Self-Inflicted Busyness

Last weekend was St. Patrick’s Day. Do you know what we did to celebrate it? Absolutely nothing. We didn’t even wear green. I know that refusing to make rainbow-themed lunches, shamrock shakes or play Leprechaun games will probably mean my Pinterest account will be closed, but I don’t care. Sure, we had considered taking the kids to the local parade where they would be dying the river green, but do you know what we did instead? We slept in. Yep, that’s right. And, here’s the other thing, not only did we not celebrate St. Patrick’s Day, we’ve never even taken our kids to a parade. Astonishing, isn’t it? Matt and I aren’t huge on parades, but even more so, we’re not huge on overscheduling or taking on stressful events. (What’s stressful about a parade? Trying to contain a very determined and impatient one-year-old for the amount of time it takes each dancer, fire truck and clown to pass by isn’t exactly a stress-free experience for me.)

St. Patrick’s Day really made me realize just how much some holidays have changed since I was a kid. Sure, I might’ve worn green to school so I didn’t get pinched, but that was more self-preservation than it was celebration. Now, we not only have Leprechaun games that resemble the Elf on the Shelf, but other faux holidays have crept in. Can I confess that I had never even heard of Pi Day until March 14 of this year? I did not celebrate Dr. Seuss’ birthday with my kids, even though we have some of his books and we could’ve easily read them together. Likewise, I have no intention to make a big deal out of the 100th day of school, and I intend to not turn Valentine’s Day into Halloween Part 2 filled with sugar, food dyes and high-fructose corn syrup that we attempt to avoid every other day of the year.

I know. I’m a real downer, aren’t I? But, I’m not alone. This post “Let’s Bring the Holidays Down a Notch” by Kristen at Rage Against the Minivan pretty much sums up my feelings. But, all this talk of overblown “holidays” has really brought me back to thinking about one thing: busyness.

One of my favorite quotes that I’ve come across on Pinterest (as I scroll past the Pi Day celebration ideas) is, “Stop the glorification of busyness.” Plain and simple, busyness annoys me. It’s not just other people’s busyness that annoys me, but especially my own. Yes, I’ve responded to someone’s question as to how I’m doing with one word: busy. And I’m not proud of that. I don’t like living in the state of busy. I don’t think I’m the woman, wife or mother that God is intending me to be if I live in that constant and chaotic state.

In saying that, there are seasons and times in life where there are more demands for attention (hello, newborn baby!) and, try as we might, busyness happens. But, aside from those seasons, I want to ask: How much busyness is actually self-inflicted? How many things do we do during our days and in our lives that really aren’t necessary?

For example, I have made a conscious effort to scale back on my social media time over the last month. With every ding and notification, I was reaching for my iPod to see the new comment or tweet or Instagram post. What I was missing with each one of those pings was quality time with my kids, among other things. Suddenly, I realized that I wanted the baby to see my eyes looking into hers more than I wanted her to see my head bowed and my finger scrolling through Instagram.

Since scaling back, I’ve found that I was spending way more time engaged with the online world than I realized. By just cutting down on that time, my mind feels less cluttered and I have more of a chance to do other things, whether that’s reading with the kids, emptying the dishwasher or diving into a deadline.

And that brings me back to holidays. Would the kids have enjoyed the parade? Sure. Would they have liked seeing the river turn green? I bet. Will we go next year? It’s a possibility. My point is simply that we are constantly bombarded by options: Should I join a weekly play date group? Should I stay up all night baking carrot-shaped cupcakes for my daughter’s class? Should I swing by the bakery in the morning? Should I spend hours creating craft projects for the kids? Should they just have unstructured playtime? Should we sleep in on Sundays? Should we start grooming our 6-year-old to be an Olympic gymnast? Or, should he take underwater basket weaving?

Options, options and more options. The thing about options is we get to make decisions. We have a choice to say yes or no. You don’t have to do everything. In fact, you shouldn’t do everything. You can’t do everything. Sure some of those Pinterest finds are pretty cute, but is the time commitment realistic? Yes, I’m sure your son would excel at underwater basket weaving, but is that the most constructive way to spend your time as a family right now?

In the end, ask yourself: Will this add value or stress? Will this be another example of self-inflicted busyness? Is it necessary and desirable? Really, I don’t care if you take your child to every parade, if you revel in the little Elf’s antics, if you have found the top 100 best April Fool’s Day jokes ever and are already scheming to do each and every one of them this year. My point is you have a choice. It’s your time. Your life. Your decision to make. Just stop glorifying busyness and choose wisely. 


PS – This post explains why I have not and will not be posting as frequently on this site. I am focusing more on my book project Unexpectant, so please be sure to join me at that site and join in the conversation there.

Finding Silence

Rocking Addie to sleep this afternoon took a longer than normal thanks to a short snooze in the van that threw off her schedule. I took the extra rocking time to catch up on social media. For the last few weeks, I’ve attempted to reduce the amount of time spent online, so the extended time spent in the rocking chair today brought forth an overwhelming flood of information. In those moments, I fell into the rabbit hole of online content, scrolling through Facebook, Twitter, Pinterest, Instagram and Feedly. I consumed (or at least skimmed) an enormous amount of information…some of it useful, but the majority of it superfluous.

Since the new year, I have been trying to rid my life of the superfluous, aiming to be more focused and live more simply. This afternoon’s scrolling time reminded me of just how important that is. Instead of feeling invigorated by all I consumed, I felt tired, scattered and not even that certain of what all I had just read. So I turned to silence. I switched off the iPod and rocked Addie for a few minutes more. In the time my mind was being overwhelmed with content, she had settled into sleep. Her slow and deep breathing caught my attention. For a few minutes, I sat there watching and enjoying her peacefulness.

I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last few months about living more intentionally and with greater focus because I’ve realized that by living in less-than-focused times, life suddenly gets cluttered. What do we have to show for that? A crowded schedule, a messy home and a disconnected life. I want more than that.

The year started with a mission to de-clutter the house and to reduce the physical “extras” that we had lying around. Thankfully we have been reducing our possessions and being much more cautious about what we decide to bring into the house. What I’ve come to learn over the last few months is that the physical isn’t the only de-cluttering that needs to happen at times. Sometimes we need some mental de-cluttering as well. Sometimes the basement isn't the only thing that needs to be organized.

We live in a time when content and information is at our fingertips. We are blessed with the ability to learn more than any generation before us. But at the same time, not all that we can learn or read or fill our minds with is positive, life-giving and worth our attention (reality TV, anyone?). Don’t get me wrong; social media has its benefits. But it is my responsibility to know when to switch it off, when to find peace and when I need to rock the baby in silence.

Unexpectant

There are a lot of unexpected things about being a mom. From the good, the bad and the somewhere in between, we all find ourselves in these moments that we never could've imagined. For some moms, it begins in pregnancy. One friend of mine endured hyperemesis gravidarum during both of her pregnancies. It took physical and mental tolls on her that she never thought possible. For others, they find themselves in unexpected places in the midst of labor when they just don't think they can go on. Or, maybe it comes the moment you hold your little one and you are engulfed in an all-encompassing sense of love that you never knew possible. Or, it's in the feeling of isolation and loneliness that can sometimes accompany caring for a newborn.

Over the past few years, I've had the privilege of hearing many women's stories about birth, babies and beyond. And if there's one thing I've learned it's that we're not alone. Though we may feel that way at times, our stories are actually interconnected. I've spoken to natural birth enthusiasts and others who would've opted for a call-ahead epidural, if possible. Whether our story includes a drug-free water birth or a scheduled c-section, we all have stories to share and we can all learn from one another.

That is why my best friend, Steph, and I embarked on a journey together called Unexpectant. We want to explore the road to modern motherhood. We want to share openly and honestly, so that moms-to-be can learn from our collective voice. And so that moms-already can experience catharsis in the midst of their own journeys.

While we have created a website where we share some of the stories we hear, the culmination will be a book. But to get to that point, we need more stories. More voices. Including yours. And your sister's. And your friends'.

Will you join with us? It's simple. Start by taking this short, 8-question survey. Then pass the link on to everyone you know. Then connect with us on Facebook and Twitter.

Your story matters. Will you share it us?

To the Discouraged Mom

A few nights ago as I was cleaning up the kitchen, I found myself angry, annoyed and just plain grumpy. My day had started off well, but by the end, I was spent and in need of a time out. As I went through the motions of clearing the table, rinsing the dishes and wiping down the counters, I asked myself why I was feeling that way, especially after a good start to the day. Soon I realized that my mood was directly related to how my day had started.

My day had started with a meeting with one of my clients—a small non-profit that feeds starving children around the world. I enjoy working with them and my heart beats quickly for the work they do. Client meetings don’t happen often, but as a freelance writer, they do on occasion give me a reason to shower and dress in something other than workout clothes at least once or twice every month or so. That morning I had sat in a meeting and had felt privileged to be working alongside this company, not to mention that I also felt valued, appreciated and intelligent.

Soon enough, the meeting ended and I headed home to the laundry list of tasks and chores and childcare needs. Suddenly I felt behind, short on time, pulled in several directions and tired of the everyday monotony. But the low point was yet to come.

I had happened upon two new recipes that I thought my family would appreciate: tomato basil soup and quinoa cakes. I made sure to prepare things ahead of time, hoping that I would be able to run a couple of miles right before dinner. Yes, there was still snow on the ground, but I was craving some fresh air. Unfortunately the schedule didn’t work as well as I had hoped. By the time Matt got home from work, the sun was setting, the temperatures were dropping and dinnertime had arrived.

Then we sat down at the table. My attitude had already taken a hit, so when the kids started complaining about dinner, I wasn’t in the mood to hear it. It ended with one child being sent to bed early and me sulking in the kitchen. While cleaning up, I asked myself why I was feeling that way. Then I figured it out.

That morning, I had held a great conversation with my client about poverty, starvation, developing nations and bureaucracy. We not only discussed those issues, we also chatted, laughed together and caught up on each other’s lives. They showed great appreciation for the work I do for them and I felt fortunate to be able to work with them. It felt good.

At home I put in that same effort, but the rewards I get aren’t always as obvious or straightforward. My client didn’t pout and complain about the work I’d done, and yet that’s a common response from my kids, especially at the dinner table. I’m not saying every day or all moments are that way, but I am saying that I realized that evening just how difficult motherhood is. It’s a lot of giving and doing and repeating again and again, but the affirmations don’t always equal the effort.

Don’t get me wrong; I am blessed with a very supportive husband, and we are teaching our kids to be grateful and thankful. But there are moments when I have spent my days folding laundry, vacuuming floors, soothing cries, managing naptimes and eeking out a few hours of writing, and I don’t have the energy left to hear the complaints about what’s on the dinner table.

I’m sure I’m not alone in this experience, especially when so many moms in my generation have come out of higher education and careers where we are accustomed to getting feedback and direction and affirmation for a job well done. Sure we get finger paintings and sticky kisses, but little ones don’t give us grades and reviews in the way we have experienced in our schooling and our careers. And maybe that’s part of the problem; those dinner complaints often feel like performance reviews…very bad and judgmental ones.

So, to all you moms out there who are feeling discouraged and tired and underappreciated, let me say I know what you’re feeling. I know it’s tough. I know there are days when you’d rather phone it in, when you wonder if what you are doing makes a difference or even matters. Let me tell you, it does. The fruits of our labor might not be realized immediately, but you will see the pay off. It’s just not always in ways we recognize or expect. There is no standardized test or report card that tracks our progress. There is no performance-based bonus for a job well done.

But the rewards are there in those finger paintings and sticky kisses. The rewards are in the please and thank-you’s, and impromptu hugs. The bonus is the little person who calls you “Mom” and looks to you for guidance. It’s a different rewards system than our previous training had prepared us for, but if you stop and breathe, you’ll see it. Just don’t let it get lost under the stack of laundry, the piled up dishes and the dinnertime complaints.

Last Firsts

Seven years ago, I was newly pregnant and, honestly, a bit freaked out. Matt and I had been married for seven years and we knew we wanted kids. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to be a mom. You see, I liked my life as it was. I liked my job, I liked my freedom, I liked being in control, plus I wasn’t much of a baby person. I knew having kids would change things and I wasn’t sure I wanted to make those changes.

Fast-forward seven years. Last week we celebrated Adelyn’s first birthday. Addie, our third (and last) baby, is technically not a baby anymore. And that makes me sad. For the past few weeks, I’ve found myself paying more attention to the last moments of Addie’s baby stage. I have been taking more joy in her giggles, rocking her for a few extra minutes and just taking the time to recognize that these moments won’t last forever, and much to my surprise, that saddens me a bit.

With our first two, I often found myself wishing away the early months and years. What got me through the first few months of our colicky first child was setting mini-goals. Okay, if we make it to six weeks, things will get better. Okay, now we just need to make it to three months. Okay, now six months…. The adjustment to motherhood was a tough one and my high-needs baby didn’t make it any easier for me.

When baby number two came along, I was still worn out from the first one. I once again spent most of that first year hoping to speed through it, so we could get back to “normal” life. Then we had our last baby. Suddenly I began to enjoy the baby stage and not wish it away quite so quickly.

Don’t get me wrong; there have been moments along the way that I’ve wanted to speed through. For instance, I very clearly remember that in those last moments of labor before she was born, the mantra that got me through it was, “Just push her out and you will never have to go through labor again. It will all be over. Just push. Just push.” There were also fussy breastfeeding sessions that made me long for toddlerhood when she would be weaned.

Yet overall, I have been enjoying her babyhood more than with the first two. I’m sure some of that has to do with the fact that I have a few years of experience under my belt. But I think a greater part is that I realize this stage of life we are in is about to change and we will never return to it. With every milestone Addie reaches (signing, crawling, talking, walking), I can’t help but think these are our last firsts. This is the last time one of our kids will reach this milestone for the first time…just when I felt like I was actually getting the hang of things.

I know they must grow up and that things will continue to change. But for just a few minutes longer, I want to hold on to my baby and rock her and sing to her and kiss her full cheeks. Seven years ago, I had no idea that I’d ever want those things so strongly. Seven years ago, I was afraid of how motherhood would change me. Yet, seven years later, I realize how blessed I am to get to experience it, and to grow and learn right alongside my kids. Who knew these last firsts would happen so quickly?

Recipe: Pumpkin Banana Chocolate Chip Muffins

The following recipe is a family favorite. And by family, I mean all five of us, including the baby. Adelyn loves these muffins, though unfortunately for her, she receives muffins without chocolate chips in them. The muffins are a great on-the-go baby food option. When I make a batch, I typically put a few in the freezer for her to enjoy later, usually at a restaurant or when we need to quickly grab something for her.

Made with part whole wheat flour (though sometimes I use all whole wheat), pumpkin and bananas, these are a tasty and nutritious treat. Hope you enjoy!

Pumpkin Banana Chocolate Chip Muffins

1 cup flour
1 cup whole wheat flour
½ tsp baking soda
1 tsp salt
1 tsp ground cinnamon
¼ tsp nutmeg
2 eggs
1 cup canned pumpkin
1 cup sugar
½ cup firmly packed brown sugar
½ cup milk
1 large banana, mashed
1/2 a bag of chocolate chips, optional

Preheat oven to 350 degrees. Mix flours, baking soda, salt and spices in one bowl. Set aside. Beat eggs, pumpkin, sugars, milk and banana in a large bowl until well mixed. Add dry ingredients and stir. Add chocolate chips, if using.

Pour into greased cupcake pan.

Bake for about 25 minutes or until toothpick inserted in the center comes out clean.

Yields 2 dozen muffins. Store in an airtight container for a few days or freeze for later use.

Baby Signs

The following is a blog post that I wrote for Parent Savers, but I wanted to share it here because I really do love teaching my babies sign language. Some people think teaching babies sign language could discourage them from developing language skills. We have found the opposite to be true. All three of our kids have learned to sign around 9 or 10 months of age, and went on to speak and develop language skills earlier than the average. We believe that teaching them to communicate through signs before they could express themselves with words lessened the amount of tantrums because they could communicate with us. Addie has already picked up a few signs and it's easy to see how proud she is of her accomplishments. And the other two get such joy out of seeing their little sister communicate with them.


The other morning I walked into the baby’s room and saw a beautiful sight. Adelyn was standing in her crib. As soon as she saw me, she grinned from ear-to-ear and began bouncing happily, while opening and closing her hands with great enthusiasm. I can’t describe how great that sight was. Of course I love to see her smile at me, but it was her hand gesture that made me the happiest because my baby was signing for “milk.”

This was the first time she had used that sign uninitiated. She had used a few other signs, such as “more” and “all done,” but “milk” meant a bit more to me. Nursing her has had its ups and downs over this first year of her life. We’ve had our struggles, but we’ve powered through. Seeing her so happily make that sign made me think she has enjoyed nursing more than what she has seemed to at times.

We’ve used sign language with all three of our children. My firstborn child came into the world a bit disgruntled. Being a first-time mom with no baby experience, I scrambled to know how to understand him, so when I heard about using sign language with babies, I figured it was worth a shot.

At around nine months of age, we started using some simple signs with him, such as “eat” and “more.” I remember the evening we were sitting on the couch and suddenly he took his chubby little hands and tapped them together in front of his chest as he looked at a container of Cheerios. He looked at me and repeated the action a few times before I caught on, but finally I realized he was saying he wanted more Cheerios. I was so elated that I wanted to shower him with cereal. Yet, I still wondered; could he really be using sign language and intentionally communicating with me at such a young age?

We continued teaching more signs. In a few months, he began to use words as well. I can’t help but consider how many tantrums and breakdowns in communication we avoided because, before his mind could verbally form words, he was already communicating to us with his hands.

When our second child came along, we realized another benefit. We used sign language with her as well, but it didn’t only improve her relationship with us; it helped her bond with her brother at an earlier age. With him being just two years her senior, he eagerly waited for her to grow into his playmate and he couldn’t contain his excitement when she moved her little hands and signed to him for the first time. And they haven’t stopped talking since.

Both kids have shown that same excitement as Adelyn has begun signing to them and they have emphatically signed back. She may be a baby, but she knows what she wants and, thanks to sign language, she can communicate to us even though her verbal communication isn’t as developed yet. One thing is for sure: even though I appreciate her telling me when she wants more or that she’s all done, the sign for “milk” has become my favorite sign and probably always will be.



If you are interested in learning more about signing with your baby, check out The MOM Podcast. One of the hosts, Nancy Cadjan, wrote Baby Signing 1, 2, 3, the resource we've used to learn the signs and teach them to our babies. Also, take a look at my article "Baby, Get Your Sign On" where I interviewed Nancy, a developmental psychologist and moms about their thoughts on sign language.