Many of you probably read this entry a few weeks ago when Sarah from Clover Lane posted it. I wanted to have record of it here on my blog, too.
Twenty-four years ago this month, I happily told my husband
that we were going to be parents.
Heidi’s surprise entrance into the world at
less than two pounds made me a mother two months earlier than I had
planned—during finals of my final semester of college. It wasn't in my plan to juggle NICU visits and breast pumps as I finished my last few credits, but once I walked across that stage to receive my diploma eight months later, I
didn’t look back.
You see, as a teenager I told everyone that I would be a
lawyer one day. Or a psychologist. Or a teacher. I never told anyone that I’d
be a mother. Yeah, I thought I’d be a mom, but I always assumed that my
mothering would somehow fall into the cracks left from a busy career in the
public eye, where I would change the world.
Never did I ever think that my whole world would revolve
around six brown-haired, brown-eyed, beautiful children,
one angel baby watching over us—and one blondie with blue eyes thrown in as a bonus at the
end.
One by one these little people entered my life, and one by
one I learned how to mother them, mold them, and love them. I decided that it
would be my life’s mission to stay home with them as only I could.
It’s so easy to lose focus and perspective while you’re deep
in the trenches of full-time mothering. There’s the first diaper blowout and
the first projectile vomit. There’s endless hours nursing babies and repeated
readings of Are You My Mother? There’s
worry over classroom placement and schoolyard bullies and broken hearts.
There’s t-ball and soccer and piano and church and chores and
____________________.
Dirty faces and dirty clothes. Forgotten lunches and endangered species
projects. Spelling words and “naughty” words. Sleepless nights with feverish
bodies snuggled close and sleepless nights with hormonal bodies late for
curfew.
You worry that your kid is disliked, or that you’re too fat,
or that you don’t even know who you are anymore. You worry that you’re not
reading to them enough or you’re not helping with homework enough (or am I
helping too much?). You worry that they missed an assignment at school or
that they lost the classroom election. You worry that you yelled at them
today, that they didn’t practice the piano today, and that you didn’t bathe
them before bed.
This list is all-too real, isn’t it?
I have a secret to tell you.
As important as all of
these things are each day, failing at one or more of them does not make you a
failure as a mother.
Magazines, mothers-in-law, and well-meaning friends will
tell you that you have to do things a certain way to be a good mother. I did read
the magazines. I listened to all of the advice, but in the end, I learned a
valuable lesson.
I followed my heart.
I made mistakes (some small, some really big that I wish I could go back and
change), and in that process, I learned what was right for me and my children.
No one has ever mothered my children, and
no one can do it better than I can,
mistakes and all.
I learned that it was better to hold the sobbing child than to try and fix the grievance. I learned that I should leave a sink full of dirty
dishes until the assigned child came home from play, instead of doing them
myself. I learned that making our house a home wasn’t all about the latest
paint colors and latest design trends. I learned that calls from the principal
aren’t necessarily the end of the world. I learned that teaching hard work is
invaluable, especially in today’s society. I learned that my relationship with my
child is crucial when they struggle in school.
I learned that (as painful as it is to admit) mothers set the tone for the
home, and my attitude toward church attendance, school work, friendships, and
failures weighed more heavily on my children’s perceptions than anyone else’s
ever could.
Day by day and year by year, I learned how to mother. I
learned when to push and when to step back. I learned when to be Mama Bear and
when to fade into the background.
It wasn’t all rainbows and picnics. I made some huge
mistakes—times where I fell to my knees in prayer then cried myself to sleep
with regret. At those times, I knew I had ruined my children forever. How could
they ever rebound from my mistakes? Despite all of that, I’ve learned that
mothering isn’t about the guilt and the mistakes. It’s about growth—measured
not on a doorframe in the hallway, but in the training and experiences that
mold character over months and years and decades. It’s about home—creating a
place where they always feel safe and loved and accepted, no matter what is
going on in the world just outside your door.
I have another secret to tell you.
Mothers aren’t raising children. At the moment he or she
arrives, a baby creates a mother. And mothers?
Mothers are raising
adults.
There is this dirty secret no one tells you as you leave the
hospital with your first little bundle of delicious-smelling baby in your arms:
Kids grow up and become adults.
And they leave home.
As much as it hurts and as much as you cry and as much as
you long for just one more football game or one more concert or one more bike
ride, you know that this is the day you’ve labored eighteen or so years to
reach.
Photo taken September 2013 at Tucker's wedding
My second son
graduated from high school in May, and my two oldest children are married now, raising families of their own. It doesn’t
get easier to see them fly, but I consider my title as their mother my most
treasured. I wouldn’t trade a single day at home for any six-figure salary or
published book or corner office.
For the first time in twenty-four years, I will find myself
alone during the day when school resumes in August--leaving the trenches for good.
My baby will be in kindergarten, and despite having four of my seven children still at home, I can’t wrap my brain around the idea that
. . . I’m done with that first exhausting phase of motherhood. I’ve gone
back to school to get
my master’s degree in education, and although I don’t know
exactly where this will take me, I’m excited to find out.
The most valuable advice I could give young moms is
this—don’t waste energy wishing for these days to be over, or wishing you were
somewhere else doing something “more.” As demanding as your days are, they
won’t last forever. Stop and smell their handpicked flowers. Stop and see that
puppy in the pet store. Stop and push that swing. Stop and read and snuggle and
pray and kiss and hug. You’ll be glad you did.
As I look back along that long road through the trenches of
motherhood, I know I made the right decision to stay home with them. I know
that I couldn’t have been happier doing anything else, and I would do it again.
And again. And again. The most profound truth I learned along the way is this:
I didn’t give up myself for them. I became my true self through loving and
mothering them.
