There’s a vile book out there and it’s being blamed (or partially given attribution) for the deaths of several small children, and I would assume, the on-going abuse of many, many more. Heaven knows that I am NO expert on parenting and totally falter in the realm of discipline (I follow through, most of the time, but sometimes I just need to give the TV privileges back) and my kids are borderline spoiled. I know.

That being said– I am wondering, you adults of the “Train Up a Child” persuasion– since when did physical torture and deprivation EVER make you more motivated to do something? Being hungry or cold or scared actually just induces the physiological fight-or-flight mechanism in our bodies; these little kids go into survival mode and their brains don’t ALLOW them to think rationally because they’re trying to preserve themselves.

Instead of making this post an angry rant (because those people have enough anger for all of us ), I wanted to write my thoughts, in no particular order, on how  To Love Up a Child. It’s a prayer for myself really, to remember to always notice their incredible beauty, strength, innocence and wonder.

Praise your child for winning AND for losing gracefully. Tell them to try again next time and that no matter if they win or lose, you’ll be there to cheer. Admit when you’ve been wrong or angry or unfair or treated someone (or your child) badly. Tell them that you’re sorry, tell them how you’ll improve next time, and then do it. Rock your baby, toddler, big kid to sleep; make them feel safe by being next to you. Listen when they speak and let them know that their thoughts are so important; you will learn something but also, if you listen now, they will tell you the real stuff later. Play with your babies, get on the floor and laugh/build/sing.

That’s what I have for you, for now. I’m going to go give my babies some extra snuggles and say a prayer of thanks for them.

xo

You should know the story about where your two, kind of crazy but always in love with you, parents met. We were in Guatemala, it was the day before Christmas Eve. I ate lunch in the restaurant/bar where he was working and noticed him. Like, not like I wanted to jump all over him, but noticed him. Where he was, what he was doing, that he was looking at me. And then I went back, alone, that evening. It was weird for me to do that, but I think I sort of just knew. I went in on the pretext of just having a drink at the bar… but ended up chatting the night away with the handsome bartender with the crazy-long eyelashes. And then he gave me his number. He. Gave me. The number. And so unlike myself, I sent him a text message the next day. And now, since then, we have spoken every single day for 6 years. 

Our first actual date was on a Saturday morning. I know, sort of weird. But I got up early, went to the park where we were going to meet and grabbed coffee. We sat on that park bench with coffees and the newspapers like we had known each other forever. (In fact, we’d get married on that same park bench in the not too distant future.) We walked to some of the ruinas that dot the beautiful old city of Antigua, Guatemala. We walked and talked and explored. Then he invited me home– for lunch. We walked to the local market and there was something about this cargo-pants and flip-flop clad man, strolling through the market, bartering for exactly what he wanted and taking me home to cook lunch for us– and his friends and mine, that just sealed it. He cooked and a bunch of us sat on a patio with a view of the volcano, drinking Gallo beer and eating his food. It was magical and I was sold.

Your Papa and I got married before we actually knew each other and we’re still working on getting to know each other. But those eyelashes and that laid-back ease are what sucked me in then– and suck me back in now. When life is mundane. When arguments flare. When there are 2 babies in our bed separating us. We committed to each other and to the two of you. The biggest lesson I’ve learned from him and with him is to just keep showing up. That someone needs to forgive first, someone needs to say ok, let’s start fresh and someone needs to say “I love you.” We take turns showing up and thus far, while it’s not been perfect, it’s ours. Much like the two of you. 

Love, Mama

This has been talked about to death. It’s exhausting. And really, I cannot say it better than Glennon Melton did here. But yesterday when we were at the pediatrician for the 2-for-1 head-cold/earache special, I was joking to the mom next to me about how you were both excitedly jumping on the couch– real sick yah, hehe– she said, “they’re probably just excited you’re home with them.” And with that, the weight of the mommy wars settled over the waiting area. And my heart twisted in a knot. Was she right? Am I ok? Are you ok? What am I doing with 2 kids if I can’t stay home and take care of them myself? I was so sure in that moment that she was so much better than me. I felt smaller than small. And bad. Really bad. I bet she actually makes the crap she pins on Pinterest. She was cool too– tattoos and all. I hated (loved) her.

By far the worst mommy war is the one I wage against myself every single day of my life.  I know the talking points– that I am providing for you, that I’m giving you a great example of what women can achieve, you’re being “socialized” in daycare, blah blah blah. But it sucks so much to drop you off and know that your whole day, filled with learning moments, the 736 questions you ask, the cool new things you encounter, the boo-boos that I can’t  kiss, the firsts I am not seeing; that all that is happening without me and in fact I am almost living a parallel existence for those 10 hours. (TEN HOURS, my heart just skipped a beat.)

And yet. I also know that when we spend too much time together I am longing for my office, my job, adult conversation and achievements beyond the mundane (I wrote that without thinking. You are not mundane. But folding laundry and making PBJs so are). I know that I am probably not cut out for the stay at home mom gig and also, that it’s not even an option, so mostly, I just don’t go there.

I firmly believe that we belong to each other (again, Glennon Melton) and I don’t fault those stay at home wonders; in fact, I am in awe of them. Just as I hope they look at me with a little jealousy and some respect, like I do at them. Not because of my title at work, or my title at home, but because really, we’re all on the same side of this battle. The Mommy Side.

It’s late, and I’m still up, working as a mom, working as a program manager, and trying not to feel horribly guilty about both. It’s just our reality and actually, I wouldn’t change a whole lot.

Love, Mama

First of all, I would like to say that I really could get a little better at this blogging thing. Also, my boss told me that it’s “not actually a blog Kate, if no one reads it.” She’s pretty brilliant in the ways of the world, so perhaps I should consider pointing people in the direction of this little place. 

Second, Big One, you are homesick. You want pancakes and bacon from the Coach House. And while I agree that the Coach House is a lil slice of NJ diner heaven, it’s not the place you crave- it’s the normalcy, the routine and the sanctity of our rituals there. 

This parenting thing is so hard. It’s so beautiful, but so hard. I’ve said it a thousand times- you two are the best I’ve ever done. And dammit, that’s the product of some serious blood, sweat and tears. I shared a blog post yesterday with all of these lessons and things that no one tells you before you’re a parent– the freaky-deaky, middle of the night “what have we done” moments; the pain, the hormones and the “I don’t love you yet you little squawking creature” type stuff. It’s interesting, the response. The people without kids were like, “omg this is why I am terrified of having them.” And the people who DO have kids were all “preach sister.” See the thing is, we, the crazy ones who have crossed over this parental threshold, know the secret; the secret that this is all actually awesome. It’s the key to the kingdom; it’s the thing that will move you to your most vulnerable place, your closest to God, your most nakedly, wide-open, no holds barred self. If we could harness the energy of a mama protecting her babies- we would solve so much in this world.

Part of my point here– is that sometimes we (mamas of the interwebs) try to out-complain each other, or talk about how horrible it all is, or snark our way through the day with memes about coffee, lack of sleep and piles of laundry. Full disclosure- I post, re-share and +1 these all the time. BUT, and please hear this BUT— it’s a coping mechanism. It’s not actually all the feelings; it’s not the real, whole thing of it. It’s a common language that feels comfortable. It’s the yoga pants of social networking. 

And now my actual point: someday far in the future when you are Googling me, or yourselves, or reading over your life history in Facebook posts– please know, that whatever my tone, whatever my sleep-deprived, nervous, wacky, yelly, over-caffeinated self wrote… I love you more than I can ever, ever put into words. Or memes. 

xo Mama

Hey babies. My my what a few (several) weeks it’s been. You moved from your home state. You’ve both been sick. You’ve both been happy. You’ve both spent lots more time outside in our pool, at the beach, chasing frogs, playing in your water table, riding bikes/scooters with neighbors and learning the ropes in this new place. New kids, new topics of conversation, new norms to navigate. 

You are both seriously champs, I just want you to know that. You’ve taken the changes in stride and I have to say babies, I don’t know how this whole deal’s gonna turn out, but I really think it’s going to be one of the best things we’ve ever done for you. It’s a turning point in your road. 

So there’s this documentary we just watched at work (Corridor of Shame) about how just terrible and awful the education situation is here in SC. I have lots of thoughts on this… first, it’s absolutely a human right that kids have a safe place to learn, food in their bellies and don’t have to worry about being cold, wet or exposed to sewage. Or have a roof collapse on their classroom. I hope that if I do nothing else as your mama, you KNOW THIS to be true.

Second, I am equal parts worried about your educations and really excited that you get to see your mama doing the work she was put on the planet to do. Equity and access to education, impacting kids’ rights and just generally making the world a better place are things that I know in my gut are IT. So, I hope that you are proud. I also need to figure out a way to get you through this wild and wacky system of education here. 

I also just need to say that I am concerned about a few things. 1- guns. They’re here and they’re prevalent and in homes and concealed and I sort of don’t ever want you to go on playdates until I’ve checked every home with a metal detector. That might seriously impact your social lives, but I am only 5% kidding. 2- race. Big One, you used the term “black” for the first time ever to describe someone. And it’s ok, you’re making sense of your world, but it certainly wasn’t me who pointed out that difference and it broke my heart a little. But also gives us space to talk and I hope, forever, that you keep talking, asking and working through it with me. With us. It’s the best we can hope for really. 

3- (last thing) I am worried and fascinated that you’ll grow up to be Southern boys. I never, ever would have thought this in a thousand years, but here we are. I guess I need to get ok with surprises and just going with it. The very best things in my (our) life have come from a place of not knowing, but leaping off a cliff and believing in the existence of the parachute below. 

xo Mama

Hey babies. Tomorrow is the big day. We get on a plane and fly away from your home, your Papa, your people, your playgrounds and teachers. Your life. MY life. I have done this before, so it’s less hard for me. What’s different is that this time I am watching you do it and we know how your mama gets all deep and squishy and feels what you feel. I want you to know that this is a great adventure. That it’s ok to be sad. That it’s ok to be a little mad at me at first. But then. Then, we have to just get ok with it and live our lives. Which I know you will do. We’ve rented a beautiful home (you get a pool! hello!) and we get to just start fresh together. Btw- Little One, this does in fact mean that you will now be sleeping in your own room. Like, the whole night. Every night (she says with hubris). And Big One, this means much less TV and much more outdoors for you. It’s not that we’re lazy or don’t do good and outdoorsy things with you, but sometimes I think we’ve just gotten into a routine and it’s a little lax around here. Gonna ship out and shape up; in all the ways you can read that sentence.

K, so I will just say it: I am nervous. I am scared. I am afraid you will hate me. I am terrified you’ll resent me. I am owning this.

And then I am going to put those things aside. Acknowledge and then sweep it away. Cause I am also giving you a beautiful gift in showing you how to take a measured risk. How to follow your dreams and hitch your wagon to the right star. So again, (future therapist reading this blog) remember that I did this FOR YOU and with all the best intentions. Love you. 

Also- could you please, please puh-lease sleep on the plane? Thanksabunch. 

xo Mom

My sweet boys- there are no words to describe how hard it is to leave you for a few days to head down South and find our new home. I’ve gotten more or less used to walking away in the morning as I head to work and you head to days filled with adventure, pirate treasure hunts, park dates, forts built and lego cities. But there’s something about the sacred nighttime and being far from you… it hurts me in a place I can’t quite describe. In my head I know you will be fine and I will be fine (and hell probably actually SLEEP for the next few nights) but I will worry and I will hear your voices through the phone and try to decipher if you ate well/slept well/miss me too much. It’s hard for this mama heart, but I know it’s also good for us, good for you and the thing we need to do to make this all happen. Lucky for me, your Papa is actually super good at this and while it makes me nervous, I know the three of you will sleep snuggled together; my pile of sleeping pups. Love you guys.

xo Mama

 

Well sweets, we have decided to do something brave and out there. We are moving to South Carolina– very far from our urban home in Jersey City in lots of ways. Distance. Culture. Twang. See, I got this opportunity at work to do something really cool and help start a program that will help kids learn in new and exciting ways; I don’t know much more, but what I do know is that I said YES. I said YES to being brave. I said YES to doing something that would upend our little life bubble. I said YES to showing you a whole different way of life (which we may love or hate or neither). I said YES to putting my career first and then figuring out how to make it work for us.

I have usually, mostly, ok always, made the safe choice. The only other time I made a brave choice like this, I met your Papa. And, well, we know how that turned out (you two! yay!). Point being, I think that mostly good things will come from this. But even if there are days where it sucks. Or there is a hurricane (or 4). Or we hate living in suburbia (m’k, really, the country). Or the predicted cicada invasion is super disgusting– we will have DONE IT. And that’s the deal with this life of ours, you have to show up and do stuff or it doesn’t count. We get to COUNT.

This is where our story takes a turn that no one saw coming, and where we get to take a leap of faith. We also get some fresh air, the beach nearby, a huge backyard, maybe a pool… Oh and a chance for Mommy to do some good things in the world, particularly in our new community. It’s win-win, but mostly because we are learning to dare.

xo Mama

Tonight my sweet wonderful Big One you and I had a moment. And it probably won’t be seared into your memory the way it now is in mine, but I DO think it will be one piece of the giant puzzle of you becoming you. You were upset about something you did at school today. Ok fine so you peed on the grass on the playground and the teacher wasn’t super pleased. Full disclosure: this is not totally your fault as I may or may not have ever made the distinction for you as to where that is and is not ok… and frankly I am totally cool with you dropping trou where it makes sense and means you won’t pee your pants. You’re a boy, you are equipped for such occasions. Also, it’s cultural; totally fine in South America. But try explaining THAT to a PreK teacher. So.

It was the first time I was able to tell you that perfection is NOT my expectation. I told you that you made a choice and next time you should probably make a different one and that it’s ALL GOOD. This is no big deal for you, but it’s a big deal for me because I never, ever remember being told this as a child. I remember feeling nervous about spills, low grades, messing up at violin/ballet, not being athletic enough, hating my hips and a whole long list of things that I was very sure were just innately wrong with me. As a parent, if I do NOTHING else, I will make you KNOW in every fiber of your being that you are wonderfully flawed and it’s a beautiful thing. And that perfection is actually not ok. I want you to mess up and learn and grow; perfect is boring and uptight. You are a boy of the world with an interesting story. Messy is good my love.

After we had this talk I looked at you. Like really actually looked at you and saw the boy you are becoming. I am so incredibly proud of you and hope that you still let me snuggle you while you fall asleep for at least a few more years. Watching your wriggly boy body relax, let go of the day and give over to deep, meditative sleep is one of my most cherished things.

xo Mom

Your Grandma used to tell me “remember who you are and what you stand for” every time I left the house. She said it because her mom said it. So now, I must say it. But before I make that our little mantra, our good luck charm to cast before you head out into the giant world out there, I started to think. Like, really, who are we and what do we stand for? So I thought I would share 5 things I know to be true. You don’t have to agree, but it’s a start babies…

1. Don’t be an asshole. In general you should try to kill people with kindness. Hold doors open. Offer seats on the train. Give people the benefit of the doubt. Ask how people are doing and mean it. Ask for forgiveness when you are wrong.

2. Believe in something beyond yourself. Your Papa and I believe in God, but in different ways. We don’t go to church, but we sure do pray a lot. There is mystery and magic in this world; believe that there is something just beyond your grasp and speak to that entity/space/light often.

3. Work in a service industry job at least once. Wait tables, fold shirts, clean floors. This will help you with #1.

4. Read books. You should devour books and talk about them and share them with others. Also, sometimes you need the heft of a real book in your hand, not an e-reader.

5. Travel. You need to take risks and travel is the best way to push yourself beyond your comfort zone. Be the only light skinned person in the room once (or lots). Go somewhere you don’t speak the language and then learn it. Get dirty. Get lost. Respect local customs. Get away from where the guide books tell you to go. If you find a place you love and feel like you don’t want to leave? Stay.

xo Mom