The Gift of an Ordinary Day

Katrina Kenison is the author of Mitten Strings for God and The Gift of an Ordinary Day. She blogs at Ordinary Day Journal. (Thanks to Gabi for passing along this great clip.)

Like Mother, Like Superhero

I’m delighted to be able to share the parenting wisdom of one of my favorite writers, researcher and social worker Brené Brown, here on Letters to a Parent. If you haven’t found her site yet, set aside some time, click over, and prepare for a treat. This post is especially appropriate this week as we put away our holiday trinkets & relaxed schedules and return to our routines at school, work, and home. Enjoy! {And thanks, Brené!}

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In January, Ellen and I ran into Nordstrom so I could pick up some make-up. While we were there, we decided to check out the sale in the children’s shoe department. I had on my workout clothes and was looking pretty ragged. When we got to the shoe department, there were three moms picking out shoes while their young daughters tried on boots and sneakers. These women were stunning and their daughters were equally beautiful.

As I tried to stay out of the swampland of comparison, I saw a strange blur of jerky movement out of the corner of my eye. It was Ellen. They were playing a pop song in the neighboring children’s department and Ellen was dancing. Or, to be more specific, she was doing the robot.

At the very moment that Ellen looked up and saw me watching her, I saw the magnificent moms and their matching daughters staring right at Ellen. They looked horrified. Ellen froze. Still bent over with her arms in rigid formation, she looked up at me with these eyes that said, “What do I do, Mom?”

Scrambled Heart, Part 1

I have spent countless days in hospitals: Someone checks you in, you fill out papers, they take copies, you wait. Someone else rolls your son in a wheelchair down the wide corridor, past the grand piano where elderly volunteers play “Let Me Call You Sweetheart” or “Five Foot Two” or “Amazing Grace,” up the elevator to a private room on the sixth floor where you’ve been before. You follow behind, making small talk and smiling, packing the necessary equipment – cell phone, laptop and an unread book – you will need to stay occupied while you wait. And wait. You wait for blood tests and x-rays and doctor visits while you play with your cell phone downloading worthless ring tones and pictures of purple mountains you will never look at again. You watch the black shadows move down the concrete walls on the buildings outside the window. You rub your son’s palm with your index finger, the way you did when he was a baby. You try to read, but your eyes blur. You fill up the room with balloons from the gift shop, because no one even knows that your son is in the hospital, again, and no one sends balloons or stops by or calls. So you fill in the space.

Scrambled Heart, Part 2

{Continued from last week’s essay}

Because of the Hepatitis C diagnosis and subsequent cirrhosis doctors later agreed to evaluate him for a heart/liver transplant, quite rare, but several have been successfully completed around the country. Doctors wanted to do some lung studies first, before sending him to Seattle for a heart/liver evaluation. The doctors discovered his lung functions were extremely poor, possibly due to fibroid tumors, probably from anti-fibrillation drugs: he would need a heart/liver/lung transplant. Although multiple organ transplantation has been successful, the three big guns have been transplanted only once before.

After six months of waiting for results and decisions, a letter from Mayo Clinic arrived stating the “constellation of his anatomy” was in too great a state of disarray and he was pronounced a non-viable candidate. The sand in the hourglass draining, Mike and I began measuring time as though a bomb were set to detonate at the end of the two-year death sentence. We never told Zeke about the letter from Mayo. We told him only that the doctors said “not now” on the transplantation. Doctors agreed to respect our decision.

7 things I’ve learned from motherhood

1. After you leave the hospital, in the middle of the night, when the baby won’t sleep…it’s all you. (And your husband, of course, if you’ve got a good one.) But the point is, from now on, when that little face looks around for food, comfort, nurturing…you are the one. And it’s a humbling, beautifully terrifying prospect.

We’ve loved our daughter since the day she was born, but because she came to us in a different way, I’ll never forget this experience:

When she was almost three months old I went to a luncheon. Many of the women there wanted to see and hold her, and she was getting passed around quite a bit. I don’t know if something happened or if she was just getting tired of all the passing, but she began to cry and look around. Finally she found me and her eyes locked on mine; she smiled through her tears as if to say: “Mommy, I found you! Save me!” All I could think of at that moment, was “Oh my gosh, she’s looking for me!” It was an emotional experience for me for obvious reasons. She knew I was her mother. And when she saw me, she knew she would be okay.

(First lesson: you are The One.)

Forgetting and remembering

I had my first baby. It was the hardest thing I had ever done. Labor was a piece of cake compared to trying to nurse and trying to have the baby gain weight and trying to take a shower and trying to sleep and trying to be a wife and trying to eat and trying to be happy that this little gift was here forever and I was in charge. My mom never told me this part!

But we survived. I would look at her darling face and forget the pain. And I had another. Oh how grand boys are! The perfectly pristine life of my first darling baby forever changed. She was introduced to PBS. I could nurse the baby and rest. I could take a shower and clean the new baby. I could fix dinner while the baby was sleeping. I could go to the bathroom alone.

We were happy and I would look at my two perfect babies and forget the chaos. And I had another. She was darling and quiet and perfect. Baby number two was introduced to PBS and I survived. But, my voice rose and life for number one and two changed. Their quietness became louder. They were introduced to time out. They had to learn it was not okay to bite the baby. We do not hit in our house. It was never okay to leave the house alone. We do not run down the street and around the block, ignoring mom yelling to come back now!

We played and took walks and loved life and I would look at my three precious babies and forgive the naughtiness. And I had another. Baby number four took us all by surprise. He ate and slept and ate and grew and grew and ran and ran and hasn’t stopped. Babies one, two and three have taken to taking care of baby four. He needs 5 people watching out for him. He needs to not be naked before he goes outside. He needs a snack now before he dies. He needs his hand held before he falls and cuts his eye wide open requiring 6 stitches. He needs to laugh and swing and take walks. He needs to be loved by all.

His world will never change.

I’ve remembered it all now. I won’t forget and have another.

…but I wish I could…

Jayne Thomas lives in Charleston, SC with 4 babies that keep getting bigger and bigger. She tries to remember what time swim practice is and why she walked upstairs. She can be reached at jaynecas@yahoo.com.

To me when I was sixteen years old

Dear Celia,

You say you don’t want kids, but you should have them anyway. It is the only way to get out of working full-time. You’ll like them when you get them, I promise. It isn’t all changing diapers and wiping noses like you’ve done your whole life with your younger siblings. You will love your own kids more.

You say you want to be free from responsibility, and while that sounds good, really it is boring and empty. Having kids will make your life meaningful and interesting. When you are responsible for something or someone, you love it more. And when you love something a lot, then life is worthwhile. Think about how much you love your Honda Elite 150 scooter. A lot, right? Well, imagine loving something 100 times that. You know how you wake up every morning and feel happy to see your scooter? That is how you feel when you wake up and see your children every day.

You say you just want to have fun. Here’s a secret you don’t know yet: You get to relive your childhood with each kid. Childhood is fun, remember? It wasn’t too long ago for teenaged you. Not only do you get to be excited about Christmas and Disneyland again, you get to be excited about your children achieving milestones like walking, reading, playing instruments, babysitting, and on and on.

You think YOU are the most interesting person in the world. As it should be for now, but trust me, there isn’t anything more interesting than a little person who reflects you and your husband’s personalities. When one of your children starts walking around with his nose in a book or putting together cute outfits, you’ll know where it came from. You. And what is more interesting than you?

I don’t really need to convince you. I’m pretty sure you are going to have children someday. I predict you’ll have four and that they will be the best things that ever happened to you. Better than a new car or a trip to Europe or a kiss from the cute boy. I promise.

Love, An Older And Hopefully Wiser Me

Celia, mother to four children, lives in the California Bay Area. She writes about it at Groundhog Day with Celia Fae.

Lessons in Love

Before my first daughter, Anjali, was born I was terrified. What did I know about raising children? I was the youngest in a family of four. I had never been around children and couldn’t imagine a person who knew less about children, children’s psychology, or even the basics of changing a diaper. In the second trimester of my wife’s pregnancy, I was so anxious that I had a funny but terrifying dream of this baby that was coming into my life.

I dreamed that my wife, Laura, and I were walking down a corridor. As Laura walked beside me, she held a baby. In the dream I knew it was our baby. I felt some level of anxiety but Laura was so happy that she was literally glowing. As we walked along, she gave me the baby to hold. I felt my anxiety level rising as I tried to make sure that I didn’t drop the baby. As we walked, the baby started to get bigger, not older, just bigger. I tried to keep up with Laura but my arms felt like they were burning under the weight of this baby. As I continued to fall behind, I felt even more stress. Finally, Laura walked through a door and beckoned for me to step through. When I got to the door, I realized that the baby was too big for me to get both of us through. It was at that point that I woke up, screaming, and drenched in sweat. At the time, Laura thought it was so funny she couldn’t stop laughing. I didn’t think it was all that funny.

Over the years, as I thought back to that dream, I realized that my anxiety wasn’t based on a fear that I wouldn’t be able to do the basics for my children, but that somehow I wouldn’t be loved by them. In my heart, I think I realized that I would fall madly in love with my children and that the intensity would persist throughout a lifetime. What I wasn’t so sure about was whether or not they would love me back.

In the years since Anjali’s birth and the births of my other daughters, one thing I have realized is that a child’s love for her parents is the closest thing to unconditional love we have on earth. The girls have taught me so much about unconditional love. I’m just glad I was able to slow down long enough to learn their language of love and fully feel it.

Sugata Biswas lives in Newbury Park, California, with his three daughters and always lovely wife. He works as a market researcher and enjoys participating in triathlons. He would welcome comments and communication at sugata_biswas@yahoo.com.

A Guide to Growing Stately Trees Comprised of Two Instructions and an Admonition

Instruction: Bend the Twig
If you want to grow a stately tree
You usually start with a tiny sapling,
Although some people grow their trees from seeds.
This is not an easy thing to do.

They say that as the twig is bent so grows the tree
And I think this is probably true.
So young saplings are snipped and pruned to give them shape and character
And staked out to give them rectitude.

And I think this is good and important to do,
Up to a certain point.
But who hasn’t seen and pitied dwarfed and stunted trees,
Crippled as saplings to please the grower’s sense of beauty, or ambition, or convenience.

Oh, and one more thing:
You can’t make an oak tree out of a willow sapling
No matter how much bending or binding
No matter that you desperately want an oak tree and you’ve been given a willow twig

Instruction: Hug the Tree
And then of course at a certain point,
Which admittedly varies from species to species,
The twig cannot be bent or staked out further to any good purpose.
It has become a tree.

It has become shade to someone weary from the road,
A refuge to those seeking solace, or a place for visionary youth to pray.
It has found its own reason for its existence
Fulfilling the promise of the seed and the shaping of the sapling.

What then? What more does the tree need from you?
Well, and this is important, trees never lose their need for warmth and belonging.
They need support to brace their sagging branches from the burdens of too much to bear,
And time-tested remedies to fight the infestations and blight that will surely sap their soul

They need to know that they are part of a forest,
That they belong to a family of trees,
These graceful willows, flamboyant maples and sturdy oaks,
And that this kinship of family extends forward and backward beyond the reckoning of time.

Admonition: Bend the Knee
Finally, a gentle word of counsel to you who would grow trees.
Give thanks to the Lord of the Forest.
Give thanks for the seeds.
For the soil and moisture that nourish them;
For the seasons that refine them,
And for entrusting us with their care.
For the forest in its majestic splendor,
For the music of the breeze in its leaves,
Its diversity of colors and shapes that give it beauty and purpose;
And for the Sun, its eternal beckoning call to seeds and saplings
To leave the frozen ground and reach for the warmth and light of the heavens above.

M.T. Bentley is a professor, consultant, and father of four children.

Letter to Myself

Dear Allysha in 2002,

On the 23rd of this month you will have your first baby, a girl. You will love her and adore her. You will be in awe of this little person who is completely dependent on you. You will be so tired. It’s okay. You’ll do fine. You’ll survive the sleepless nights with a few good movies that you watch in 10 minute segments while your baby eats. (I suggest the A&E Pride and Prejudice.)

In six years you will have not just one, but four little kids. “Yeah. Right,” you say. But it’s true; you have three who run around crazy and free and a baby just learning to crawl. All of them have the capacity to be very loud. Occasionally you’ll find yourself looking in the mirror at your reflection and saying “I have four kids.” Don’t be surprised if sometimes your reflection laughs and says “yeah, right.” (You will have figured out how to nurse your baby in bed while you doze, so that’s something!)

There are days when you will feel overwhelmed and be absolutely exhausted. Little children are demanding and require a lot of hands-on, in-your-face work and attention. But if you let them, your kids will teach you to be more selfless, patient and loving than you could otherwise become. Let them teach you. It’s okay. Pray a lot. You’ll do fine.

Your children desperately love you, but not enough to learn how to do the laundry right now—except for coating it with their yogurt from lunch. Just take the shirt off and throw it into the hamper. If it’s just too much—and sometimes smeared yogurt is—grab a pillow, go into the bathroom and shut the door, and scream into said pillow. Then make a face at yourself in the mirror as you go out and hopefully, chuckle ruefully.

Being a parent is about seeing both the forest and the trees. You have to pick your battles keeping the future, as well as the present, in mind. It’s not easy. Chocolate milk may not be the evil you think it is. Just limit the chocolate to milk ratio.

Avoid the ‘me vs. them’ tug-o-war. If your priority for the day is your children, you’ll all be happier. Let them help you with your work, they love it. The oldest kids, ages almost 6 and 4, can help with a lot of things (cleaning the bathroom is a favorite). Not only are you teaching them how to work, but you are spending some good time together. Multi-tasking. It’s a beautiful thing.

Get a hobby that you can do on the side (I suggest blogging). Just don’t get lost in it. Bedtime stories are important. It’s okay if you have to skip them every once in awhile for the sake of your sanity. Be flexible. Be gentle, with yourself and with your kids.

The amazing and witty Erma Bombeck was once asked what kind of mother she was. “Who knows?” she wrote. “I showed up for it. I worked a lot of overtime.” This is an intense time of your life. Show up for it. Work a lot of overtime. Love it, love them. Get a nap in every once in a while. You’ll do just fine.

Yours truly,

Allysha in 2008

Allysha recently moved across country from New York to Utah with her four children and her husband, Ben. She makes various kinds of oatmeal cookies and blogs at bellsontheirtoes.blogspot.com.