into my mind.

I love and honor the advice to slow down in my mothering; to savor and enjoy the moments that are mine right now. But I’ve always balked when I’m advised to let the chores go in favor of spending time with the children. “Sure. Easy for you to say living in your pristine house that gets clean and stays clean because the people you share your space with don’t come into a room you’re cleaning with five things in their hands, dump them where they stand and then run into the next room to find the next thing they can unceremoniously abandon in another completely random location”  For a clearer idea of what my house would look like if I let the chores go in favor of spending time with my children, feel free to stop by any time with the understanding that I have not been following that advice and you’ll gain a pretty good insight into the potential horror I’m talking about.

But that night, that advice suddenly came to me in a different frame and so I bought it.

“Savor scrubbing the hand prints off”.

A light bulb went off and suddenly, that seemingly unachievable balance between finding joy in your children and also not drowning in dirty dishes made sense to me.

Smile and laugh at the finger prints; commit the saucy proof of children to memory…maybe even photograph it. As you’re cleaning, enjoy the types of chores you’re doing which serve as a reminder of the little people you enjoy so much. Your arms full of plastic army men, three nerf guns, two swords, five super hero costumes and as many Lego bricks as you can hold will soon be gone. They tell a story of four boys under seven, rambunctious and full of energy and creativity and too many fun ideas to be bothered with neatness. The super hero undies you’re folding, so small that you can’t believe an entire person fits in them, are symbols of your boy-mom status; reminding you how inherent their desire to protect and defend are. The crumbs, the sweeping 17 times a day, the play dough you stepped in, the bath toys you clear before showering; all of these messes are as fleeting as your children are. They aren’t to be ignored, or delayed, or put to the side; they are to be celebrated for what they represent. For who they represent. For the era they represent.

They are to be savored.

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