Building a bridge.

One day while cruising the aisles at Meijer after a particularly long visit to the lobster tank with my little gentlemen, I was approached by a woman wearing an airbrushed trucker hat that said "#1 Nana".  She was being trailed by one of her adult sons as she inched her way through the produce section, and her face lit up like a Christmas tree when she saw me.  She stopped and asked me about my boys and I smiled as we chatted for a bit.  

"I had four boys. . .and two girls!" she said proudly.  She grinned at my little guys and introduced me to her son before we parted ways.  Truly, there are lovely people everywhere.  And, everywhere one goes with little kids in tow. . .there are questions.  And comments.

Are they all yours?

Are they all boys?

How old are they?

Are you going to try for a girl?

Are they twins?

My, you certainly are busy!

Wow, you have your hands full!

(and my personal favorite. . .)

You know what causes that, don't you?

If I had a dollar for every time I heard these things, I'd be on Spring Break in Hawaii or Fiji right now!  My kids must have gotten used to being a novelty item (sorry kids, I like matching outfits and you are too small to shop for yourselves!) because any time when we are in the elevator at the doctor's office they just start blurting out things to the people around them, unprompted, in anticipation of any future comments or questions and in complete disregard of whether anyone in the elevator was actually wondering.

"There are four of us, no GIRLS, we are all boys!!  ALL BOYS!!  Can you believe it!!?" 

I don't get too annoyed with the questions and comments (exception: the period of time where I was pregnant for like two years straight.  By the end of pregnancy #2 I was 'bout done with people telling me I looked like I was going to pop.)  People ask the same questions, I give the same answers. Repeat in Target, Meijer and Aldi weekly.  Kind of like when I taught high school and I explained the same thing over and over and over to each kid who raised their hand just because they just wanted me to come over to their desk times thirty kids times six class periods.  However, as much as I have grown used to it I never really understood WHY.  Why do people ask you so many questions when you are pregnant or have young children?  Why do strangers touch your belly or ask you if you planned that or ask you if you are breastfeeding or if you are going to try for a girl or if you have a T.V.?

Then something finally happened to give me my light bulb moment.  Joshy, Noah and I joined a local group that merges the gap between senior citizens and the younger generations.  At our first event, Josh was in my lap eating a popsicle and I was sitting next to a sweet man named Bill.  Bill was in a wheelchair and was occasionally nodding off, but I came to mingle and I wanted so badly to strike up a conversation. As I fumbled for words I realized- WOW.  My conversation skills are really rusty!  I mean, I can handle sorority rush or teacher small talk or moms at the park conversation with the best of them. . .What's your major, what dorm do you live in, I like that diaper bag, your kid is so cute, what nice weather we are having, so good to get the kids outside, etc. . .but this was a different ball game.  Um, I like your wheelchair?  That sounds pretty, uhhhhhh. . . lame.  And I ran through other question scenarios in my mind- like what if I asked him about his family and his wife is dead?  Oh, no!  Or what if he was never married?  He lives in a nursing home, so he doesn't have a job, or pets. . .oh, man!  I kept ending up at mental dead ends, and at that moment I realized why people make so much conversation with me about my kiddos. . .they are a bridge.   A bring-along conversation starter if you will.  A total visual, like a Neil Diamond t-shirt or a Donald Duck tattoo.   I needed a BRIDGE!  What would I say to Bill?  How would I get to know him?  I searched his arms desperately.  WHY DOESN'T HE HAVE ANY TATS???!!!  So, I started by asking him if he had always lived in the area.  That was a good start.  Conversation kind of flowed from there (he nodded off a few more times, but I think he was into it, too.)  And it felt great.

And that was the day I got it.  I really understood every past grocery store conversation, even the half-hour one with the guy in line at the 10th street Kroger that spanned everything from his thoughts on little league baseball to his government conspiracy theories.  People are just looking for a bridge.   Maybe they are just a little bit lonely.  If you are like me and you are in the more-kids-in-the-cart than groceries phase, you are going to get the questions, too.  But, I would guess that most of the time it is not because people are looking to judge or be nosy about our sex life or truly want to know our future reproductive plans as it sometimes feels, but simply because. . .they want someone to talk to.  And we're there, with our shopping cart or our minivan or our pew full of little bridges.  They probably aren't asking us if the baby is a boy or a girl because they need this vital information, or telling our daughter she is pretty because they are trying to objectify her, or asking the kids what they are eating because they are trying to judge our parenting. . .they are just trying to say some things to make a little bridge.  Even if it's a super-awkward bridge, like the "You know what causes that, don't you?" bridge.

Shortly after I met "#1 Nana", I was in an elevator with Josh and Noah when a lovely octogenarian dressed impeccably in head-to-toe yellow struck up a conversation.  I came to learn that she was a mother of five. . .all boys!  How about that?!   There were 50 years between us but a lot in common, too (besides our mutual love for pantsuits and the color yellow). As I stepped out of the elevator with her I had a vision of myself.  I am sure it will feel like I blinked my eyes and I will be the lady with the full heart and empty hands, pushing the cart more for support than the need to fill it with children and cereal and chicken nuggets. Wow, I sure hope people smile and talk to me.  No one will know anything about me just by looking at me, unless I get some tats or a Neil Diamond t-shirt.  I'll still be a mom of four boys, but I'll need to get that airbrushed on something because I am sure by then they won't fit in my cart.   Seeing how quickly time passes keeps me grounded and keeps me open and keeps me humble.  I am trying not to rush by.

So, when I see an elderly man at Aldi with a hat on commemorating a military activity, I am always sure to go out of my way to thank him for his service. If someone has a shirt on that says "proud grandma" you had better believe that I am going to ask her about her grandkids.  And when someone asks me about my cart full of squirmy boys, I try to stop and chat with them and be as gracious as I can until someone squirms right out of the cart and I have to go. And if they ask me if "I know what causes that", I laugh politely.  And the best part is that they have no idea it is even my polite laugh, because they haven't even heard my real laugh which is like ten times louder/more annoying and they're happy because they think they are SUPER funny.  WIN!  And I'm happy, because I've been building a little bridge, to make the world a little less lonely- mine and theirs and ours.  One shopping trip and elevator ride and polite chuckle at a time.

Thank You, Neighbor.

Philip, Daniel and baby Josh, winter 2011

About four years ago, I was struggling.  I had two-year-old, three-year-old and 8-month-old baby at home. In the middle of the winter.  In INDIANA.  I was feeling a bit a bit desperate in general, particularly for any sort of validation that I was worthwhile.  The tiny people around me seemed to be crying most of the time, everything I did got undone, and the house, the kids and I looked mostly like a hot mess, soooooooo, yeah. I wasn't getting any cues there.   Although the feelings I had certainly weren't ones that I was proud of, I thought maybe by sharing them it could help encourage someone else.

So, one day I pounded this out on my keyboard and sent this to a friend who has a blog and he posted it for me.  He called it, "Cold coffee. . .and Mister Rogers."  I liked that.  I am going to share it again now in case anyone else is out there and needs this message, too.  I have always loved our favorite "neighbor", ever since I was a little preschooler, and it's incredible to me how many messages Mister Rogers has for me as a grown-up.  I am so far from being perfect, but he always reminds us that people can love us just the way we are and to keep on growing. Sometimes I feel like I have needed his show even more than my boys, and if you read below you'll see one of the many reasons why.  

January 5, 2011

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about what my vocation is in life.  I mean, I guess I know what it is now. . .if it isn't being a wife and mother I am not sure what it is!  I guess Facebook is something that really gets you thinking. . .you see all these people you went to high school and college with and they seem so. . .successful.  Wow- they are doctors, lawyers, professors, ministers, politicians, artists. . .these are the people you sat next to in class (or maybe skipped class with to go to a bar. . .not that I would ever do that!), clowned around with, went to parties with.  You took the same tests, competed or performed side by side, worked on teams together, and you always felt like equals.  But, all of the sudden (or maybe not so sudden. . .it has been a while, right?) you look around and realize that everyone has become their grown-up selves with all sorts of grown up accomplishments.  I am pretty confident that I have friends are going to cure diseases, write bestselling books, compose great music, make amazing contributions to the world and be remembered for a long, long time.  It's not that I'm jealous, it just makes me wonder what I'm doing for the good of the cause, or what potential I may have inside me.  I look down at MY grown-up self. . .a cushy mom/human kleenex wearing a purple sweatshirt and leggings, hair in a ponytail, baby formula all over my collar and smudgy mascara.  No awards on my wall or accolades, no advanced degrees, no need for pantyhose or manicures, no time for social activism, never mind time to finish my coffee before it gets cold.  As I am sure every mother does, I have puzzled over this a lot.  When you stay at home with your children, it is easy to feel like you don't get anything done.  There is no satisfaction of a straight A report card, pile of freshly graded papers or a completed project to turn in.  The dish mountain in the sink diminishes only to reappear again within hours, the laundry is folded and barely put away before the baskets are full again, meals are prepared and eaten and the refrigerator is bare before you even had time to recover from the last adventure at the grocery store with tiny helpers in tow.  A mother's work never ends.   No one has been banging down my door to give me awards, and my kids haven't given me a performance evaluation lately, let alone a raise!  If it doesn't make you act like a bit of a martyr every once in a while, you are probably a saint.

So, what's a person to do?  I'm a big believer in being content with what you have and making the most of every circumstance in life so I wanted to reconcile all of these thoughts and feelings.  Fortunately, my good friend Mister Rogers came just in time with the answer my heart needed.  My boys and I watch the Neighborhood together as a special ritual almost every day.  I try not to do anything else as we watch. . .just be fully present with my children in the moment and enjoy watching them be nurtured and educated by the show I grew up loving.  We were watching the Neighborhood Opera "A Star for Kitty" when my answer came from the musical puppets and friends.  The Kitty wants to learn to twinkle like the stars in the sky, and tries to twinkle by thinking happy thoughts.   You have to be able to suspend reality for a bit to accept a tiger puppet dressed like a star hidden in a toothpaste tube and a trumpet playing half-moon as completely natural.  I won't even go into why the cat is in the sky in the first place taking a twinkling class, but she tries in vain to twinkle, until she does a selfless act only to realize she has started sparkling without trying to at all.  As I watched, I thought. . .wait. . .that's me!  I'm Lady Aberlin dressed like a cat!  Nah, not really, but that's how I sparkle!  By putting others first.  I may not be shining bright, making contributions (or making much money for that matter), being successful, winning awards or changing the world.  

But my boys. . .they are my work.   They are my legacy. They are my sparkle.  If I put their little hearts and feelings first and nurture their spirits, they could grow to be kind loving, people who make the world a better place.   Maybe they could grow into someone as great as Fred Rogers! That seems pretty important to me.  

In our world of instant gratification, sometimes it is hard to remember the things that are eternal.  Leave it to Mister Rogers to still remind me over 25 years after I was one of his little viewers that it is the things on the inside that count after all.

_______

After I wrote that, I felt better.  The thought that my life's work could not be to do something measurable, but just to love people, was pretty mind-blowing to four-years-ago-Jen.  It's something I have worked on every day since, moving from the uncomfortable feeling in my heart to the peaceful internal knowing that my value is not to be measured by external factors.  I can use all of my gifts. . . my humor, my mind, my compassion. . .right here with my little circle of people.  I may never even see the fruit of my work in my lifetime, but someone will. . .someday. . .I'm sure of it.  And, yes, no one ever is going to knock on my door with a major award.  (But one time the TV repairman said I was a good mom, so that's, like, pretty close!)  As one of my favorite authors, Glennon Melton, says, "Most people who have a deep desire for lives of meaning and purpose and love are the kind of people who already have lives of meaning and purpose and love."  It's all right here.

So, I will keep washing the dishes and doing the laundry and waiting at the bus stop and kissing the boo-boo's and singing the lullabies and listening to highly detailed accounts of imaginary things.  I'll do the hundredth tuck-in and pick up the thousandth toy and wipe the millionth tear.  

I can say I do it more gently now, and more purposefully than I did four years ago, because now I know that THAT is the work.

Not the thing that needs to be done before I can go off and do some more important world-changing work, but that is the work I am supposed to be doing.  Hugs and lullabies and stories and diapers and cleaning the pee ring around the toilet is "the work." Everyone's vocation is different, but I am sure that this is mine, all wrapped up in these four little boys.  It's nothing to be ashamed of or to brag about or anything in-between, because we are all called to do different things. . .and we need those friends of mine who are doctors and lawyers and surgeons and nurses and teachers and athletes and clerks and tellers and musicians and activists and all of those other important people doing their thing to make people's lives better.  

But this little calling is just mine, and it fits me now.  

Just like your calling is yours.  

It's kind of a radical thought, to imagine that you are just who you are supposed to be, and you are just WHERE you are supposed to be, when it seems that the world is always telling you to be more and do more be better and do it, like, NOW.  Nope.  Not accepting that any more.  "You're just the way you're supposed to be," says Mister Rogers, "you're growing just right."  

From Life's Journeys According to Mister Rogers

Thank you, television neighbor.  That's just what I needed. :)

A winter with littles. . .

I don't remember a lot of vivid details about the winter when Phil was 3, Daniel was 2, and Josh was an infant, but I have but one clear image in my mind when I try.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror in our less-than-sparkling guest bathroom.    I was wearing sort of a misshapen purple tunic sweatshirt (to camo my extra baby pounds, of course), a gray tank top and and black leggings, all of it pretty much somehow stained or snotted on at some point since I had put it on that morning. I had spit up/chew marks on my baby-carrying shoulder where a 7 month old Josh had been teething on it.  I was barefoot, of course.  My mascara was smudged, hair in a messy side ponytail.  I remember stopping and squinting at my reflection in that mirror, and just thinking a little "Whaaaatttt happened to you, girl!!??" to myself before I ran off to clean up the next bodily fluid that was in my path or feed the next snack or dry the next tears.  Not in a mean way, just sort of a befuddled way. . .like, who is that person in the mirror?  Is that me?  The girl who used to wear sparkly jewelry and pantyhose and high heels every day and plan a month's worth of outfits on a CALENDAR?  

All of this motherhood still seemed so fresh and new.  One day with three tiny people that winter could sometimes feel like three put together, and when I fell into bed after mothering all day I felt pretty spent.  Plus, everything was gray and slushy and cold because it was winter. . . in the midwest.  This was also the winter that I cancelled all magazine subscriptions because they felt like too much pressure.  And all I can say is thank goodness Pinterest wasn't around to make me feel like an epic failure because no one was eating vegetables creatively shaped into zoo animals, reading scripture daily and reflecting on it or making leaf rubbings from native Indiana trees.  My house was full of snotty, giggly, teary, goofy, chubby-arm-and-legged boys with messy hair and mismatched socks watching excessive PBS kids.

There's a phrase I see going around on my facebook feed and blog posts, and the first time I saw it all I could think was- YES!!  

"Mama of Littles"  

Would that this phrase were around when I was knee deep in cloth diapers and Cheerio crumbs and lost pacifiers and endless Goodnight Moon!  I was one of those??!! If that phrase had been going around a few years ago, I would have felt like I was in a club!  A super-awesome club!  The "Mamas of Littles" club!  But, instead, I must admit as much as I love being a mom, I felt a little isolated during that period of my life.  And not intellectually stimulated.  And kind of sloppy and messy.  I felt like I never got much done, and I am an over-achiever, so that was killin' me.  I wish someone could have really showed me, during those few long "littles" winters, that I didn't have to enjoy every SINGLE moment, just grab a few and hold on to them.  Or told me how important and glorious that daily work is.  That's why it makes me so happy that so many mommy bloggers are telling mamas to give themselves a break.  Wiping boogies is grace.  Wiping booties- also grace.  Washing dishes- pure grace.  I am so happy to know that now, even if I didn't fully grasp it then.

I am never one to wish away a part of my life.  As the older boys grow, it gets harder in some ways, but also richer and more meaningful and more fun and beyond my wildest dreams hilarious and heartwarming and awesome.  Three years ago, I was cleaning up vomit and other bodily fluids off the floor nearly every day.  Now, people only really vomit when they are sick (knock on wood).  I was reading my kids the same board books over. . .and over. . .and over.  Now, I read my big kids CHAPTER BOOKS- ones that I loved when I was a kid!  We were tied to a nap schedule.  Now we drag the little guys along and they grab a nap in the car.  I had to constantly intervene to break up toy disputes or help with this or that train track piece or block, now they play together endlessly with no help from me.  I would talk TO my kids, but now I can really talk WITH my kids.  They ask me amazing questions.  Spiritual questions.  Science questions.  History questions. They give me insights into human nature.  They challenge me to learn new things.  They dress themselves and zip their own coats and brush their own teeth.  They say hilarious stuff and make me laugh until I cry.  They sing songs with me.  They help me clean up the toys.  They can PUSH THEMSELVES ON THE SWING.  Occasionally, they even wipe their OWN booties.  People, it gets easier.  And I know that there are other great things to come- like reading whole books to themselves, and taking family bike rides, and campouts and sleepovers and watching grown up movies together.  Someday, we'll even sit down and have a beer together, my all-grown-up men and I!  But I don't want to wish away the now- the sweet Kindergarteners who love stuffed animals and Angry Birds and Legos and still love cuddling with their mama and watching Sesame Street.   A sweet blonde head leaning on each shoulder while I read or watch TV has to be the best prize I have ever received in my entire life. I'll clean up a million cups of spilled milk and change a million diapers all over again for that.

So, "mamas of littles", hang in there this long, cold winter.  All my love to you. If you can relate, please do what I didn't do so well in the beginning- give that messy lookin' gal who doesn't get out much and her slightly disheveled children some grace.  A day will come very soon when you will look back and it will all be a mostly-happy-because-you-have-forgotten-all-the-details blur and you are a card-carrying lifetime member of the "Mama of Littles" club who earned her "I Survived a Midwestern Winter" badge.  I am granting you bragging rights for eternity for winter 2013-2014! 


P.S.
I even took some pictures during that period of my life. I enjoyed looking back on them all and noting that in every single one, my hair is in a side ponytail, I am wearing a sweatshirt, and my house is pretty much a mess.  As is my kids' hair.  I am pretty sure I didn't brush it all winter!  And even with all that I am still glad I took pictures! (and at this moment three years later, I am also wearing a tunic, and leggings.  And I am barefoot.  And my hair is in- you guessed it, in a ponytail. But I've grown into the look now, and at least in my mind I'm rockin' it. ;)