Before you know it.

Winter 2011

A few years ago, in the midst of my gray-skied, messy-haired, smudgy mascara, exhausted hot mess of a winter with three kids three and under, I found myself reading a powerful little book called Loving the Little Years.  I recall turning on two consecutive episodes of Sesame Street to finish it as I sat on our couch (which was devoid of cushions) and kids squirmed all over me and bounced on the bare springs.  I couldn't put it down.  There were so many gems of wisdom, but one that stopped me in my tracks was a moment where she said something to the effect of, "If things get crazy, just look at the clock and in ten minutes it will be over.  Just put your head down and power through."

I thought to myself, "Oh, hell, no.  That can't be true.  That's too good to be true.  There's no way."  But, since she had like five little kids under the age of five I figured she might know what she's talking about.  So, the next time things got crazy (Example:  5:45 PM: Phil had just thrown up on the floor, Josh was crying for a bottle, Daniel had just gleefully dumped out an entire basket of toys in the middle of the kitchen and dinner was not even close to in the oven.) I decided to give it a try.  I looked at the clock.  Instead of wallowing in self pity and despair and wishing Calgon would just come and take me away already, I put my head down and got to work.  By the time 5:55 had rolled around, everyone had stopped crying, the vomit was off the floor, kids were playing with the dumped out toys and the frozen pizza was in the oven.  And I was in awe.  It worked??  It WORKED????  IT WORKED!!!!!!  And it continued to work, over and over again.  I have had ample opportunities over the past 5 years since reading that book to put it into practice.  At LEAST once a day all of my kids are crying at the same time or the couch is unstuffed or there is marker all over someone and someone else has to poop and someone can't find their shoes and someone isn't wearing pants and mommy forgot to do the laundry and we have to leave the house in five minutes.  But as long as I power through instead of locking myself in the bathroom, it's over before I know it.

Just yesterday, I was teaching a class at the boys' school.  As a former high school science teacher and general lover of kiddos and science and all things kiddos and science, I was having a blast teaching my little after school enrichment class about flight as we designed and redesigned our own paper airplanes.  But Daniel was super disappointed because his design didn't live up to his expectations.  He started to cry mid-class and by the time we reached the car he was in epic tantrum kicking the seat meltdown mode because he felt Mommy didn't help him.  I was exhausted from a full day of parenting followed by teaching and the fact that I had hauled Josh and Noah along with me for this little adventure.  I knew when we got home I would have to not only unpack everything, but get all of these kids on some sort of task WHILE MAKING DINNER because it was already 5:30.  And then homework?  And baths?  And stories?  And bedtime??  Oh, no.  Honestly, I wanted to scream at Daniel because he would not stop crying and kicking and Josh and Noah WERE screaming at Daniel to be quiet.  But as we rolled closer to home, I looked at the clock.  "It will be over before you know it, Jen," I said to myself.  "Just do the next thing." With that perspective, I took a deep breath.

"Daniel," I said.  "I love you even when you are really mad at me.  I love you all the time."

His wails subsided a bit.

"I am sorry that you are mad at me but I want you to know that I love you."

A little ray of light broke through, even though he was still protesting that it was "the worst day ever."

We got in the house and I shuffled Phil to the basement, turned on a Mr. Rogers for Noah and Josh and started to make dinner.  Daniel stomped into the living room with a book.  After a few minutes I went in.

"Hey, buddy.  You want to come make some muffins with me?"

This is his FAVORITE THING that we used to do all of the time when he was little, and he is always sad that he doesn't get to make muffins with me anymore now that he is in school all day.  I figured it was worth switching up my dinner menu from to have a moment with my boy.

"REALLY??!!!" he said.  "YES!!"

He bounded in the kitchen where I had some orange juice and popcorn waiting for him, and after he fortified himself he started to push his chair over to the counter where my muffin-making mess was in progress.

"Um, Daniel, do you think you might be a little tall to stand on the chair?"

"Oh, yeah," he giggled.  "Maybe, Mommy." and he grabbed a stool from the bathroom so that we could stand shoulder to shoulder.  To be honest, he barely even needed that.  

Wow, those days were over fast.

We mixed the muffins and I looked at the clock.  A little more than ten minutes, but still pretty true after all these years.  The mess had subsided.  It was over before I knew it, and it was peaceful in my house. . .at least for that moment.  I'll take 'em when I can get 'em.  I patted myself on the back for mastering that art of putting my head down and powering through the difficult moments, but God wasn't quite done with my heart yet.

Later that night I was reading another book that has been challenging and encouraging me, Hands Free Mama.  I love her message and one of those messages is that it will all be over soon, so don't miss it.  I like to think that I am not a distracted mom, but in many ways I am so guilty of living in my head. This book gently calls me to accountability.  I read a passage in here that stopped me in my tracks just as Loving the Little Years did years ago.  Rachel was talking about how she used to dread when her kids brought their folders home from school and she hated unloading them.  Just one more thing to worry about or sign or look at or throw away, just one more input in her already busy and distracted life.  Ouch, I could relate.  I kind of dread all the folders, too.  And the WORST part is, Josh is so, so excited to show me his papers every day yet I am so worn out by 2pm when we slosh in the door from preschool pickup that often I barely even look at them, or promise he can show me later.  Then, as if she hadn't gotten me enough, at the end of the chapter Rachel asked if there were times in your child's day, such as bedtime, homework, meal preparation or carpool that you currently view as an inconvenience that you could instead use as a time to connect.  Crap, I thought.  Am I supposed to just pick ONE of those???  Because I pretty much wish those parts of the day away EVERY SINGLE DAY.  The past few weeks especially, I have not been able to get the kids showered and in bed FAST enough, have been totally guilty of turning off the music and asking for silence on the way to and from school and cringed and grumbled about homework more than my second graders do.  But Rachel's book was a kind reminder that these times, the busy and challenging and mundane and boring and tedious and all hyper kids and repeating yourself a million times and big messes and buckles and snaps and zippers and brushing teeth and combing hair are the IMPORTANT times.  In fact, most of my life appears to be made up of these times so it does not seem in my best interest to wish them away.  How often do I just try to power through: get those kids on the bus, get them buckled in the van, get them tucked into bed and will them to fall asleep so I can just have a hot second to relax.  Yet these are the times I am going to miss.  They will be over before I know it.  How easily I forget.

So, there's the delicate balance, friends.  The two sides of the coin once again.

Power through, it will be over before you know it.

Savor it, it will be over before you know it.

Today as we came home from preschool, I cranked the music that Noah had selected and told Josh I couldn't wait to see his papers.  He was so excited.  He couldn't make it to the big blue couch fast enough and we went through all three papers in his folder in excruciating yet glorious detail.  It took LESS than ten minutes, even with the full play-by-play, and the look on his sweet little face was so worth savoring.

There's a time to power through and a time to savor, a time for every purpose under heaven, right?

God, help me discern when I need to power through.  When I need to savor.  

It will be over before I know it.

My favorite boys on the big blue couch, 2013

Freedom.

The other night as we dealt with the crazy, beautiful, occasionally maddening mess that is "bath night with four kids", Paul shouted out an observation from the nursery where he was getting Noah in jammies.  

"You know, Jen, this time next year we aren't even going to have so many of these things.  Diapers?  Baby gates?  A crib?"

My eyes got huge.  I looked at my oldest, Philip, whom I was currently slathering with lotion in the boys' room.

"Oh my gosh, he's right!" I said to Phil, and started to shake my head.

"Yeah, Mommy!"  Phil chimed in.  "Or pacis.  Or. . .(dun, dun, dun) Elllllmoooooooo?!"  He looked at me with a little raise of the eyebrow, expectantly waiting for the tears that always come when I think about the boys growing.  I was already lost in thought, trying to process the changes ahead.  The baby things are going to be gone before I know it.  Didn't we just get those back out?  

Temporary, it's all so temporary.

And now that I can see the end of the baby and toddler and preschooler years in sight, I realize how short it all was.  My first few years as a stay-at-home mom, I didn't live it like it was temporary. The days with the two babies stretched on for what felt like years, yet the years were flying by so quickly that by the time I finally started writing 2009 on my checks it was time to write 2010.  I questioned myself so much at the beginning. . .am I doing this right?  Am I a good mom?  I worried about everything. . .what if I don't potty train now? What is that diaper rash? Why is he crying? When will he sleep through the night? What should I feed him?  I had beautiful moments to be sure, but I definitely worried my way through most of those never-ending days as if they would truly never end.

Then, I received a gift in the form of a blog post.  Glennon Melton's post, Don't Carpe Diem, went viral at just the right time in my life, in the middle of winter 2011 with three kids three and under.  Isn't it amazing how someone can give you such freedom through a few words they write?  In the day I read that blog post (and read it 10 times again and forwarded it to everyone I knew) I realized that I did not have to love every MINUTE of my life to love my life.  I didn't have to be good at EVERYTHING to be doing a good job.  It was the most liberating thought I could experience.  From that moment forward, my perspective of what a "good life" meant shifted.  I began experiencing an inner freedom I had never felt before.  A freedom from self-judgement, a freedom to be me.  Silly, sentimental, clumsy, goofy, outgoing, imperfect, messy ME, living a silly, messy, imperfect, heartfelt life.

With my eyes opened, I began to see the freedom each of my children was calling me to as well.  Philip is so trusting.  His favorite song for me to sing to him at bedtime is "The Lord is my Light and my Salvation" by David Haas.  In the beginning of my parenthood, I was sooooo afraid of messing things up.  But, of whom should I be afraid, really?  When I fear, it's likely because I've started putting my trust in my own power, in doing things "right" as the key to life.  Phil's trust and hope reminds me to put my trust in God's help, not mine.  Phil, in simply being Phil, calls me to freedom from fear.

Daniel is so silly and tenderhearted.  He has so many of my traits, like loving stuffed animals and puns and popcorn and puppets and crying when others are sad.  He is also just as clumsy and absentminded as his mama.  He'll be putting on a pair of fresh pajamas to go to school while I'm putting a bag of potato chips in the refrigerator and a stick of butter in the pantry.  He always gets the biggest giggle out of himself when he realizes what he has done, and calls me to that freedom to laugh at my mistakes as well.

Josh is so funny.  He is the Michael Scott to my Holly.  We talk in Yoda voices or play Uno together using a language made mostly of the word "nerp."  We go out in public wearing costumes  and sing songs to each other through the little "telephone" things at the playground.  Every time he looks at me with his big brown eyes squinting with love, gives me that priceless giggle and flashes his dimpled grin, he gives me the freedom to be silly.

And Noah, sweet Noah.  He loves and hugs and laughs and grows so fast.  He's the icing on the cake.  He reminds me daily of the two sides of the coin of life.

One one side. . .it's temporary.

But on the other side. . .it's temporary.

In that message comes a freedom I never knew I needed.  The freedom to slow down, the freedom to enjoy the present moment.  If we know it will all be over to soon, we worry less, regret less, judge less.  In the frame of "temporary", problems that seem so large become but a blip on the screen of an enormous life.  Moments that seem so small, however, can expand to fill our minds and hearts and sustain us in the years to come.  That feeling of "temporary" makes me want to live more kindly and gently, and calls me to the freedom to be my authentic self in any given moment.

The next moment isn't guaranteed.

So I'm going to accept their little invitations to freedom whenever I can take them.

Freedom from fear.

Freedom from criticism.

The freedom to be silly.

The freedom to be still.

My children have no idea that they have given me this freedom, but hopefully someday they will read this, and someday they will.  Thank you, boys.  Thank you for being free.  Thank you for being you.

When you are interiorly free you call others to freedom, whether you know it or not.  Freedom attracts wherever it appears.  A free man or a free woman creates a space where others feel safe and want to dwell.  Our world is so full of conditions, demands, requirements, and obligations that we often wonder what is expected of us.  But when we meet a truly free person, there are no expectations, only an invitation to reach into ourselves and discover there our own freedom.

Where true inner freedom is, there is God.  And where God is, there we want to be.

Henri Nouwen

As sand through the hourglass. . .

"I am kind of sad Noah is a baby TODDLER now.  I kind of like normal babies better.  I wish I could keep him a baby forever, but he keeps growing."

Daniel made this observation as we watched little Noah toddle around the backyard this morning, arms out like a teeny Frankenstein, a joyful laugh as he navigated bumps in the landscape without a fall. He's growing so fast, as observed by my also growing-so-fast five year old whom we jokingly call "Great Dane-iel" when he tries to crawl into bed or onto a lap to cuddle.

And tomorrow, my baby boy, Phil, turns seven.  

SEVEN.  

My firstborn son, who changed my whole heart and my life forever with his entrance into the world, will be in big-kid land, the so-called "age of reason."  I feel nostalgic, of course, but also I have to admit I feel a little teeny bit robbed.  People bring it up as a conversation filler, "oh, yes, time goes so fast. . .blah-dee-blah. . .wow. . .he has grown. . .yada, yada" and as I nod and smile and agree my heart cries out, "SERIOUSLY!!!  YOU ARE NOT KIDDING!! WTF, TIME, WHERE DID YOU GOOOOO!!?????"

Since it is not really socially appropriate I don't normally say that part aloud, but I am totally confused by the passage of time.  I can't help but feel like someone deceived me.  Time seems to be slipping away faster and faster as the days go by.  A cruel trick like this can only have one man behind it. . .Stefano Demira.  

Just kidding.  But seriously.  Who is stealing the Days of our Lives?  TIIIIIIME???  WHY YOU PUNISH MEEEEEEE????

On one side I am bombarded by well meaning grocery store shoppers informing me to "enjoy this time, it goes so quickly" and self-help articles about "how to maximize your time" and a facebook feed full of sentimental blog posts about "oh, how precious it is!!" 

OH MY GOODNESS, how I know!!  My eyes fill with tears and I nod my head and I agree with every word spoken about time.  Yet all the while as I try to grasp it,  it slips all the faster through my hands.

Since the birth of baby Noah, it has only accelerated, pushing me into wistful tear-up mommy mode on a regular basis.  While days home on maternity leave with newborn Philip seemed to go on forever, I would feel as though I had just gotten Noah up from his nap and enjoyed merely a moment before it was time to set him down again.   When we got out the Christmas decorations last year, I had the strangest feeling like I had just put them away.  This is not me trying to be cute- NO, SERIOUSLY.  I had a freaky and off-putting moment, like, I just packed these, why am I getting them back out????  The last two weeks of kindergarten crept up on me so quickly and quietly that I had no idea they were coming until they were RIGHT there, staring me in the face, mocking my unchecked list of imagined adventures for our year.  Nails and hair are trimmed and grow again the moment they are cut, pants creep up above ankles that are no longer chubby, teeth fall and out and come right back in.    Faces change unnoticed until an old photo reminds you of the squishy cheeks, strings of drool, and wispy little curls that once graced them.

Of course, my boys are so beyond thrilled about growing.  My heart aches, and simultaneously bursts with pride as I witness it.  It's a joy that has a twinge of pain, that pain that comes any time we are involved in letting go.  Josh pumps himself on the swing and catches right up to his brothers, Noah bursts with joy as he climbs to the top of the playset, Daniel and Philip check out books on their own library cards and read to the younger boys.  My days are filled with, "Mommy, Look!  Look at me!  Look what I can do now!"  

Yet the look-at-me days that seemed so luxurious in my own childhood go by in a blur.  Most of my want-to's end up getting replaced by have-to's. . .my perfectionist tendencies draw me from the idyllic parenthood I hold in my mind.  .  .probably crafted for me by a Country Time Lemonade or Cheerios commercial years ago.  It seems that despite my best intentions, in the march of time I only manage to grab moments.  A glimpse of sun dancing in the backyard, a lullaby, a tender moment between two of my sons.  But, perhaps, that's why lemonade and cereal commercials are only 30 seconds in the first place, and that's really all I need.  I go back over and over to Glennon's "Don't Carpe Diem" post, which reminds me very much of one of my spiritual heroes, Henri Nouwen.  All in the fullness of time.  

"But sometimes we experience the fullness of time.  That is when it seems that time stands still, that past, present, and future become one; that everything is present where we are; and that God, we, and all that is have come together in total unity.   This is the experience of God's time. 

It is in the fullness of time that we meet God." - Henri Nouwen

Real time may slip by too quickly, but I will relish the moments where time stands still.  Where I meet God, and for just a moment, I get to hold Him as the clock slows.  He's cuddled in my arms as tears are wiped away, loving words are spoken into a mess of sweet blonde hair. That moment is savored before we part ways and I go back to my dishes and He to His Legos.  

Full.

My Philip too, was lamenting how quickly our time with Noah has gone just a few weeks ago.  "I wish we could just keep Noah a baby forever.  Then we could always have a baby.  I just love babies."

I nodded my head in agreement, imagining how much I also wanted to keep Philip little, too. Before I could speak, he went on. . .

"But, you know, some other babies might come into our lives, and we can enjoy them.  And someday (he gets a twinkle in his eye) WE will have babies, and then you will be a Nana!!" (twinkle turns to giant grin and we are both giggling. . .)

All in the fullness of time.

Happy Birthday, sweet Philip. :)