Being a Mom, Standing in Line, and Writing a Book

by Kasey Tross

Sorry I've been a bit MIA on here lately- caught a nasty bug that doesn't seem to want to go away, but I'm trying to get back to a more normal routine.

So here are a few things that have been on my mind recently:

1. The Mom Conference

There is a FREE conference for moms coming up this week- it starts tomorrow, in fact- and if it's anything like it was last year, you are NOT going to want to miss it! It's an online conference, which means that once you sign up (again, totally free) they will send you the links to the presentations for each day. So tomorrow morning I will get an e-mail with links to all the presentations for the day (videos) and I can choose to watch whichever ones I want, whenever I want, anytime tomorrow. It's GREAT. Don't miss it!


2. I Don't Stand In Line.

This election season has been really good for me, because it has caused me to reflect a lot on what I believe, how I prioritize my values, and how I choose to act on those things. I have written a few strongly-worded Facebook rants, but there was one little epiphany I had that I felt merited a full blog post. As I share Mormon Mommy Writers with other women who have different viewpoints from me, and I want to respect that, I felt like this was a topic that would be better suited to my own personal blog. But I wanted to share it here in case anyone finds it interesting or useful: I Don't Stand In Line.


3. NaNoWriMo

It's coming! It's really coming! Do you think you will do NaNoWriMo? I'm thinking about it, but I'm still not sure...I have a book I'd really like to get out of my head, but I know from the experience of writing the last (STILL unfinished) book that I need to have a plan before I even attempt it, and lately I have had approximately ZERO time to write...or plan...or...anything...

So...for me it's a definite maybe. ;-)


Hope all is well with you beautiful writerly friends. Would love to hear from you in the comments. :-)

I need more time!

By Lacey Gunter

I was reading a nonfiction picture book to my daughter last night about energy. It was a really cool book that talked about the different types and sources of energy, written in a way that even a young child could comprehend. Part of the book explained that much of the energy we use originates from the sun. For all intents and purposes, we could consider the sun as an infinite source of energy.

All that thinking about renewable and nonrenewable sources of energy got me thinking about time. Don't you wish time was like energy?  If we were just creative enough or inventive enough, we could find renewable sources of it. Or we could find nuggets of time hidden around in variety of ways just waiting for us to collect and store, ready to be used when we need it.

Ah, time is such a fickle resource. So easily wasted and yet so sparse and precious. We always talk about time as the great equalizer. Everyone is allotted the same amount, only 24 hours a day. And yet, what some people are able to accomplish within those 24 hours seems anything but equal.

I've attended writing workshops and conferences and read plenty of writing blogs. All of them telling you what it takes to be a successful writer. I look at that big laundry list and scratch my head and say, how do you do it?  How can one find the time to do it all and still be a good wife and mother?  Then I participate in critique groups and look at the accomplishments and duties of the other women there, most of them with more children than me, and again I wonder how they do it. Where do they find the time?

It is probably no different with me. I am sure at least one other person has looked from the outside and wondered how I have been able to accomplish the things I have done in the time I have had to do them. But it still seems like there is never enough time to accomplish all the wonderful things we desire to do.

Coming back to the book I read my daughter last night about energy and the sun and all the musing about time, something occurred to me.  As latter day saints, we are given quite a different perspective on time. We existed long before we experienced this earth life and we will continue to exist long after we leave here.  Like the seemingly infinite energy resources of the sun, we believe time is infinite too. Imagine that. All our feelings of being rushed and not having enough time, and yet it stretches out before us in a never ending abundance, if only we can be patient enough to wait for it.

It kind of puts a new perspective on things, doesn't it? I can be a piano virtuoso, quantum physicist, aerial stunt pilot and master gardener in the next millennia.  For now I will just try to be content with laying down the ground work, becoming a good human being, improving my talents and trying the best I can in whatever situation I am put in. The rest will surely come. All in due time.

But Will I Really?

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

I need a reality check. I think. I’m not sure. Maybe what I really need is a healthy dose of some sort of mothering gene that I didn’t get. I’ve come to accept, mostly, finally, that I don’t have what I normally think of as the standard “nurturing spirit.” I’ve written about it extensively,* and I’m slowly realizing that I have used a too-narrow definition of mothering and nurturing.

The truth is I don’t have any great fondness for newborns and babies. Sure, I have loved mine, but I don’t feel any sort of yearning toward them in general. I can look at someone else holding a baby and have absolutely no desire to snuggle it. In fact, I don’t have this feeling toward any age of children. I just don’t want to hang out with them. I have always considered this to be a major personality flaw. In fact, I still sort of do.** But at least now I have come to recognize that it doesn’t mean that I’m not a nurturing, loving mother of my own children. At least, not much.

So that’s why I get a little confused when I see a friend or stranger or celebrity post on social media, “I am just crying so much. Little Z has started walking. It’s the end of an era.” Or, “I’m so happy-sad about potty training. My kid doesn’t need me so much anymore.” Or, “I miss how little she was!” I am just generally really excited about my kids growing up more. Maybe this will stop being true when they hit the teens? I don’t know.

But even more, the posts that really puzzle me are the ubiquitous bits about how you’re going to miss the laundry and the diaper changes and whatnot. And these posts always start by addressing those of us in the throes of parenting littles, and they say, “Yes, we know you don’t think you’re going to miss it, but trust us, you will.”

To which, every time, I think, “No way.”

First of all, let’s get serious. I will be doing crazy amounts of laundry for at least the next 18 to 20 years. This is not tapering off any time soon. Also, I really don’t like doing laundry. Or dishes. Or vacuuming. Pretty much if it involves cleaning, you can guess that it’s not an activity I’m big on. So, if I don’t like it now, how am I suddenly going to get nostalgic about it in the future?

I think what they’re really saying is this: “You’re going to miss having your kids need you so much.”

To which I say, “Well, why don’t you just say that instead? That I can probably believe.” I’m sure someday I’ll look around at an empty house and think about the good times when they needed me more.*** Although, in all honesty, I am just loving having them grow up more and need me less for things like behind-wiping and pouring milk for their cereal. How are these not good things? But I can theoretically conceive of a time when I will miss the 8yo coming to me to discuss her schoolwork or the 5yo wanting to snuggle while we read a book.

But if that’s what they’re really saying, why in the world do they keep on bringing up the laundry? And they do it so emphatically. It makes me wonder—I’ve gotten over my lack of universal nurturing, but am I now missing something else? Am I genetically absent a love-of-children’s-laundry gene?

Explain it to me, world! No one has yet convinced me! (And trust me, I’ve read it about a bajillion times.) What am I missing?

Or maybe we’ll just have to wait another twenty years, and then suddenly I’ll be a believer?

* Like here, here, and here.

** Partially because it extends to all ages, not just children—I just don’t love being with lots of people. It’s partially an introvert thing and partially a socially awkward thing and partially an emotional energy thing, and it has absolutely nothing to do with this blog post. So, moving on. . .

*** But probably not those times when one of them was screaming because her favorite shirt wasn’t clean because I’d forgotten to do the laundry—or she wore it every day for the past week, and I’d washed it every night and just ran out of other stuff to wash with it. Not that I’m speaking from personal experience. This is just a hypothetical.

When CEOs Give Parenting Advice...

You know how when something is awesome, it's not usually free (well, except for love and all that good stuff), and when something is free, it's usually not that awesome- or worse, there's a catch: it's free because someone is trying to sell you something?

Well, when I heard about this free online Mom Conference I was a little bit hesitant because come on- isn't there always some sort of catch? But it seemed like fun, and it was put on by Power of Moms, which is an organization that I greatly respect, so I decided to give it a go.

Oh. my. goodness. Am I ever glad that I did!

They had these speakers who were not just nice smart people they've come across, they are New York Times bestselling authors, multimillionaire business moguls, and experts in their fields. And no, they didn't spend every interview just throwing out a bunch of teasers to make you go buy their books or do their programs, they gave real, tangible, specific things you can do in your life right now to make it better. I was inspired, I was uplifted, and I still cannot believe the quality of information I got for FREE.

Here are just a few of my notes:

Overall impression from many speakers- Parenting is so much more than just teaching our children concepts; it's providing children with opportunities that allow them to put those concepts to the test.

One of my favorite examples from this was from Richard Eyre, who had shared that as part of their values-based parenting they had children memorize quotations. One day he had taken his children to a pro basketball game. His older boys were participating in a special dunking contest being held for the children, but his youngest, who was somewhat reserved, hung back, too nervous to try. He didn't think much of it until his youngest son suddenly stood up and started toward the court. He paused and looked back at his father and said, "Our doubts are traitors and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." He then went onto the court and proceeded to win the dunking contest.

WOW!

Eyre and his wife had actively been teaching their children about having courage, and when the time came to put that lesson to the test, their son passed with flying colors, thanks to a quotation from Shakespeare and the effort his parents had put in to teach it to him.

Rich Christiansen was another wonderful example of this- he was interviewed alongside his teenage son, Timmy, who told the story of how his dad taught him perseverance through mountain climbing, one step at a time. Now Timmy has co-written a book with his father and is on his way to great success in the world at a very young age. Rich also talked about the important of family doctrine, symbols, and rituals as part of creating a strong family culture (LOVED that). This interview also inspired me to create a personal mission statement.

Dr. Laura Markham was a big favorite of mine. She taught about teaching children to manage their emotions and how to problem solve. She gave specific examples of sibling rivalry and how to approach it in a calm, productive way, and how we as parents can learn to manage our own emotions in order to provide a more stable example for our kids to follow- and why it is SO important to do that.

Amy McCready was another favorite- she gave the 5 R's to consider when creating consequences for our kids' misbehavior (wonderful) and about how we can support our kids while really teaching them to take responsibility for their own behavior. She also gave some great advice about helping our kids manage technology usage which will be great for me in the future.

John C. Maxwell was a really cool, fun guy who talked about living intentionally, and he talked about how his parents paid him to read books- but not just any books. They had him read nonfiction books about having a positive attitude and leading people and developing good habits. At one point in his career he came across a list of books that every successful person should read, and he realized he had read all of them before he had even graduated from high school (except for 4 that hadn't been written yet). I loved this idea! (Honestly though, my favorite part of this interview was when the interviewer said she'd love a copy of his book for her birthday, and he said, "I have the CEO of one of my companies here and he's writing that down for me so I don't forget. I'm in Helsinki right now, but I'll be sure to get on that when I get back!" Helsinki. Finland. ONE of his companies. Yeah. I think his parents were on to something with those books...)

Jonathan Bailor, author of The Calorie Myth, gave some health advice that made more sense to me than anything else I've ever heard, and was more doable than anything else I've ever heard, and his interview has launched my husband and I in a new direction health-wise, and I am so excited to see where it takes us.

So, anyway, if you're completely jealous that I got to do this conference and you didn't, I have very, very good news for you- there is going to be an encore presentation of the conference with just a few of the select speakers from last week and it's happening TOMORROW- available for just 24 hours online, and you can sign up here. You give them your e-mail address and they send you the link to watch, no strings attached. So exciting! I hope you all take a few moments and watch/listen- I promise you that you'll be glad you did.

Punk time

By Beckie Carlson

I saw a post on Facebook today where a woman announced she had been married to her husband for 10,547...(or so) days. It caught me off guard. I thought we had moved on to months or years for big stuff like that. I did make me think though, what if we did keep track of everything in days or hours or even minutes. I wonder if we would be more conscious of how we spent our time?

A week isn't such a big deal to spend on a project. But what if we said we spent 168 hours doing something. Much more impressive. Looking back on my life, I had to wonder how much more impressive my accomplishments would look/feel if I changed the measurement device. These are all approximate.....Enjoy:

I was pregnant for 38,880 hours of my life.

I was married for 170,820 hours.

I did laundry for 2600 hours.

I went to school (college) for 5460 hours.

I was in the kitchen for 54,600 hours.

I didn't want to add up the hours on Facebook or other pointless social media because I was afraid I would go into a severe depression and jump off something high.

I also didn't add up the hours I've spent at the gym...it would be embarrassing. I don't even know the hours my gym is open. I feel more like I should write the money I spend on my membership off as a donation. I pay, but I get nothing out of it.

When it comes down to it, I don't think the time we spend doing something is really the point. I'm much more concerned with the quality of how my time is spent. I may have spent way too many hours/days/weeks watching movies, but I was usually with my kids and we were laughing together. I may have spent an obscene amount of time reading, but now I am extremely well versed and seemingly clever. I may have stayed up for hours watching netflix, but now I'm...well, tired. I don't think there is really a benefit to that one, except I do leg lifts to justify it.

How ever you spend your time, it is yours. It's really all we have, til it's gone. So, use it!

Cause I said so.

Photo credit: ashleyssuperiorcadproject.wordpress.com

Scripture Study and a Thought

By Jewel Leann Williams

Hello. My name is Leann and I have a confession I need to make. I have a child who...

HATES to read.  (Audience gasps)

Yup. He has said multiple times in the past two weeks, that 

READING

               IS

                 STUPID

                           AND

                                 BORING

Can you believe it? 

So I've been trying to find ways to engage him. He wants to be a scientist, so I've tried that angle. I printed out a bunch of stuff on Albert Einstein, which he found interesting enough to read for, oh, five minutes, and then declared it was stupid too.  Books that his siblings like, he does not. I imagine it is because it doesn't come easy for him, so he doesn't want to do it. Whatever the reason, it is already causing me headaches, because he has to not only read daily for 30 minutes, but he also has to write a pretty comprehensive book report every grading period. So, I've been trying everything I know to do, to help him. 

The other day, I was reading my scriptures, during one of those admittedly rare times when I can do so without "MomMomMom  I need water, let me play onyour phone,Abby'stouching me can I have a fruit snack....." echoing around me. I had out my paper for notes, and I had been praying and pondering about how to help my family, my non-reader especially. I was reading in Mosiah and immediately this verse stood out:   

3 And he caused that they should be taught in all the language of his fathers, that thereby they might become men of understanding; and that they might know concerning the prophecies which had been spoken by the mouths of their fathers, which were delivered them by the hand of the Lord.

(Mosiah 1:3)

It hit me that this scripture is 1)something I can give my son as a reason to read, and 2)this can be my mantra for when I want to give up on teaching my children.  Trust me, with the new school and their love of homework, I really want to give up about 750 times between 3:30 pm and 5:30 pm. It is important to be taught/learned in the language of our fathers, to become men/women of understanding, and also in order to learn the Gospel. It's not just for school/reading addiction enablement. 

Something else that keeps coming to mind with regards to reading, more specifically addresses our Book of Mormon studies. It's a promise that originally was spoken by Elder Marion G. Romney, but was echoed and expanded upon by President Ezra Taft Benson:

I feel certain that if, in our homes, parents will read from the Book of Mormon prayerfully and regularly, both by themselves and with their children, the spirit of that great book will come to permeate our homes and all who dwell therein. The spirit of reverence will increase, mutual respect and consideration for each other will grow. The spirit of contention will depart. Parents will counsel their children in greater love and wisdom. Children will be more responsive and submissive to that counsel. Righteousness will increase. Faith, hope, and charity—the true love of Christ—will abound in our homes and lives, bringing in their wake peace, joy, and happiness. (436)      

What a promise! I love that President Benson adds that parents need to be reading the Book of Mormon themselves as well as with the kiddos. It's not enough to just be having our nightly Book of Mormon reading. I have to be studying it myself in order to avail myself of this promise. 

I am so grateful for our living prophets and for the Book of Mormon. When I am lost or struggling with things like a kid who doesn't want to read (still trying to wrap my head around that), or whatever it might be, I know I can go to my scriptures and find answers. I know that Heavenly Father uses the scriptures to provide answers to my prayers, because he did that for me this week. 

PS, here's a link to a great page I found about WHAT to teach our children from the Book of Mormon. I found it while looking for the exact words of that promise I quoted above. 

Discouragement and Enlightenment: Teaching a Lesson I Needed More Than Most

By Jewel Leann Williams

I teach Relief Society. It is possibly one of the most treasured callings I have ever held as a member of the Church. Even years ago, when I was the counselor over the teachers, I assigned myself to be the substitute teacher whenever anyone was out for the day. I just LOVE teaching Relief Society. I think the reason why is because it not only “forces” me to delve into the topic and matter at hand, but I also have an extra measure of the Spirit to guide me and so I learn that much more. I read the lesson weeks in advance and ponder it for the month. Usually something happens in my life or in the world to give me perspectives on how best to teach the topic for the sisters I am privileged to teach.

Well, not this last lesson. I’d read it—and felt extremely guilty and terrible about myself.

I pondered it all month, as I tried desperately to live some of the principles taught.

I was a complete and utter failure at that, as well.

I read it again, and felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on my shoulders.

The topic:  The Sacred Callings of Fathers and Mothers (Teachings of Presidents of the Church: Ezra Taft Benson)

I cried when I read it. Every time. It felt like I was being slapped in the face. Every time. It is really a beautiful lesson, but it wasn’t that kind of crying. It was the kind of crying that comes along with this (partial) text message I sent to my husband:       

           

     “I am ashamed of us.”

That’s what it boils down to. The lesson talks about all these wonderful things mothers and fathers are to their children. I looked at it and saw everything I was doing wrong. I won’t get into all the specifics, and CPS doesn’t need to be called, don’t worry, but I was just flooded with the thought:

           

     “You are not good enough.”

So, Sunday rolled around, and before I even got up, my heart was pounding in my throat and I was fighting back tears. I played a recording of “Love is Spoken Here,” and I couldn’t stop crying long enough to speak. The first sentence out of my mouth, in that squeaky croaky voice of someone trying not to cry, was something like, “I am having a very hard time teaching this lesson, because I am an absolute failure at just about everything this lesson teaches.”   Within the first 5 minutes I used my whole stash of Kleenex and moved on to a baby wipe from Abby’s diaper kit.

There were a lot of really good comments made and we had small group discussions about some points—I mean, my husband is the Sunday School president and taught me the cool “new” way to teach, so it wasn’t that I wasn’t confident in that part of the lesson. I just felt like a big, fat hypocrite.

The last comment of the lesson was given by the mother of my son’s best friend. She is “that” mom. The one whose house ALL of my boys want to go to all the time. They would never come home if I didn’t make them. Her kids are awesome, and she always has it together. Really. When we talk, she tells me how she doesn’t have it together, but when I compare us, she is doing all the things right that I’m doing wrong.

Her comment went something like this, and I’m totally paraphrasing:

            

    “The first thing you said in this lesson was how you are a failure as mother. You need to stop, because this is the devil telling you how you are not good enough. Heavenly Father does not want you to feel like that. All of us feel like we are not doing enough, like we’re not good enough, and that’s wrong. We need to build each other up and not let Satan tear us down by making us feel like we’re not enough. One of the things I love about you is how amazing of a mom you are. Of course there are things we can work on, but I’m here to tell you that you are good enough, and you are an amazing mother.”

Well, I had regained my composure before that (several times, as a matter of fact), but I lost it, again. Luckily it was the end, and I had someone read just one final thought from President Benson and then mercifully got to sit down.

I was drained. I get a little choke-y just thinking about it.

I learned something—it’s something I know, but I needed to relearn it, and learn it with respect to my own flaws and foibles.

It was that statement—“You need to stop, because it is the devil telling you that you’re not good enough.” 

Our Heavenly Father never tells us that we are not good enough. He may, through the Spirit, tell us that we are not doing enough, but He will never make statements about who we are unless it’s to tell us that we ARE His children, that we ARE divine, that we ARE the subjects of His work and His glory.

• The devil will tell us that we are failures. He wants us to stop trying, so he will overwhelm us with all the things we aren’t doing, and use it as evidence to prove to us that we have already failed. That discouragement, that heavy weight that he piles on top of us, keeps us from moving towards God. 

          That is how we know it is not from God—if it is not encouraging us to do good, it is not from  him, but from the devil.

• The devil will try to pull you AWAY from our Heavenly Father and the Atonement. Heavenly Father and our Savior will always draw you nearer.
• The devil is going to tell you “NOTHING” you do is right. The Holy Spirit will prick your heart to work on something. Then, when you’ve mastered that, there will be something else. Always onward and upward.
• The devil will point out how you have ruined everything. The Spirit whispers “I give unto men weakness… I will make weak things become strong unto them.”

I still see so, sooooooo much I need to do to be a better mother. The difference is, that I know I can do it. Every time I stumble, I get up, I repent, and I try again. This week was better because of it. I wasn’t perfect, but I continue to try, because I know I can improve.

For anyone out there who is feeling worthless, as a mother or otherwise, I offer this scripture, along with the echo of what my friend said to me in that Relief Society class. “You need to stop.” Here’s why:

 27 And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me,then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

Our Heavenly Father and Savior love you, and they will not abandon you. Satan is big fat stupid liar, and he will do everything he can to drag you away and make you build up a wall around yourself so the Savior can’t reach His hand in to pull you out. Kick Satan in the figurative teeth, and remember.

               

God loves you. You ARE His child. You ARE divine. Our Savior will do—no, HAS ALREADY DONE—what is necessary to make it possible for you to be all that you dream to be, and more than you can imagine.

                You are already ENOUGH. 

She Was Good at Apologies

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

In 2008, I attended the funeral of my husband’s grandmother, Helen. I had met her only a few times, but the hubby’s childhood was full of stories of summers at her house in California. There he spent hours in the ocean (he’s still a beach lover), ate Red Vines, and played games in which she cheated (so that he would win).

I remember after the hubby and I were married, as we opened our wedding gifts, we kept finding more and more boxes from Helen and Jesse, her husband; they were wonderfully generous. Of course, I also know her son fairly well, and I must say he makes an excellent father-in-law. So I knew that Helen was a lovely woman.

Sitting through her memorial service, however, was a bit daunting. Her children’s tributes involved statements like, “She was always singing,” “She was never angry,” “She always made us feel important and loved,” always always good, never never bad. She sounded like an absolute angel, and I was half surprised this was her funeral instead of her translation party (translation = being taken up to meet God without dying because you’re just that awesome).

Contrast that with my own mother’s memorial service about three and half years before. When I spoke, I said approximately, “Mom left me four gigantic bins of yarn. It’s going to take me to the end of time to finish those projects. I love that she taught me to crochet, and pretty much to try out all sorts of crafts. I love that she encouraged me to create beauty. Even though she wasn’t very good at other things in our relationship.”* And that seemed to be the theme of the way my siblings and I talked about her—complicated relationships, some rather rough patches, mingled with the good stuff.

I could not help comparing Helen’s memorial, my mother’s memorial, and my own future one. At the time of Helen’s funeral, the hubby and I had been married about three years** and we had a year-old child. And it was already quite clear that I was definitely not going to be particularly good at the following:

1. Keeping my temper

2. Keeping the house clean and/or regularly cooking delicious meals

3. Most of the traditionally motherly type stuff

4. Playing with my children for more than five minutes in a row.

5. Did I mention the temper thing?

Many years have passed since then, and two more children have been added to the mix. And when I think about the far-flung future, I am even more certain that my children will not be able to pay me the glowing tribute that Helen received.

And I’m coming to grips with that.

Here’s what I hope they will be able to say about me: She was good at apologies. She asked forgiveness when she made a mistake, and she kept trying to do better. Sometimes she lost her temper and snapped at us, but she came back afterward and gave us hugs and said she was sorry. She genuinely tried to make amends. We learned about repairing relationships and repenting from her.

And if they can say that, I hope it will be enough.***

After I wrote this post, the 7yo gave me
this card for Mother's Day. Happy
smiling commenced (even if the "always"
and "never" were just conveniently used for
their first letters).

* I’m totally not kidding about the yarn, by the way. So. Much. Yarn. But it’s my fault, because before she died I told her I’d take and finish her projects. I’m sure she’s up there somewhere in heaven crocheting bookmarks out of clouds for all the angels. And also laughing that I still have three bins of yarn, ten years later.
** Yes, if you’re doing the math, Mom died four months before I got married.

*** Although it would also be nice if they could say that I vacuumed more than once a month too.

Small is the New Big.

by C.J. Schneider

The other day my friend and I were at our local pool hanging out in the hot tub.  We were not hanging out there because we had just swum a million laps and were trying to relax our exercised muscles.  No, we went there to hang out because last week I slipped on some ice and threw my back out and that was the only place I could imagine sitting while catching up with my friend.

My friend's back is perfectly fine but the fact that she went from having two kids to four with the happy arrival of twin boys means that she is constantly tired as she slogs through living in a foggy haze of life, experiencing a lot of it in angry survival mode.

As we sat in the warm frothy water, my friend brought up the fact that her life wasn't everything she thought it would be.  When we're young we look at adult destination points and dream of how wonderful life will be when we get there.  I think what we don't look at so closely is the paths that get us there.  We don't see that the journey to those incredible places are fraught with disappointment, pain, monotony and more.  When I was young and I pictured myself having children I certainly didn't think about how my bathroom would constantly look like a vagrant moved in with the waft of urine always lurking somewhere.  I didn't think about how my back would suffer from hunching over so many years while I spent hours picking up kids, toys and looking down at my small children.   I certainly had no idea how much cleaning would be involved....I hate how much cleaning is involved.

What is so striking to me is that for every moment you have where you get to feel a euphoric "I made it!"  there lies before and after that moment a million other moments that feel nothing like euphoria.  They mostly feel like work.

So this is what I want to say about those million other small moments that do not bask in any extraordinary glory, the ones that smell of urine, sound like whining and can many times feel so very painful - those small moments are not that small at all.

Women have a regal heritage of understanding the power and potential in seemingly small things.  For thousands of years women have looked at the smallest of babies and have seen greatness.  Women cheer at the first little step, the first little words - not because the step or the word itself are amazing but because they are the glorious humble beginnings of a lifetime of steps and a lifetime of words.  Neil Armstrong would not have stepped onto the moon if it hadn't been for his first tiny step and Maya Angelou's gift of words to the world all began in a little word spoken by a precious little mouth.

This, somehow, is so easy to forget.  It is so easy to look at your small days, doing seemingly small things and see yourself as small as well.  I write this mostly as a desperate reminder to myself, to see the small things in my life with the greatness that small things can hold because in the end, life is nothing more than a stream of a million small moments.

So now I'm going to stop writing and go taste my son's attempt at a smoothie because my little three year old is clasping her small hands and in a small voice is saying excitedly "come mommy, come taste!"  And I will enjoy this small moment.


(My friend wrote her feelings about this idea here:)
https://missconginnyality.wordpress.com/2015/03/03/enjoy-things-for-what-they-are-instead-of-what-you-thought-they-should-be-mandy-hale/

Sick of the Mommy Wars

by Katy White

In the last week, I've read three different posts about the "Mommy Wars" (and that's only because I generally avoid reading posts about them. I'm sure I could have read three hundred, if I'd wanted to). Although I loved two of them (this post and this video), to be frank, I'm sick of the topic. Beyond sick of it. So, this will constitute my one and only rant on the subject.

Here's the thing: unless you're doing something neglectful, dangerous, or creating a bully-mentality in your child, I don't care what you do. Sure, I may think some things are weird or silly and I may see you do things that would never in a million years work for me or my child, but isn't that the point? You're raising your children! You're doing what works for you! And I'm doing the same. For you breastfeeders? I don't care. For you who use Enfamil instead of Costco formula? So what? For you who believe that having a messy house means you're a more attentive parent? That's not my style, but the fact that it's yours sure doesn't concern me. Co-sleepers? Cry-it-out? Organic-reusable-diapers-made-of-unicorn hair?

Literally every one of my siblings/best friends and I disagree about something when it comes to parenting. It could be about the most effective manner of teaching consequences, about sleep-training, or about whether or not serving pees is child abuse. Does it make me think they're lesser parents? Not a bit. Even when we disagree.  

And if others think I'm a lesser parent for *gasp* formula-feeding or thinking sharing is a con or putting my child in time-out in public or a million other things that I do differently than they do, well, I don't care. I'm confident in my parenting decisions, even when I have no clue how to respond to something. And you should be, too. Because the one thing I'm certain we all have in common is that we're all doing our best, both for our families and ourselves.

We're making our decisions out of love, (or at least we should be; if you're not, then I take back everything...). We all share a desire to make our children the happiest, strongest, best-adjusted, funniest, kindest, silliest, most hard-working, persistent, spectacular children in the world. And the only way we can do that is by being (the best version of) ourselves.

This world needs diversity, not sameness. A quest for sameness isn't just boring, it's dangerous (see Hitler). So even if I let my kid watch Peppa Pig and you let your kid watch Caillou (or don't have believe in TV at all), let's just agree that we both love our kids, move on, and go have a playdate at the Children's Museum. Cool?

Cool.

(That said, Caillou is lame and I think you're making a huge mistake.)


Readers, what do you think about the Mommy Wars? How do you handle parenting disagreements?

Blessed Among Women

By Lacey Gunter

I have been reading the four gospels this past month after being challenged to do so before Christmas by my Bishop, the religious leader over our local congregation. It has greatly helped in keeping the focus of Christmas on those things that really matter.

As I have been reading, I have pondered much on Mary and her role as the earthly mother of Jesus. What a truly great honor, but also what a truly sacred responsibility. We do not hear a lot about her in the scriptures, but we do get a few small glimpses of the kind of woman she was.

Her humility, courage and obedience is beautiful and powerful. What an example of womanhood and motherhood for us. An example we so desperately need at this time in history when so many women seem to feel the need to abandon the things that are truly virtuous and lovely about our sex. I hope at some point in the life hereafter I can get to know her and she might call me sister or friend. I hope to be worthy of that salutation.

One of my very favorite songs at Christmas time is Fanz Biebl's Ave Maria. It is one of the most beautiful songs I have ever heard, very fitting for such a beautiful daughter of God. Here is a link to it being sung by the angelic Pro Musica Girls Choir. I hope it uplifts you and gives you peace during this Christmas season as you ponder the miracle of the birth and life of Jesus Christ.

Why? (a conversation of parenthood)

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

Confession time: I wrote this post on my personal/family blog a few years ago. I ran across it again recently, and because I am absolutely without inspiration for this week’s MMW post, I’m totally cheaterpantsing and using it again here. Hope you enjoy my slackerliness!

Version 1:

Please don’t drop that toy in the toilet.

Why?

Because then we’d have to throw it away.

Why?

Because it would get germs on it from the toilet.

Why?

Because toilets are where poops and pees go, not toys.

Why?

Because that’s what toilets are made for.

Why?

Because someone invented them so that we could use them for poops and pees.

Why?

Because back in the olden days, people had to go to the bathroom outside, even when it was cold or dark out.

Why?

Because everybody eats, so everybody poops.

Why?

Because that’s how God made us.

Version 2, on a less patient day:

Please don’t drop that toy in the toilet.

Why?

Because I said so, that’s why.

On Mothering: Ma Vie En Rose (-Colored Glasses)

by Merry Gordon

I used to travel. That was before the kids (these days, just passing the Asian food section at the grocery store seems exotic). But back then, I had overheard enough wistful adult conversations about wasted youth to know I’d better take on the big, romantic world long before the grim reality of mortgage payments and stretch marks set in. By 16, I was hoarding copies of Travel + Leisure under my bed; by 18, my bags were packed.

My first destination?

PARIS.

Everyone comes to Paris with expectations, but mine were absurdly naïve. My France was a hodgepodge of fashion spreads in Elle, a Renoir pocket calendar and the Madeline books—oh, and that mildly dirty nursery rhyme involving naked dancing ladies and a hole in the wall. In the Paris I imagined, everyone wore berets and Dior and Chanel No. 5 and ate croissants in corner bistros. Paris was sexy, très chic. I stepped off the tour bus and took in my first view of the city.

It wasn’t the Eiffel Tower.

It wasn’t lovers kissing in a boat on the Seine.

 It was a naked man urinating into a cardboard box on a litter-strewn curbside.

Très chic, indeed.

Nearly everything about Paris echoed my first let-down. The Eiffel Tower was overpriced and crowded, the bread was stale, and I got insulted by a trio of sweaty French boys on the Champs-Élysées (at least I think I did—while I’m not exactly sure what they said, some gestures are probably universal). The Mona Lisa was small, and even a twilight cruise down the Seine was interrupted by a mizzling rain and Eurotrash techno thumping from the open door of a club.

I left disappointed, but eventually I got over Paris.

I got over myself a little too. I grew up, got married. My priorities changed. By 25, I was hoarding copies of Baby Talk under my bed; by 27, I was exhausted on a delivery table waiting to hear my newborn daughter’s first cry.

The nurse beamed down at me. “Congratulations! You’re a mommy!”

But once she handed me the discharge papers, it was like Paris all over again.

Expecting to jump right out of my hospital gown and back into my size five Calvin Kleins, I was shocked to find myself still shuffling around the house in my husband’s sweats four weeks postpartum. Having been assured by glossy La Leche League pamphlets that breastfeeding was both serene and natural, I was unprepared for round-the-clock feeds (involving six pillows and another pair of hands just to get the position right) and more howling on my part than on my daughter’s. And that whole Gerber baby thing? After a vacuum delivery, my precious newborn looked more alien than adorable. How was I supposed to fall in love with this lump of flesh that only had the capacity to scream, poop and projectile vomit?

But I did.

It started small. One particularly desperate night, I sang Pink Floyd because I’d run out of lullabies. About halfway through “Shine On You Crazy Diamond,” I felt that little head finally snuggle into my shoulder and my universe shifted. All those books and blogs, and nothing could have prepared me for the reality of parenting:  one moment you’re a chorus away from tipping the kiddo’s pacifier in Benadryl, and the next moment a milky sigh and the clutch of a tiny finger elevate you to a zen-like understanding of the cosmos. Powerful stuff, that.

I finally got it. It wasn’t like American Baby promised—I’d been up since 2 A.M., I couldn’t remember the last shower I took, and most of the pillow talk between my husband and I that week had involved our daughter’s stool consistency—but the moment was real and potent and entirely untranslatable in the airbrushed perfection of parenting magazines.

Because of my experiences as a mom, I think of Paris differently now. I was so obsessed with the Travel + Leisure version of the city that I got hung up on a couple of stale croissants; I should have been paying attention to the gypsy guitar player scattering those crusty remnants to the pigeons and singing “Hotel California” in broken English. And maybe I got harassed by a Gallic Casanova or two, but one of them did bear a passing resemblance to Johnny Depp. I burnt my finger during sightseeing? It was on a prayer candle I lit in some tiny, off-the-beaten-path medieval chapel I had ducked into to escape the drizzle. How could I not have noticed the beauty in that?

Parenting is just like Paris, all a thousand tiny unexpected moments that are imperfectly perfect—sometimes only in retrospect.

Every time I try to explain this to one of my non-parent friends, I feel a bit bad—not in a condescending way, but in a way that recognizes the inadequacy of trying to describe the indescribable. Wait a sec. So it’s not like the magazines? There’s screaming, and spit up, and sleep deprivation-induced hallucinations, and you’re telling me this is a good thing? That you’d go back and do it all over again?

Oui. 

Half a Talent

- a post by Jeanna Mason Stay

Last Sunday I was sitting in church and listening to the speaker talk about the farm animals that she and her children raised. This lovely woman spoke about the relationship that she and her children had developed with their various animals and how hard it was for them to have to give the animals away when their circumstances changed. As I listened, I thought of a blog I follow about an amazing woman who also raises animals and adores them, nurturing and caring for those animals the way I imagine a “true shepherd” would.

Our family owns two betta fish. Sometimes our fish go for a couple of days before they get fed. It is often months before I finally accept that we really need to clean their tank. I cannot imagine raising anything more complicated than a tomato plant, and trust me—I’m not very good at that either.

I sat in the meeting, listening to that talk, and despairing at my utter ineptness at that “womanly virtue of nurturing.” Thinking about how terrified I am to be having another child soon, another body who depends on me so fully. Thinking how I’m not ready to figure out how to do even more nurturing. I felt smaller and smaller. Here was this woman who loved not only her two teenage sons (who each have their own difficulties) but also all these animals too—she had so much love! She’s probably a good visiting teacher and volunteers for the PTA and stuff too. This is a pretty common reaction for me. I am easily overwhelmed by the caring attitudes and selfless service that other women put in to their various responsibilities. I barely manage my immediate family, and sometimes I don’t even do that very well.

So as I was sitting, shrinking in my seat down to almost nothing, I suddenly felt pulled out of it by a simple thought: “So what?”

Did it really matter to my personal life that this woman was wonderful at taking care of her animals, when I wouldn’t be? Did it mean I was a terrible person? While the guilt-ridden, insecure portion of me said, “Yes,” a better side said, “No.” She was doing her own life, and I was doing mine. There was no point in comparing our different abilities and strengths.

A voice inside reminded me of the parable of the talents. Nowhere in this parable does the master say, “Hey, you only have one talent, so you’re not nearly as cool as my other servant who has five.” All he says is, “Do your best with what you have.” One talent to start with, five talents, fifteen—they’re all the same in his eyes. It doesn’t even matter where you end up; the person who had four talents in the end received the same reward as the one who had ten. What matters is that you increase them.

I could still sit up straight even though I had miles to go before I could even dream of being her kind of cool. In fact, I could sit up straight even if I would never be her kind of cool. I could be my own person and celebrate victories like that day I gave my kid a snack and a hug instead of yelling at her. It really would be okay if I never, ever, ever want to raise sheep.*

This came as a great comfort to me in the area of motherhood—since I’m pretty sure I’ve only got about half a talent at the whole loving others thing. But hey, if I end up with three-quarters, I’d say I’m doing pretty well.

*And trust me, I will never, ever, ever, ever want to raise sheep.

What Every Girl Should Know about Her Mother: I Love Myself

by Katy White

Dear Baby Girl,

I have a secret to tell you. It’s a secret that most of the world would insist I have no right to have. Advertising executives would grit their teeth, the fashion industry would tell me I must be deluded, and too many women on the street would accuse me of vanity for this opinion. Yet I hold fast to it.

I absolutely adore myself.

I think I’m brilliant. I have never met a subject I can’t work hard enough at to learn. Perhaps I'm naturally clever (at least, it’s the family curse to assume so), but the smartest thing about me is that I’m not afraid to work relentlessly for the things I care about.

I think I’m beautiful. Even with the eyelashes of an albino, and especially because of my freckles. I wear makeup, not because I dislike myself, but because I enjoy enhancing what I already find so darn cute.  You and I both have stunning eyes, babe, and I love that about us. When our eyes locked for the first time, moments after you were born, you just kept staring into mine for what felt like days. I knew then that they must be even more beautiful than I thought.

I think I’m funny. It doesn’t matter if I say something I think is witty and get nothing but crickets in return. I like my sense of humor, and I positively love to laugh. In fact, I love to laugh more than I enjoy making others laugh, which is probably a good thing, just in case…

I love my hair. It’s thin and curly and sometimes wonky, with odd spots that twist the wrong way. No other hairstyle in the world suits me better…though, honestly, I’m not willing to try that many. I like my hair. It’s adorable. Why aim for someone else’s? Now hair color, on the other hand? Bring it on. I love myself with any color hair.

My body is a work of art. I can do the most incredible things. I can hold you for an entire loop around the zoo, even when you’re scrambling to break my grip and run around the gift shop. That’s real strength, cuz you are wiggly, kid. And I love my legs. You wouldn’t believe how much weight I can do on the calf-machine at the gym. It would embarrass most men to know, so I’ll keep it to myself (but it sounds a bit like shmee-hundred-and-shmorty). Beyond that, though, I have soft spots and curves that I think are positively lovely. Some people would disagree. They’d be wrong.

I’m a rad wife. Marriage is hard, baby girl. The world won’t ever let you forget that. But—and the world won’t ever let you remember this—it’s also the greatest thing in the entire universe. Our choices can make it so much harder…or easier. I consistently, maybe even daily, look for choices that will make marriage easier (your dad does this too, but that's a post for another day). Sometimes that means biting my tongue instead of saying the snarky comment that springs to my lips. Often that means letting something go, no matter how frequently that something impacts my life. Letting things go is a much better choice than saying something I may never be able to take back. A hand towel being used to wipe up a grease stain in the garage will never be worth more than your dad.

I am divine. I’m the daughter of God. My spirit is of heaven, and it is even more beautiful than I can imagine (and, as we’ve established, I’m a little bit obsessed with myself). My worth is endless, limitless, infinite, just like yours.

Oh, my brilliant, beautiful, funny, divine little girl, always remember that you are all this, and more. Never allow someone or something to convince you otherwise. You are the sun and moon and stars. And you know what? The women around you are, too. Never allow them to feel otherwise, and never make them feel otherwise. Just about the most beautiful thing a person can do in life is help someone else realize her own beauty, too.

So, be beautiful, girl. Love yourself. Just like your mom.

Five Guys

by Mare Ball @ ADVENTURES IN THE BALLPARK

This past weekend, a good friend of our son's got married.  My son and his friend have been buddies since second grade.  In high school, they became friends with three other guys, and these five guys have stayed in touch through college and into the early years of marriage.  They're rarely all together anymore, but at this wedding, four buddies stood up with their mutual friend, the groom.

The bride and groom were lovely and all the festivities were great, but what kept pulling at my heart was seeing these five buddies all grown up.   They used to be scrawny kids, and then gangly teens, but now they are broad-shouldered, employed young men, one of them a father.  It made my heart ache in a tender, beautiful way.

There were hundreds of pictures taken at the wedding/reception, most of which I've not seen yet, but this picture stole my heart.

Four grown buddies watching the groom and his new wife cut the cake (our son is second from the left.)  Their tux jackets came off after the wedding ceremony, and their shirts are a bit rumpled from line dancing.  Throughout the reception, they laughed and joked like they did in high school.  They posed for endless pictures, slow danced with their wives, and helped clean up when the party was over.   

I love these boys.  I love that they stay in touch and help one another out when needed.  I love that they respect adults and tolerate hugs from their moms, and other moms.  So quickly, boys turn in to men.

If you have a little boy, steal as many smooches as you can.  Wrestle with him, and play baseball with him, and teach him how to be a gentleman.  Tell him how God designed him to protect girls from dragons and young women from players.  Give him a sense of pride in the strength and provision abilities of the male psyche.  Assure him God has a plan for his life.

Then, some day, when he stands up for a buddy at a wedding - or at his own wedding - you will have tears of gratitude and love in your eyes. 

Say what you need to say.

by Kasey Tross

Last Saturday I got the rare opportunity to have a Girl's Day with my daughter. My relationship with this little girl is…strained. She is like a 15-year-old in an 8-year-old's body. All spunk and attitude, with a huge dose of stubbornness thrown in.

Don't get me wrong. All the things that drive me crazy about her are all the things I love about her. I will never forget the day when some bullies on the playground were trying to keep kids from going down the slide. Her big brother walked away in tears.

She simply glared at them and then pushed past them to go down the slide. I think she was 3 at the time.

They didn't mess with her after that.

Anyway, she is the oldest girl, so she often takes on the mother role for her two little sisters, and it's easy for her to get lost in the mix, and look for attention in all the wrong ways, which is why I was glad we had this time together.

We started our morning with crafts at a mother/daughter activity at church and then we went shopping, both activities that we both really enjoy. After shopping, we went out for an ice cream treat at McDonald's.

We were sitting in the solarium-type part of the restaurant, right by the window. She was chattering away about something and the sun was hitting her hair just right and her eyes were all blue and sparkly and I just began to feel overwhelmed by how amazing and special she was to me.

All the things I felt about her were running through my mind, and I thought:

I should tell her these things.

But when I tried to form the words in my mind they just sounded cheesy and contrived. Who just comes out and says, "You know, I think you're really special"?

I have never, ever thought of myself as someone who couldn't express feelings. In fact, I've always thought that sometimes I share a little too much information. But sitting there, in front of my precious 8-year-old daughter, it became painfully clear to me that it was hard for me to say how I felt. I felt self-conscious.

Yes, in front of an 8-year-old.

Fortunately, that wonderful influence of the Holy Ghost (that I think sometimes moms get an extra portion of) began to work on me. God said, She's 8. She doesn't know it sounds cheesy and contrived. These are things she needs to hear. If you don't tell her now, how will she know how you feel?

I fought it. It felt icky.

It feels icky? For real? That's your excuse for not giving your daughter one of the most precious and valuable gifts she could ever receive, the gift of knowing her mother loves and respects her? It feels ICKY? Do you REMEMBER childbirth?

Point taken.

So I did. I told her how special I think she is. I told her that I trust her more than the other kids with things, she has a sense of maturity about her that I respect, that she has a way with younger kids. We talked about her little sister and I confided in her that I didn't treat my little sister very well and I grew up feeling terribly about it and I don't want her to feel that way. I told her that she's a good person, a kind person. Her sister loves her and looks up to her, and so do I.

And when I said it, it didn't sound cheesy or contrived. And her eyes sparkled even more, she sat a little taller, she held her chin higher.

The moral of the story is this: Don't wait to say the things in your heart because you're afraid of how you might sound. How you sound isn't important. The words you say and the feeling behind them is what they'll hear. If you open your heart, they'll open theirs.

If you can't trust yourself with your own feelings, how can your child trust you with theirs?

As John Mayer sang,

Have no fear for giving in

Have no fear for giving over

You'd better know that in the end

Its better to say too much

Then never say what you need to say again

Even if your hands are shaking

And your faith is broken

Even as the eyes are closing

Do it with a heart wide open

Say what you need to say. 

Say what you need to say. 

P.S. Happy St. Patty’s Day to you! 

A Year with MMW

by Mare Ball from Adventures in the Ballpark

I recently passed my one year anniversary writing for Mormon Mommy Writers.  On February 22, 2013, my first post appeared here: NEW KID ON THE BLOCK.

I'm so grateful for the opportunity to show up here twice a month and share my heart.  I'm grateful for all comments and the insights of other contributors here.  It was through MMW that I was first published (as a contributor to Choose to Write), for which I will be forever grateful.

Since I came on board here, I've taken a marketing course, mostly finished my WIP, written a book proposal, and am in communication with two editors.  I have written posts for two other blogs.  If I had not been invited to be a regular part of MMW, I'm sure I would not have made such progress in my writing career.  Even though, at times, I'm rushed or dragging my feet on what to write, it's been very beneficial to have a writing deadline and commitment.  Thank you, MMW gals, and especially Nikki Wilson for investing in me.  

As I looked over my previous posts, I decided this was my favorite: WRITING IS LIKE MOTHERHOOD.  Considering the name of this blog, it seems fitting.  I wanted to share it again, because I didn't know how else to commemorate my time here.  I wanted to share my love for motherhood and writing, and this post does that.  If you've read it, feel free to click to Facebook.  I won't be offended.

What I've learned this year is to keep plugging away.  Writing is a marathon, not a sprint.  We never know whose heart we might touch, whose life we might improve because of something we crafted.

If you love to write, God has placed that in your makeup.  If we honor Him in our efforts, I believe we will win.  Success might not look like our original vision, but I'm learning that's part of the journey.