If there is one thing that is exceptionally hard about the middle, it’s realizing that your children are growing up. I don’t mean in the sense that they are getting older and will one day leave you or that they don’t need you for every single aspect of sustaining their little lives—although those are real things. I’m talking about the fact that they are entering the adult world. A world that is often filled with senseless tragedy and unspeakable hardships—a world from which you can no longer shield them.

I stopped watching the news when my oldest child was old enough to understand it. I did this not because I didn’t have the time or inclination to watch it—I was a morning show lover—I did it because the reality of what was on the screen was too much for his little brain and heart to understand. I did it because he wasn’t ready for what is sometimes the brutal reality of the world at age three. I did it because I knew I wouldn’t be able to answer or explain away all of the many questions that would naturally arise. And, even if I could, it was more than he should handle at that age. Thankfully, small children take naps and DVR is a real thing, so I could catch up on all that I missed. But, truthfully, I was surprised to learn I didn’t really miss it. I eventually weened down to a fabulous news feed on my phone where I could delve into the latest in international headlines or read about what people wore to the latest award show—don’t judge me—pop culture is still culture.

But now, that little person I was trying to shield from all of the absurdity that sometimes takes place in the world is now a full-fledged teenager. I have to let him see behind the curtain. He’s old enough. He’s emotionally mature enough. So, why do I feel like I’m stripping him of his innocence one tragic event at a time?

Unfortunately, there have been a few recent tragedies to take place in our small community. I knew I had to talk to my son about these. There is no greater information network than a group of seventh graders on a group text. I knew he would find out about what happened—the days of omitting information or changing the channel are over. Instead, I needed to talk to him about what happened honestly and answer his questions, honestly.

This was harder than I anticipated. It was harder because he asked really hard questions “What will these kids do now that their mother is gone?” or “How will this family recover?” These were hard  because I could see my son empathizing. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head and I knew he was doing what most of us do in these situations—trying to imagine what it is like for the people affected by tragedy. Don’t get me wrong, I am so thrilled and proud that he has an empathetic heart. If I do nothing else as a mother, raising a good human is more than enough for me. But, it’s hard to watch your child realize that life is not fair, that sometimes tragedy strikes and you just have to suffer through it.

I couldn’t explain any of it away. I had to give him all of the miserable answers. I had to confirm the uncertainty and frailty of life. I had to affirm that sometimes horribly, bad things happen for no good reason. He now has full confirmation that I cannot fix everything nor can I protect him from anything. He’s out there in an adult world.

The adult world can stink. Even those of us who have been doing life in it for twenty plus years don’t get it. We’re just as shocked and heartbroken and confused as these little newbies entering into it. So, what are we to do as moms? As fixers and protectors?

I wish I had a good answer for you. I’ll give you all that I’ve come up with thus far. I told this baby of mine (because I don’t care how old these people get, I will always see them in their onesies with faux sock/shoes on) that sometimes tragedy strikes. The truth is, it strikes much more often than any of us would like—because more than once is too much. Tragedy often shows us the worst parts of being human, but it also shows us the miraculously wonderful side of humanity too. It shows us that for the most part, people are good. People want to help and they want to heal. The pain is real and awful for all of those affected by tragedy, but the goodness is real too. The empathy that we feel causes us to reach out to those suffering. The empathy reminds us not take anyone we love for granted. It makes us grateful for what we have, but more importantly, it makes us grateful that we can help.

I can’t protect this young adult of mine. I wish that I could. I can remind him that the answer to darkness is always light. I can assure him that he will never go wrong helping someone else. I can tell him that no matter what the question; the answer is always more LOVE.  I can tell him with certainty that although life is uncertain, love is not. Love grows. Love expands. Love multiplies. I can hope and pray that no matter what comes his way through his adult life that he knows love and loves others. And, I can love him a little harder on the hard to explain days.

“What are you guys doing for Valentine’s Day?” Someone asked me this question last week and I thought she may be talking to someone else. Who is “you guys?” Did she mean me and my husband? Do people who are married and have 10,000 kids “do things” on Valentine’s Day? I’m super confused.

I mean we acknowledge the day. I think it’s awesome to spend a day focused on the love you have for the people in your life. Kiddos usually receive treats, there will be some cards exchanged (maybe). It was my intention to buy my husband a Valentine’s card yesterday at Target, but the crowd in front of the “For My Husband” section was akin to something you’d see for the release of a new iPhone, so I opted out.

Valentine’s Day, for moms, focuses largely on the children. It’s not that you don’t acknowledge your significant other with a card or a gift, but like most things in your life—it’s not about you anymore. Now it’s about finding class Valentine’s that your 11-year-old son will actually distribute with the least amount of eye rolling. Trying to convince your daughter that the pre-made cards are just as special as the ones she insisted on crafting by hand last year (we are a year older and wiser). It’s all about them.

If you have small children, like six and under, I am sorry for you. Valentine’s Day is an unforeseen nightmare. You don’t expect it, you underestimate it every year until it rolls around bringing its giant class list with it. Forcing small people to address what feels like 700 cards is the work of saints. It requires more patience than math homework and dioramas. If you’re really good, you try to spread it out over a few nights, but who has the foresight for that? Again, this is the sneaker– you forget what torture it is until it’s too late!

If you have male children, you can take your Valentine frustration and multiply it by at least three. It’s not that my sons are not interested in giving and receiving the Valentines. It’s not that they aren’t creative or artistic. But something about the list and the process causes their brains to fully melt down. Twenty names? Even at a rate of one name a minute this little procedure should take less than a half hour, right? Nope. This will drag on for hours. There will be breaks and frustration and you will end up yelling about being kind and showing love, which makes no sense at all.

Girls are much easier to manage through the process, but they bring the process to a whole new level. We can’t just write names on the cards, we have to write them in glitter which requires glue and drying time. We can’t assign any card to any person, that’s crazy! We have to carefully select just the right card for each classmate (even though there are only three variations in the store-bought package). Please note my warning from above, if you have a daughter that tells you she’d like to make all of her Valentines by hand, allow yourself no less than three weeks for this process or, take my advice and just DON’T.

Maybe this isn’t your experience? Maybe your kids love to craft and address Valentine’s? They knock it out in twenty minutes and you hardly even know it happened. God bless, but I wouldn’t tell anyone that. It’s like telling people you were only in child labor for fifteen minutes—people are happy for you, but it also makes them angry. So, what am I doing for Valentine’s Day? I am celebrating that we lived through another year of class Valentines. I will sit back with my people and enjoy them and think about how lucky we are to be surrounded by so much love. And, I will know deep in my heart that next year, two out of three children will be in middle school where class Valentine’s cease to exist. Spread the love!

As we find ourselves at the height of cold and flu season, I feel it’s important to bring light to one of the most challenging parts of motherhood—sick kids. Please understand when I say“sick” I am speaking of normally healthy children who have taken ill with a common cold, flu, strep, stomach virus, hand, foot and mouth (insert your favorite illness here). Usually, these little gems are picked up at the second dirtiest place on earth—school. Which, unfortunately, lands you in the absolute dirtiest, germ-infested place on earth—the pediatrician’s office. We’ve all been there, but it’s like a brand-new fresh hell every time—sick kids are the WORST!

I have just done a 4-day stint that included two children, one case of strep and two different antibiotics and I can confirm that nothing brings mama down faster than a sick kiddo. Now, of course, no one wants their child unwell. It breaks your heart when you have to look at their sad little eyes, runny noses or heaving tummies. That all goes without saying. No mother wants her baby to feel bad. But, let’s focus on what’s important here and that’s how a sick kid can ruin your life (temporarily).

I’m one of the lucky ones. The strep diagnosis is gold! It’s easily treated and your little person starts feeling better within 24 hours. It’s like the jackpot of infections. I actually fist pumped in my pediatrician’s exam room when she told us—she has kids; she gets it. Where you really get hit is the mysterious “virus” that has no known cure and no estimated duration. Thus, leaving you with not even a grain of hope about when you might be able to rejoin your regularly scheduled life.

Or, you could get the Queen Mother of Sicknesses—the flu.  A? B? Stomach? They’re all awful. They come on fast; they hit hard and they take no prisoners. They’re also not your typical “kid” illness. No, no the flus discriminate against no one. So, once they enter into your life, look out! Once you’ve got one person infected, the suspense and fear immediately begin to build. Everyone in your family quarantines themselves. It’s a human survival, Hunger Games type situation. Anyone could go down at any time. You do your best to preserve yourself while you wait to see which family member’s image appears in the sky as the next one taken.

Self-preservation is crucial if you’re a mother. Not only do you have to take care of the infirmed, but you also have to create a super human shield of immunity so that you don’t fall prey to whatever nastiness they’ve brought upon your home. You arm yourself with Lysol, hand sanitizer and you pray. You pray that you are spared. This is not a selfish prayer. Quite the opposite, this is a prayer for everyone, for the greater good.  Let’s face it, these people are barely making it now and their chances of survival if you are down for two to five days with any various, sundry ailment are slim—closer to none.

You will not get to enjoy being spared. It’s always better to be well than sick, sure. But binge watching historical romances and online shopping from the comfort of your bed would not be the worst way to spend a few days. You won’t get to do any of that. If you’re well, you’ll be running around soothing and sanitizing. If you get sick, you will be left alone to rest for about 2 minutes longer than it actually takes your body to feel good enough to drag yourself out of bed. Your family will be respectful if you’re really down for the count. But as soon as you show any signs of recovery, you will be asked to locate everything in your house that they haven’t been able to find in the last 48 hours. You will hobble out of your bed to discover every dish and article of clothing that was used during your sick leave in a pile of some sort strewn about your home.  It’s sort of like walking out to an apocalypse. At this point, I suggest you turn around and go back to bed—it’s the only place that’s safe for you.

We haven’t even touched on what happens to your actual life, yet. Just press stop. Hit the pause button, sister because you will be able to get NOTHING done until everyone is well. You can get  mandatory things done like pukey laundry, soup and cracker preparation or a pharmacy run, other than that, you’re toast. You’ll try. You’ll convince yourself that you can be a nursemaid and still try to have a phone conversation—and then someone will begin running to the bathroom to vomit. So, do yourself a favor and just give up. As soon as patient zero goes down, just call it. Flip right to the next week in your planner (don’t judge me, I’m Type A and over 40 and LOVE a paper planner!) and start moving things because this week—it’s over. Even if the sickness is blessedly short-lived, when you resume life, you’ll have tons of make-up work. Oh, and you’ll also have to help your children with all of their actual make-up work, so yeah, just flip to next week and give it up to God.

As with all things motherhood, all you can do is your best. Try to embrace the break in your crazy life. Maybe you get out of some sports practices? That’s not all bad. Perhaps you get to sleep an extra fifteen minutes since no one is going to school? Count that as a win. Love on your little sickos, get some snuggles (even the big ones will cooperate when they don’t feel well) and hope everyone is better tomorrow. Keep your head up, your hand sanitizer at the ready and try not to breathe around them. Stay healthy mammas!

I sound kind of like Yoda, but truer words have never been spoken if you’re a mother. Yesterday as I was attempting to get myself organized in my morning process, I read a great passage in Mark Nepo’s, The Book of Awakening. It talked about the importance of finding joy all along the way. The idea is that if you attach joy only to the accomplishment or the destination; it will be really hard to have a happy heart. It was a lightning bolt moment for me because I realized one of my great frustrations with motherhood is that you’re never “done.” Like ever—never!

For a list-lover like me, this is a tough one. If you’re one of those people who can just “let the day take you” and has no need to create a plan on a daily/weekly/monthly basis, then I applaud you. There is a part of me that wishes I were more like you. However, once I reached 40 I decided I would live in my truth and I like to get things DONE! I like to set goals, even if it’s as

small as kids laundry/call plumber/make doctor’s appointment—I like to set a goal and get it done and cross it off and pat myself on the back for my accomplishment. In a family of five, finishing the laundry is a major accomplishment in my life. So, when I ready Nepo’s prose, it struck me that there is absolutely, positively no done when it comes to being a mom. That explains a lot.

There is no sense of accomplishment. Well, I take that back, there’s lots of accomplishments along the way. Your baby sleeps through the night? You are a sleep schedule rockstar and could literally cry from the joy of six hours of uninterrupted sleep. Your child is out of diapers, and you get an idea that you actually are making progress. You got this little person one step closer to being fully formed. So, sure, there are little winks and nods along the way.

When your kids get bigger there are moments of intense pride and happiness. If your child makes the honor roll, creates amazing art or scores a winning goal—you are elated for them. But, that’s their accomplishment, not yours (that’s an entirely different blog—don’t get me started). You’re proud for them, but it doesn’t give you that feeling of completion.

Even when your child really shows up– maybe befriending a lonely kid or showing true compassion to one of their siblings, don’t get too comfortable. You’ll feel it, you’ll get that “my work here is done/nailed it!” feeling. You’ve created a kind and loving person. What can you even do for an encore? You should write a book with parenting advice. But, give it time my friend, because that same wonderful child you’ve created within a matter of days or even minutes will do something completely jerky that makes you think, “who am I raising?” and has you Googling the characteristics of sociopaths. Motherhood is a fun little dance of one step forward 3-4.5 steps back.

This is probably because these small little people are literally evolving right in front of us. They are trying to remember all of the important things we’ve said no less than 5,000 times, but it’s hard to do that and remember to brush your teeth on a daily basis. They are (mostly) trying to be good kids, but they are also trying to figure out how to grow into teenagers and eventually adults. There is a lot of trial and error there. I’m still trying to figure out how to be an adult. So, there’s a ton of push and pull and absolutely no done.

I imagine when you see your children graduate high school or college there is an immense sense of accomplishment. It’s a monumental milestone and if nothing else, you all survived. But, even then, there’s a lot more parenting to do. Sure, it may be a little more subtle. You may be trying to gently influence (read: yell in your quiet voice) them about the dangers of binge drinking, how to choose a life partner or manage their finances. That stuff is really important and now they think they’re a grown-up, so they really don’t listen. Just when you thought you might be just a little bit done; you’ve got to up your parenting game.

There is no done. But, Nepo’s words reminded me to pay attention. Because, there is a lot of joy to be had on the way. As crazy as kids can make you, they’re also exceptionally fun. They say ridiculously funny things that you record on your phone because you can’t get enough of them and want to remember them forever. They are kind and sweet and loving– sometimes even toward you. My theory is that these little moments of joy are so powerful that they can overcome even my crazy need for done. As soon as you think you can’t take one more second, God usually rewards you with one of these joyful gems. And you decide maybe you are doing something right with this motherhood and maybe you won’t run away. So, to my fellow mamas that just want to be done: try to pay attention and look for joyful gems. If you look hard enough, I promise you will find at least one each day. And sometimes, one is way better than done.

Ever feel like being a mom is kind of like being a magician? Need 32 cookies for school tomorrow? Presto! It’s done. Have to get three kids to three different places at once? Voila! They will all magically appear at their preferred destinations. It takes more than a slight of hand, a bunny and a wand to make these things happen. It takes mommy magic.

Every mother I know stores more information in her head than a super computer. We have to know each kid’s birthday, allergies, food preferences, sensitivities, learning style—the list goes on. You get it—it’s a lot of things to keep in your brain only to be recalled at precisely the correct moment. And that’s just your kids.

What’s your dry cleaner’s name? How about your mail person? What days are trash days? Who do you call when you have a plumbing issue? You also are probably fortunate enough to be in charge of your household. Bills, maintenance, long-term upkeep—all part of your magic act.

The magic is that: 1. You manage to get any of this done with any sort of regularity 2. You haven’t had a mental breakdown (yet) 3. Your magic is so good that NO ONE even notices the slight of hand. That’s right, all of these things magically happen so seamlessly that no one even notices that you’ve done your tricks. Perhaps it’s a testament to your craft?

We moms are so good at taking things on and magically making them happen. We just do it. We don’t often ask for help. We don’t often take credit. We don’t want to let anyone in on the secret behind the magic. But, why not? Why don’t we debunk the myth that we all have magical powers that mystically accomplish the giant list of things our family’s need?

The truth is the real magic, is not so magical at all–it is long days and tired brains and constantly second guessing yourself. It’s hundreds of lists. It’s tons of mini-freak outs that we won’t actually pull it off. It’s the constant niggling feeling that you’ve forgotten something, or worse, someone. You are just as surprised as your audience when you finally pull that rabbit out of your hat.

The fact that we do all of this on the regular is sort of magical. Why don’t we appreciate our magical powers? Why don’t we feel comfortable admitting that just surviving an average Wednesday is sometimes a real accomplishment? Let’s stop pretending that all of the things just magically happen and start calling it what it is: organization, planning, precision. It’s like a military operation to make it through some of these days in the middle. But, in the end, when that Wednesday is done and you sit back and realize that your list is (mostly) crossed off, your people are (relatively) happy and safe—that, my friends, is the real magic. The magic is in the knowing you can do it. You’ve proven to yourself yet again that you’ve got the skills and more than one trick up your sleeve. Ta-Dah!!

For those of us who work from home there is an amazing phenomenon known as “free time.” Now, let me clarify, the time is not actually free—there are most likely things we should be doing. Whether it is actual work, returning phone calls, or folding the laundry, there is always something to do. But, if you happen to be at home and don’t have an immediate deadline and let’s say a half of a season of a show on left on your watch list –Voila! Free time!!

I will admit that I did not fully understand this phenomenon when I first began working from home. I was so thrilled that I was out of my traditional office environment. I utilized all of my down time to run errands or do all of the things I’d typically saved for weekends. I’d use my lunch hour to run to the store, pick up dry cleaning or any of the other million and one mundane tasks I used to have to do after work or on the weekends. I thought I was cheating the time/space continuum because I was getting personal things done while working.

Slowly, I became more comfortable with my work from home routine. The first step was never getting ready in the morning. This was a big middle finger to my previous in-office life. The 60-90 minutes that I spent getting dressed and ready was now all my own and I knew that I would utilize it for all of the things I’d ever dreamed of accomplishing—exercise, daily meditation, writing thought-provoking prose that would change people’s lives. In reality, it meant I slept 89 minutes later and rolled out to start working in my jammies—but I think this was also forward progress.

Phase two of my work from home life is where the real magic happened. It came in the form of connecting with other people that also worked from home. This is how I was shown the way. This is how I was able to embrace work, leisure and personal responsibilities– like working in hair and mani appointments during the weekdays. I was apprehensive at first, but my fellow at-home workers pushed me to greatness. I was advised to really be smart about my time. If I could work from 5 a.m. to 7 a.m. that would free up my 10 a.m.-12p.m. time slot, which would naturally flow into my “lunch hour” because I’m not an animal and everyone deserves a break. This three-hour block would become a magical time where I could get all of my errands done for the week, schedule a crucial doctor’s appointment (read: pedicure) or binge watch at least half of a season of my latest show.

You see, if you’ve never experienced it, EVERYTHING in your life is easier to achieve Monday-Friday between the hours of 9 a.m.-5 p.m. Have to run to Target? On Saturday morning you have to go armed with an aisle by aisle list, a re-affirmed belief that all human beings are kind in their hearts and an exit strategy. But, Target on a Tuesday morning? Nirvana. The aisles are clear, everyone is pleasant—they’re also cheating the Universe, so it’s like you’re all in your own little awesome club—“look at us, we’re buying laundry detergent on Tuesday and will have our Saturday free from dread.” This weekday Target phenomenon applies to almost anything you can think of –dentist appointment? —plenty of appointments available between 10-12! How about a government agency? Weekdays are wide open. Try to get a Saturday DMV appointment and let me know how long you’ll have to wait once you get there with the rest of humanity who is forced to sit in an office Monday-Friday. The weekday errand lifestyle allows so much more freedom, so much less stress—there’s a civility to it that makes these mundane tasks almost enjoyable. The down side is that the idea of entering a retail store on the weekend now sends me into panic mode. I begin to sweat and bargain with myself—how badly do we NEED paper towels? Couldn’t we use napkins until Monday at 9 a.m.?

That covers the tasks. I was also advised that I should limit using my 3-hour window of freedom for tasks to a maximum of two days. And, let’s face it, with the efficiency that the weekday errand offers, this should be easy. That left three full windows to fill with things of my choosing. Now, this is where things start to get good. Nine hours to do with as I wish and all alone. Also, I’m technically “working” so all guilt is alleviated.

My original plan for these hours was to develop a Tai Chi practice, scrapbook the first ten years of all three of my children’s lives and possibly volunteer for a local charity. I quickly found that this plan was ill advised because –Netflix and Prime Video. Now, let me first say that I’m not a huge TV person, I’m a writer, so given the choice I’d much prefer a book. However, this is a new world order whereby you can watch an entire series in one sitting allowing you a sense of accomplishment that is unparalleled. Also, as a writer, it’s important that I’m socially relevant. I need to be aware of what is happening in the world around me as I write—so, research. The other unique benefit is the ability to choose programs that speak to you, Queen Victoria biopic? Yes please! I’m nothing if not historically minded and it sort of counter acts the Bravo marathon that happened yesterday. My point is, no one that I live with would EVER want to watch any of these shows. So, I’m really doing everyone a service, again, my Saturday is free for what my family needs, because I’m a giver.

Now, there are perils to this lifestyle; it’s not for everyone. The truth of the matter is you have to have a level of self –discipline to run your own day. Working at home can be isolating, so you need to establish a network of people that you can actually have human contact with (if you start referring to the Real Housewives as your “friends”, you need to immediately schedule a lunch date with a human person).

Some people prefer to get up and go to an office every day, for them, that is their Nirvana. For me and a lot of my people, working a flexible schedule from home is the answer to a lot of questions during this phase of life: How can I be around for my kids? How can I still contribute financially? How can I feel like a real person with thoughts that matter? Will I one day venture back into office life? I’m not ruling it out. It has its appeal, there’s an energy that you get from working side by side with other people that can’t be replicated. It is also nice to dress yourself up and take yourself out. But, for now, I’ll see you at Target on Tuesday.

Although it is hard to believe, I am not perfect—far from it. I’m guessing you’re not either. It’s inevitable that imperfect people make mistakes. But, what happens when you’re someone’s mom and you make a mistake? What happens when you screw up as a parent?

Obviously, we all make mistakes as parents. The super fun part of this job is that no one has any idea how to do it when they take it on. There are no instructions. There are millions of books and countless opinions and a plethora of people that would love to tell you how you should do it but, really, only you can decide. You can take all of that information in and try to utilize it—but it’s all on you (no pressure). So, we all do the best we can. But, we mess up.

When you mess up with smaller kids it’s a bit easier because their tiny little brains don’t really realize it. Sure, you may feel badly that you put little Bobby in a pool when he was six minutes old because all babies can and should swim. You may regret all of those “your baby can read” DVD’s and you probably wish you could take back trying to teach your three-month-old Mandarin. But, don’t be too hard on yourself, because, odds are, your kids remember none of it. So, I say, mistakes with littles are freebies. No harm, no foul.

When your kids are a little bigger, they start to pay attention. They may even call you on your mistakes. The first time this happens you will be equal parts shamed, offended and proud. Shamed because you feel badly about whatever it was that you did—or didn’t do. Offended that this little person who you keep alive on a daily basis had the sheer audacity to bring it to your attention. And, proud because you are raising a real, live person that can see the difference between what’s right and what’s wrong.

The first time that this happened to me, I found myself at a loss. Now that they’ve recognized it and they’re right—what do I do? What I decided to do was apologize. Now, please don’t misunderstand, I don’t apologize if you didn’t like what was in your lunchbox. I don’t apologize if you’re unable to watch “R” rated movies when you’re nine-years-old. I don’t apologize because you think my discipline is unfair. But, when I loose my temper or act in a way I’m generally not proud of—I apologize. I tell them that I’m sorry and I’m human and I’ll try to do better. I do this for myself and for them. I hope that by seeing me recognize my mistake, owning it and moving on; that they will one day be able to do the same.

What happens when your big, big kids call you out? These are kids that are adults or pretty close to it. A dear friend of mine, who I consider to be an amazing mom, told me about a conversation she had with her grown son. In it, he called her out and she realized she had made a mistake. I could tell it broke her heart a little. She apologized to him. She owned it. But, she also made sure to tell him that her mistakes don’t excuse him. She told him that everyone has a childhood and no one’s is perfect. She told him that he doesn’t get to make the same mistake and use her as an excuse. She told him that the sum of the good parts of your upbringing is usually greater. And, ALL the rest of the stuff she taught him matters. She reminded him that even though she wasn’t perfect, she did the best she could, and she expected nothing less from him.

As much as we all want to get it right all of the time; it just isn’t going to happen. We are going to restrict our kids when should’ve let them go. We are going to give them freedoms they weren’t prepared to handle. We will say stupid things to them and feel badly about. But, the great thing about life is that every moment is a new chance. A chance to change, a chance to be better than you were last time and a chance to say, “I’m sorry.” Don’t miss the opportunity to show your kids that you can be imperfect and great simultaneously. If you’re like me, you’re going to get lots of chances–don’t miss them.

I’m writing this installation of the blog on an airplane with my family. I’m not sure you understand the magic that is taking place right now. I’m able to have thoughts, write them down, no one is touching me—I’ve waited so long for this day to come!

We take this particular trip every year. We live in the south so every year, if we’re lucky, we fly out west to play in the snow. It’s a big trip and takes the better part of a day. We’ve been doing this with our kids since our youngest were two and four. If you have traveled with a person under the age of five and experienced a plane ride or multiple plane rides, car rental, driving, hotel set-up and general travel fatigue, I think you are fully qualified to apply for a position with military special operations. The amount of preparation, endurance and mental fortitude it takes to travel with small children is better than any training the government could offer. Jumping out of a plane/sleeping in the wilderness/ pulling of a clandestine operation are NOTHING compared to trying to entertain a three-year-old for 3 hours while they’re strapped in a seat– NOTHING! I’m sure there are Navy Seals somewhere that can confirm my thoughts.

My absolute favorite memory of this trip took place about five years ago when my daughter was around two. It’s a four-hour flight, we’d done it several times with our sons, so we sort of knew what we were getting into—then we had a daughter. It was her second time making the trek and she proved to be a pro on the first attempt so we weren’t too worried (you can start smiling right about now). Little lady was a gem during the first hour, we were entertaining her like a couple of trained monkeys, but that’s just what you have to do with a two-year-old on a plane. Around hour two things started to go very wrong. She became fussy, so we switched up the entertainment, fed her candy, walked around a little bit. By hour three she was screaming at a decibel level I can only describe as blood curdling. A young childless couple moved seats because they just couldn’t take it anymore. They were sure to give us the “look” when they passed by. I was sure to issue a silent plea to the Universe that every one of their children had colic and acid reflux—don’t judge me, this kid had been screaming for HOURS!

Thanks to all things holy, she finally settled down about an hour prior to landing. I breathed a sigh of relief, I finally stopped profusely sweating and telling myself why I would NEVER travel with children again, ever, for any reason as long as I lived. I sat back and thought, “OK, we made it.” And then, this sweet little girl who was dressed in some adorable fuzzy, sparkly, fleece outfit vomited ALL OVER HERSELF. I’m prepared. This is my third kid. I’ve got enough wipes to clean up an oil spill. I take off her outside layer, wipe her down—mother of the year. But now, she’s really upset. Apparently the three previous hours of screaming were just a warm up for what she had planned for our descent. And then she vomited all over herself AGAIN and AGAIN. By the time we landed she was wearing nothing but a diaper and I was down to the last of the wipes. She deplaned wrapped in her brother’s sweatshirt and nothing else.

I think I may have kissed the ground when we exited the plane and I know I had a drink before we even made it out of the airport. Every mother I know has one (read: at least ten) of these fantastic stories about traveling with kids. There is a baby screaming right now as I type, and I can actually hear the parents sweating. It is not easy to drag tiny humans across the country or the world. It is the work of martyrs that are determined to show their kids cool stuff/visit family/take a break from life. It is the work of saints. If I do nothing else in my lifetime, I’m pretty sure that plane ride gets me to the pearly gates.

Or maybe this is my reward? Now, that little cherub is still seated next to me, but she is headphoned and deviced up. She’ll only contact me if she needs assistance with her snacks or her in-flight entertainment. This morning as we were driving to the airport, I thought this is the sweet spot. My kids are young enough that they’re still cute and fun and want to hang out with us, but they’re big enough to move through the world without four steamer trunks full of paraphernalia and a personal Sherpa. No one cried this morning as we got ready to get up and out to the airport. No one had a bathroom emergency as soon as we buckled. And, no one is talking to me. Maybe I have already died, and this IS heaven?

To all the mamas with portable car seats, thirteen strollers, pack and plays, and baby carriers strapped to their chests: I see you and I promise it will get better. I know you don’t believe me, and I don’t blame you, but don’t give up. Keep showing your kids cool things, keep teaching them how to move through this big wide world. Maybe have an extra bottle of booze—they’re so tiny on the airplane, they don’t count—but, don’t give up. One day you will get to set back and enjoy an interrupted plane ride and think back to your own personal “airplane puke” story and smile. You’ll get to enjoy traveling with your children. You’ll know that these trips are fleeting, but the memories are not. The memories stay with you and your kids long after they’ve grown and gone—even the pukey ones.

Grit is all the rage these days. I love grit, I’m a big fan. I think it’s a tremendous life skill. I think it’s important that adults and kids alike work on making themselves gritty. The power to persevere in the face of adversity is one of the greatest gifts you can give your child. At the same time, you want your child to feel loved and confident and self-assured. It’s all very confusing and probably just one of the reasons that leads mothers to the wine section at Costco, but I digress. So, short of dropping them in a desert for a week without an iPhone (audible gasp!), how do you make your kids tough?

Clearly, tiny children require lots of specialized attention. They are reliant on you for everything: food, clothing, bathing, diaper changes—you get it. As they get older, they become gradually more independent. Feeding themselves, dressing themselves, no longer requiring a diaper—hallelujah! Letting them grow and take things on themselves at this little age seems natural—they even have “milestones” that you can measure. These will either make you feel great about your skills as a parent or send you into an immediate panic/shame spiral that your child will end up going to college without being potty trained (FYI—this doesn’t really happen, but, I get that in your mom-of-a-toddler brain it seems feasible—no judgement here, this is a safe space). Early childhood milestones require your involvement and are somewhat logical—you sort of know when it’s time to let go and let them do it on their own.

Enter next stage parenting. Once your child is about school age it’s like the wild west. There is no rhyme or reason or even good guide books that help you determine when you need to step back so your child can step up. It’s made more difficult because kids these days (I feel about 1,000 years old writing that!) are exposed to so much more. Thus, they seem to “mature” at a faster clip, even though they’re the furthest thing from it.

So, how do you know when they should start doing chores on their own? Be responsible for money? Walk to the park alone? Have a phone? A social media account? Get dropped off at the movies or the mall? See? This is where that wine section comes in handy!

The unfortunate or fortunate truth (depending on the day and the child) is that kids grow up and it’s our job to help them transform into young adults. It’s our job to foster their value system, their decision-making ability and their resilience.   We do our best to instill all of these things as they mature so that as they forge ahead in the big, wide world they’ve got a fighting chance to become the best versions of themselves. But, how, exactly do we give them the tools they need to be adults? I’m not sure most of the adults I know (myself included) have the tools they need to be adults!

I’ve been focusing a lot on the resilience piece. From where I sit, in the middle of adulthood, this one is a game changer. Truly successful people are able to roll with the punches, pick themselves back up when they’ve “failed” and try things even when the outcome is uncertain. There are books written about just this like; The Gift Of Failure, by Jessica Lahey and The Gifts Of Imperfection, by Brene Brown. Both talk about how most of life’s great lessons are learned through some kind of struggle. But, if you’ve been parenting a child for a hot minute, you’ll notice, that good, old-fashion struggle is not readily available for kids today.

Now, I’m not saying it’s not hard to be a kid today; it most certainly is. Kids of this generation are faced with a whole host of challenges that we did not have. What I’m saying is that there are not a lot of occasions where kids today are figuring it out on their own. Start a new sport? Instead of struggling and being the worst player on the team for a season, you get a private coach to help you out. Math grade not where you want it to be? Mom and dad find a tutor for you to give you the extra help you need. Some may say that there is nothing wrong with this, that you’re simply using the resources available to you to help your child be successful. I don’t disagree and I’m even guilty of it myself. But, I’m not sure how this jives with resilience?

It’s often a vicious cycle we get caught in as parents. We’re stuck in some weird bell curve. If your child’s peers are tutored/coached and your kid is not, then are you putting them at a disadvantage? Or are you robbing them of the struggle that will eventually show them how to persist through adversity. I’m using the term “adversity” loosely. Let’s be honest getting a sub- par grade or stinking it up on the field is certainly not a real hardship but, to a kid it can certainly feel like it. As parents, we tend to be invested our children’s difficulties. So, where’s the balance? How do we give these kids the gift of failure and, ultimately, resilience if we never step back?

The honest truth is: I have no idea. My painful guess is it’s a process of trial and error. It’s a scary little tango on the line between failure and too much help. Because, the last thing you want to do is rob your child of that feeling of conquering a challenge. That feeling that you know will serve them over and over again throughout life. They need to know that they can do hard things on their own. They need to believe that they are capable. They need to learn it for themselves.

One of my friends shared a scaffolding analogy that I truly love and think of often (like every time I’m about to lose it). She told me that when a great building is built, they utilize scaffolding to ensure that the building process is safe. The scaffolding enables the people building extra security to make sure that each step in the process is complete before moving on to the next. As each of facet of building is complete, the scaffolding is slowly removed and, eventually, the building stands on its own. So, maybe that’s the answer? We are the scaffolding. We are there to ensure that the foundation is strong, that the building has all that it needs to stand on its own. Piece by piece we can remove our support, knowing that it can always be put back in place if things get shaky.

So, make your scaffolding out of love and and consequences and faith and principles. And, take a deep breath every time you have to let a piece of it fall away. Because, a building is meant to stand on its own and scaffolding is temporary by nature. Have faith that the foundation is strong, the building will be beautiful, and Costco always has more wine!

“In time, I realized that the satisfaction of success doesn’t come from achieving your goals, but from struggling well.” –Ray Dalio

I read this in Dalio’s book, Principles, this morning and it has been rattling around in my brain all day. The idea of struggling well, being good at having a hard time is kind of mind blowing. If you’re like me, then you like to have things in order: your ducks in a row, your closet color coded, you spice drawer alphabetized (OK, the last one is one step too far, even for me). But, you get what I’m saying. For those of us charged with leading our families and raising our children, there are a lot of moving parts. Most of us like it when those parts stay in their places or work how we intended them. I would now ask you, how often this actually happens to you or anyone you know? Pretty much never? That’s what I thought.

You pay a plumber to fix the two broken faucets in your house and a child flushes a foreign object down the toilet the very next day—you’re back to square one and another visit from your plumber. You finally get your work inbox cleared out (or let’s be honest—under 1,000) and overnight you’re inundated with emails. Maybe there is a full moon and for one magical hour all of the laundry in your house is done (please write to me and describe this feeling in detail, because I fear I will never know this bliss), but, within minutes some human that lives with you decides it’s time to change clothes–again. So, you struggle all over. And, this adult gig is long, so this cycle will repeat.

Now these are all normal “life” things. There’s nothing extraordinary about broken toilets, full inboxes or piles of laundry. If we’re being honest with ourselves, we signed up for all of this—although, the brochure was not as truthful as it could’ve been. It’s not these little things that make struggle tough. It’s these little things combined with worrying about if your 12 year-old has too much screen time, figuring out how to re-learn algebra so you can help with homework without profanity or booze, or trying to figure out when in the next six weeks it might be possible for you and your significant other to leave the house alone and pretend to have no children for 1-2 hours. It’s not any one specific thing; it’s ALL the things.

Combine all of the things with the fact that YOU are actually a whole and functioning human being that will naturally want to seek challenges and fulfillment and the struggle is, in fact, real. As women, we are constantly reinventing ourselves. I don’t know if we could survive without it. Your role as a woman/partner/mother is changing all of the time, sometimes daily. And, with each of those changes, you struggle to figure out who you are. You struggle to figure out what’s important to you at this stage. You struggle to figure out what’s next. You struggle to stay in the moment and be present. It’s. A. Lot. Of. Struggle.

The great thing about reading this quote today was that it made me realize that this is just how it is. It’ a reality of life. It actually IS life. It’s like this for me, for you, for Ray, for our best friends. Everyone is struggling with something all of the time. And, from the struggle, the growth is born. You get to be someone different than you were five years ago. You no longer buy shoes a half size too small just because they’re on sale. You don’t have to stick around for things that don’t serve you. Struggle taught you all of that. Struggle also taught you how tough you are. Struggle showed your parts of yourself that you never knew existed, that are pretty awesome. Struggle showed you how much you were loved and were capable of loving. Struggle showed you how to show up for yourself.

So, let’s struggle well. Let’s throw out the idea that things will all run smoothly—it just doesn’t happen. Let’s remember that things that are hard are there to teach us something or make us stronger—even if we have no idea why.  We are all struggling, so we may as well rock it! Let’s own it and accessorize it and give it fun pet names and laugh at it and cry at it. The struggle IS real, my friends, but so are you. And, my money is on you, every time.