Childhood

Steering the Ship

June 21, 2017 In Babies & Toddlers Childhood No Comment

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes.

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes! Also, read about our Summer Connection Groups and think about how you might reach out to mamas near you for intentional time together this summer!

I am pulling my yoga pants up over my 8 week postpartum belly when I hear the milk cup hit the floor. “Sorry Mama!” my toddler yells from the kitchen. I finish getting dressed and walk out to the kitchen to see my son still hasn’t eaten a bite of his eggs. I bend down to retrieve the sippy cup and wipe the spilled milk off the floor. Then I ask my son for what seems like the hundredth time to please eat his breakfast so we can go for a walk.

As I turn to leave the kitchen I look down to see my two cats sitting by their food bowls looking up at me with hungry eyes. Yet again I have forgotten to feed them in the morning rush of trying to get two kids and myself out the door. I quickly get their food out of the cabinet and scoop food into each of their bowls.

I am finally on my way to put on a bit of mascara and pull my hair up in a ponytail when my baby starts to fuss. I fed her, changed her and dressed her just minutes before, but as I look down I can see that she has spit up on her fresh outfit. Sigh.

I scoop my sweet girl up, gave her some pats on the back and then set her down in the bouncer in an attempt to buy a few precious minutes to pull myself together. Before exiting the kitchen, I catch a glimpse of my son putting his fork down his shirt, eggs growing cold on his plate. I take a deep breath and say “Buddy, please eat your eggs so we can go for a walk.”

Mascara swiped. Hair pulled back. Baby changed. Toddler dressed. Teeth brushed. Shoes put on. Water bottles filled. Snack poured. Sun hats found. By the time we are (finally!) ready to go, I feel like I’ve run a marathon.

When trying to get out the door with little kids I often imagine myself as the captain of the ship trying desperately to steer us in one direction…out of the house!!! Even in my attempts to prepare ahead and plan enough time, these little people seem to plan a mutiny every time. In reality, they are blissfully unaware of things like clocks and friends waiting at the park and how hard mama is working to get them out the door. Some days I want to abandon ship, it would be so much easier to stay home after all. But I know if I can manage to stay the course and get to the car, I’ll be glad I persevered.

Eventually we do make it to the car and head towards the park. By the time I’m pulling in the parking lot I can see my friend waiting for us. I park and start putting together the stroller and unloading the kids out of the car. I feel like a hot mess. I feel terrible for running late and am beating myself up. Then I look up and see my friend walking towards me with a warm smile on her face. She sees me struggling to assemble my stroller and bends down to help and says “I’ve got you!” Those heartfelt words make me want to burst into a puddle of tears. The marathon is over, my friend has welcomed me with open arms, and the stress of the morning slowly rolls away as we begin our walk to the park. My heart fills with gratitude for dear friends like my friend Natalie, who meet me in the trenches of motherhood and love and accept me right where I am at.

Sarah Allard is thankful to be experiencing the joy of motherhood after journeying through years of infertility. She is married to her highschool sweetheart and together they are raising their two children in Seattle. Sarah is passionate about hospitality, encouraging other mamas, and slowing down to appreciate God’s daily grace. She is a fair weather blogger at www.thelittledove.com and is often on Instagram.

Loneliness: A Catalyst for Building Relationships

June 12, 2017 In Childhood Faith & Encouragement No Comment

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes.

His face crumpled when he realized he wasn’t going to the birthday party with his brother.

“But I never get invited to birthday parties,” he sniffed. With a start, I realized that he was right. It was April, and he hadn’t been invited to any school birthday parties this year. That old, familiar ache rose up in my chest. It had not bothered me much as a child, as my few friends were always enough for me. But as a mom, that ache grew in my heart for years. The pinching loneliness of not having friends, of not being invited, of being left out.

He wailed in my arms while I tried to hold my own broken pieces together. For his sake.

I often revisit those years, in my memories. After the babies were born, I went back to work at my church, part-time. Never there long enough to become friends with my coworkers, but always feeling the load of the work at home, keeping me tied down even on my free days. Never invited to the women’s group, at least not personally. Always rushing at work to get things done, leaving little time for lunchtime chatter. Never being brave enough to initiate anything of my own. Always feeling like an invisible soul, dutifully doing my work without being noticed. Looking back, it’s obvious to me that I was not as invisible as I felt, but nevertheless, the sense that I was slipping through life unseen was overwhelming.

My son and I moved over to the stairway to talk. Sitting in a shaft of light from the afternoon sun, I shared with him what had changed in my life.

(photo by hill smiley photography)

“When I am feeling lonely, I start looking around for someone else who looks lonely. There is always someone else who feels the same way. I start talking to them and I feel less lonely because I know that I am helping someone else.”

For an introvert, this act goes against everything in my nature. But even introverts get lonely for true connection. The best thing I have ever done was join the women’s Bible study on Wednesday mornings at my church. It has been a stretch for me, and it has been very hard to get out the door some weeks.

The women attending the group were all ones I wanted to get to know, but early on it felt like I had an impossible barrier to hurdle. While I knew most of their children from my work as the Children’s Ministry Director, I didn’t know anything about my peers, the other moms. The thought of getting to know them was daunting, because friendship doesn’t form in a single conversation.

Later, it was hard to go because some weeks parenting and working is overwhelming and I couldn’t even keep up with making dinner, never mind going to Bible study. It was those days that being a group leader was a hidden blessing: I had to go. They expected me.

Three years later, I have developed friendships. It took many conversations and trips to McDonalds after Bible study, but they are there. I am no longer lonely.

“See,” I told my boy, “when we look for others to help, we start to feel better. It’s hard to ask someone if they want to play, but when you are brave enough to do that, you might make a true friend in the process.”

He nodded, then hopped up to go play again. My heart still hurt for him, but I know this will be better for him in the long run. Better to be the one initiating friendships and spreading love, because that is a skill worth cultivating.

Being able to see the beauty in others is a Christ-like quality that brings a little of His healing into our world, a little of His light into the darkness. He created that lonely ache in our hearts because it drives us into communion with others and communion with Him. If we let it, that ache of loneliness can become a catalyst for building relationships, both as moms and as kids.

Christie Thomas is the mom of 3 boys who love stories and wife of an educator (who doubles as her personal key-finder). She is the Director of Children’s Ministry at her church, a family faith blogger, and the author of a devotional book for families with busy little ones. To connect with Christie or to snag her 3 free “Stories to Stir the Soul of Your Kids”, pop over to her website!

Website: www.christiethomaswriter.com, IG:www.instagram.com/christie.thomas.writer,
Facebook:www.facebook.com/christiethomasauthor

Start Your Own Summer Connection Group

June 9, 2017 In Childhood News No Comment

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes! Episode 2 about Building Community might be of particular interest in conjunction with this post!

I hugged his preschool teacher hard this morning. It’s been a good year. I have seen my son mature, learn, and grow. It has flown by so fast. I can’t even believe he’ll be in Kindergarten next year. How do you wrap up a school year in one hug? I nearly was in tears as my 5-year-old son and I walked away from his preschool classroom, me holding his tiny hand tightly as if holding more tightly would stop time.

“What happens now?” he said curiously.

“Well, we have summer!” I responded cheerfully.

His little face contorted into a sweet mixture of wonder and confusion as he spat out, “What’s THAT?”

What a good question. What exactly IS summer? Disrupted schedules? Maybe. Jammies-all-morning? Yes, please! Daylight until 9pm and flexible house rules…ok, I’ll take it. However, one thing I have felt summer brings is the disconnect from seeing our friends due to vacations, summer camps, and the general lack of planning on my part!

Can I get an AMEN!?

(Summer thoughts from Lynne Patti)

This summer, the Kindred Mom team would like to offer up a way that you can still see your friends and even your kids’ friends throughout the summer. We are buzzing about our Summer Connection Groups for mamas and their kids! This is a chance for you to intentionally open up your home to your friends in order to press into community during the sometimes lonely, sometimes challenging weeks of summer.

Hosting a group doesn’t have to be stressful or all-consuming. The point really is to be intentional about drawing your girlfriends or mamas that may be new to your area (or new to motherhood in general!) in to some things you might already be interested in doing this summer. As a team, we have generated some ideas for you, if you find them helpful in your own Summer Connection Group planning.

What does a summer connection group look like?

There are no hard and fast rules! Your group can reflect your personality and desires. Different members of our team are tackling this in a few different ways.

One of our team members is hostessing a daytime “Coffee Hour” that is open for mamas and their littles. The time is centered around an activity for the kids and a chance for the moms to chat and connect (and drink ALL THE COFFEE). She has planned out 8 weeks of simple activities for the kids (skip down to the bottom of this post to see a few of her suggestions), and she provides coffee and tea, and asks the mamas who join for the day to bring a snack to share with the group to keep it manageable for herself.

If a quieter, kid-free evening sounds more appealing to you, curate your invite list and ask your friends to each bring something sweet to share. You can’t go wrong with a cheese platter and a few desserts. Center the evening around asking each other questions and getting to know each mama present. You could go through a book together (we highly recommend Shauna Niequist’s book, “Bread and Wine”) or you can simply let the evening breathe with laughter and wine. This is a wonderful way to deepen relationships with dear friends, new and old.

If you’re not sure about hosting in your home, you can set some dates/times for a nearby park (we recommend a weekly rhythm—same day/time) so people can plan ahead to join you. One of our team members is doing things two days a week, one day meeting friends at the zoo, another day meeting friends at a park for the kids to play and the moms to chat. Bring a lunch and some sunscreen, and have a blast together! You may be interested in the Summer Survival Kit we shared recently (scroll to the bottom of the linked post for a list of great summer gear).

The ultimate goal is that the mamas who attend would feel seen, loved, and heard.

However you structure a group, we want to encourage you to reach out this summer and draw your mama-community in close. We cannot do this mothering gig alone! Connection with other moms can be the difference between surviving and thriving this summer.

Five ways to make your Summer Connection Group great:

1) Set firm dates/times —Decide what kind of group appeals to you (daytime with kids, evening with moms, weekly or selected dates, at your home or at another location)

2) Communicate with friends (email your friends, send out an Evite, or start a private Facebook group to communicate about what you have going on)

3) Have available basic refreshments and don’t be afraid to ask to others to bring things (It’s great if you can let people know what you’re providing and let them know what they can bring to share with the group)

4) Decide on some activities to include — If you’re planning a backyard water-play day, most mamas will want to know that in advance so they can bring the appropriate gear. Roughly planning out activities will help keep everyone on the same page.

5) Be Flexible—Summer is a tough time to plan things if you’re hoping that everyone will be there each week. If you can make peace with the fact that the group will be different week to week because of vacations and other summer commitments, you can enjoy the time with whomever does arrive for the fun.

Some general tips:

Consider co-hosting your group with someone. This will ensure you always have at least one person there to spend time with even if the others can’t make it!

Set up the night before if you have a daytime group. Leaving the details until the last minute can be stressful, but if you can have your activities ready ahead of time, it can be a lot more relaxed as people arrive.

Think about your space and where people will gather.

Think about using disposable cups and paper plates to make cleanup easy.

Add a personalized touch to welcome the mamas who come. Set out some fresh flowers, use your grandmother’s lovely teapot or serving dishes, put up a banner—anything that brings a special element into your gathering.

Be sure to introduce people as they arrive so that new people feel welcome. Name tags are a nice touch if you know your guests don’t know each other well!

Here are some backyard activities you might consider for your daytime group:

~For younger kids~

Sidewalk chalk
Make sailboats with yogurt cups (and play with them in water!)
Create a sensory table with dirt and “bugs” or have each child bring a car to “wash”
Water balloon fun
Painting on a deck or sidewalk with water and big paint brushes
Bubbles

~For older kids~

Painting rocks
Marshmallow toothpick tower creations
Have the kids make a fruit salad (wash and chop with a butter knife)
Make animal creations out of fruit and toothpicks
Ice cream sundae bar (each guest brings toppings)
String together pasta necklaces

Obviously, Pinterest also has endless ideas! These are just a few to get you thinking.

However you put your group together, please tell us about what you’re doing! You can post on instagram and use the #kindredmom hashtag (or tag us directly!) or feel free to join our private Facebook group and share your Summer Connection Group shenanigans there! Thanks for joining in!

**This post contains affiliate links**
(Special thanks to Sarah Allard for the original idea to gather women together in this capacity!)

The Secret Places of Mothering

June 5, 2017 In Childhood Faith & Encouragement No Comment

For the month of June, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Combating Loneliness and Nutrition Challenges as well as some of our Core Themes. The deadline to submit essays for the upcoming July Topics (Family Culture & Connection, Simplicity, and Infertility & Secondary Infertility) is less than a week away (June 10th)!

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast and please leave us a review on iTunes!

I’m in the deepest of sleep when I sense her in my room before I hear her. My four-year-old stands next to my pillow, in tears, explaining that she had a bad dream. She is wondering if she can please sleep in my bed?

We don’t have any hard and fast rules about this scenario- sometimes I say yes and sometimes I scoot them back to bed. This time though, this time maybe I was too tired to really think it through or maybe I just sensed that we needed each other, me as much as her.

Our king size bed is as big as can be, but she snuggles right up next to me and that’s how we fall asleep that night, two in the morning, side by side.

We’re playing outside, afternoon sun, the four of us, me pretending the clock isn’t ticking closer and closer to the dinner hour and I still haven’t a clue about what we’ll eat. The air is too perfect, the sun too kind, the breeze so gentle. They’re running around wild and free, neighborhood noises filling our ears, sidewalk chalk staining our fingertips.

My oldest had been playing down at a friends’ house and here she is, running up to me, tears streaming down her face.

I do the quick scan up and down to see if there’s blood anywhere–are you hurt? are you okay? is there blood? no? Okay then–and I begin to assess the true damage, this time to her heart, a much more difficult wound to mend. A friend said an unkind thing and my girl is still young enough to first run to me in her pain. I don’t want her to ever outgrow this instinct.

I pull her in close and get a little bit of the scenario of what happened. We sit on the couch, our legs wrapped up in each other, her nearly on my lap but not quite, and I begin to whisper into her ear all of the things I know about her that are true. You are brave, my dear one. You are strong. You are loved. You are kind. You are creative. You are adventurous and friendly and silly to boot.

Her heart unwinds, reminded of who she is, and off she scampers to play once again.

It’s been a long day, a hard one, and I just need to be done. I need them to put themselves to bed, quietly and kindly without a single whine. This, of course, is not how it goes.

On this day when I am at my end, tired and sad and a little bit scared, they become the very most difficult versions of themselves and I have no love to give.

I kiss them and go downstairs to the living room hardly ten seconds after saying goodnight and I hear them jumping off their beds. They are laughing and bouncing and having a full-on party not ten seconds after they promised me they would go to sleep.

Oh, no way. Not in my house.

Mama’s done.

I march upstairs, fling open their door and the look on my face must have stirred sheer terror because they launch themselves into their bed, covers over their head, trembling. I don’t remember everything I said, but I definitely growled “I’m so serious” about five times.

I close the door but stand by it for a few extra seconds to make sure they don’t start messing around again and hear the sisters whisper.

“Brennan?” calls out the four-year-old, “What just happened?”

The six-year-old responds: “Ellie, that wasn’t our mom. That was the mean mom. I don’t like that one.”

“Me either!”

And as tired as I am, I just cannot end it this way. I go in and crawl into their bed, pull them in close and say “Babies. Mommy is so sorry. Sometimes I’m so stressed and I’m so tired and I take it out on you. That’s not fair. Can we begin again tomorrow?”

They forgive me and hug me, ain’t no thing, because children are expert forgivers and I kiss their foreheads and they fall asleep- peacefully, this time.

So much of mothering feels like it’s done in the secret places where no one else sees. We do it anyway– we gather them up close, whisper love and courage when they need it, love the hardest we know how and apologize when we miss the mark.

For these few stories of mine, I bet you have a thousand that haven’t been captured of you doing what you needed to do in that moment for your babies and whispering love and nailing this mothering thing. For these stories right here, I could tell of twenty others when I failed completely.

But as mamas, we love them always. As mamas, we do what we need to again and again and again even when we’re empty because that’s what love does. It’s easy to remember the ways we feel like we’ve missed the mark, but let’s choose to see the tiny moments of love that add up to build a life. Let’s see what we do well and let me remind you that you, my dear, are nailing this mothering thing.

Even when it doesn’t feel like it and even when you don’t get credit, you are doing a good job and they are so, so loved. I promise.

Sarah Sandifer is a mama to three darling and rambunctious little girls. She is married to her college sweetheart who now serves as an Army Chaplain and is taking them on quite the grand adventure. Sarah’s great loves are the Colorado mountains, dark chocolate and coffee, though she would be a total mess without the grace of Jesus. You can find her thoughts on life, motherhood, and marriage at SarahSandifer.com and she’s also on Instagram @SarahSandifer.

No More Magic

May 29, 2017 In Childhood Soul Care for Moms 1 Comment

If you haven’t listened yet, we’d love for you to check out the new Kindred Mom Podcast!

The floor of my tiny old house creaks and groans underfoot which makes getting to the oasis I’ve been thirsty for all day, a bit of a Parkour obstacle course. My children are finally in bed after an arduous day of breaking up preschool squabbles, hushing an inconsolable baby, and generally attempting to keep the house from falling apart. The finish line to my day is within spitting distance but the floor may as well be covered with landmines. My children—a sleeping three-headed monster that might be roused at the faintest sound–dragging me back to the land of active parenting I am so eager to put behind me. I tiptoe into the bathroom, gingerly close the door, and turn off the light, murmuring a prayer under my breath. Please let them stay asleep.

I am empty. I have no more magic, ingenuity or compassion. My last nerve is hanging on by a tattered little thread and I am thankful for the reprieve from being the solo commander of my household.

At last, it is night. I’ve successfully made it to the end of the day and to the bathroom–the last bastion of privacy, solace, and retreat that can be found in my little home–where the tiny upright shower promises to wash my stress down the drain.

I plant my flag here in this tiny closet-sized room, claiming this space and time as my desperately-needed sanctuary. I pause on the dark side of the bathroom door and take what feels like the first giant breath I have had all day. My shoulders relax as I subconsciously dismiss them from duty. This is the fourth night this week I’ve sought refuge in this bathroom at the end of a long day. Just me in the dark, a hot shower, and a humble little $12.99 candle that illuminates more about me as mother than I thought possible.

I wield a lighter and ignite the dormant candle as it occupies the coveted bit of real estate atop the toilet tank. It is nestled between home improvement magazines and a clock. In an instant, a soft glow dances on the walls, transforming this tiny room into a spa-like retreat for an exhausted and depleted mother. I cast off the unseen hats: referee, teacher, chef, housekeeper, cheerleader, doctor, counselor. As I toss each one to the ground along with my garments, I become a little bit lighter. At the end, I am edited down to just me. Not mom, not wife, just me. I look at the simple little candle that is helping to set the mood of my restoration.

This candle is a metaphor for my recent experiences in motherhood; specifically trying to carry on like business-as-usual when there are just too few resources available to actually do a good job.

Like the candle, I am built to burn, lighting the way with love for my family. Day after day I light my little flame to care for my family, to bolster their reserves even though it means depleting my own. The dark ring of soot accumulated around the rim of the container deposited from hours of burning without a consistent fuel supply—I have that too—only my black ring looks like yelling at my kids because I am running on an empty tank. I’ve got ashy chunks suspended under my waxy surface that testify to my lack of time to take care of myself. I panic as I notice my energy stores are slipping swiftly down the sides of my jar and I fear that soon there will be nothing left to of me to give.

How does a mother fill the cavernous emptiness after pouring out every last bit she has to the ones she loves?

I realize, as I flicker an unsteady light, void of oxygen necessary for me to keep going, that no one will be able to see very well by the faint hobbling glow I am coughing out. A candle needs a fuel source to produce light. No wax, no light. Mothering my little brood sucks up a lot of my fuel. I cannot be a help to anyone if I have no reserve from which to draw. If I am going to do a good job caring for the people I love, I have to keep an eye on how to fill up again.

As I step into the hot shower, I consider all of the hats I have left on the floor of my tiny oasis bathroom, and the water begins washing away all of the unseen heavy, scary, and ugly things that I have hidden away in my heart as I outwardly sing silly songs to my children. With each droplet of water skittering off my body I heave a cathartic sigh.

This is so desperately hard.

My soul is embraced by the warm water and my limbs are invited to let go of all the tension they’ve carried. I am here to exchange angst for relief, exhaustion for rest. The needle on my proverbial gas gauge inches toward full as I stand in the water. I recognize my own grit, that I am built to do this work. I can pick up the duties of motherhood each morning and set them down each night. The fog lifts and I begin to see my world with clearer eyes. I remember my children are not monsters, but three bright stars in my sky that mesmerize and delight me.

I dry myself off and put on fresh clean pajamas–a simple luxury that is not lost on me–and I am truly thankful for every little thing. As I nestle my head into my downy pillow, I find I am grateful for these difficult days and deliciously restorative nights–for the clarity illuminated in darkness and for solitude that opens and fills my heart, that breathes on an ember renewing my strength to carry on.

Jennifer Van Winkle lives in Seattle with her husband and three children (twin boys and a baby girl). She is a teacher, musician, and currently a stay-at-home mom. She loves fueling the imaginations of her children with creativity, songs, all things science, good food and lots of play indoors and out. She blogs at Pepper Sprout Home and you can also find her on Instagram.

No Cape Required

May 24, 2017 In Childhood Home & Family No Comment

***Today is the *last day* of our fun giveaway in celebration of the Kindred Mom Podcast release. This is your last chance to enter to win one of two Hospitality Bundles full of goodies that might help you head up a Summer Connection Group in your local area. There are some beautiful things from Magnolia Market included. Not to be missed! Enter on Instagram for the Backyard Coffee Hour Bundle or subscribe to our email newsletter to win the Evening Moms Gathering Bundle. Winners for both giveaways will be chosen this evening (May 24th) at 5pm PST.***

Maybe you’ve met her. Perhaps you can spot her at fifty paces: One of the Supermoms. You know the ones. They don’t just craft a delicious, whole-food, preservative-free, gluten-free, dairy-free, nut-free, yet still magically delicious dish for the class potluck. They also full-color-print-out-and-laminate the country flag to represent the dish’s origin and list key facts about said country.

In its indigenous language.

And then pass out a hand-carved pan flute from that land for all the kiddos, which their own precious darlings constructed as their history project last week.

These kind of moms have always created an instantaneous “You Are Not Enoughness” reactions in me. Followed by a rash. Until, one day, I had an epiphany, possibly Starbucks-induced, but it still counts:

I can appreciate the Supermoms’ committedness to the event without it being a reflection upon my perceived inadequacy. I can be grateful that these moms exist, if only so that my kids can at least see what a project could potentially look like. And then I can say, “Sooo…Mommy didn’t hand-sew your historically accurate costume for the end-of-the-year presentation, but hey! let’s go to Chick Fil A for a milkshake to celebrate! We might get crazy and throw in fries!” I guarantee that is the moment my kiddos actually care about.

And if not, they’ll soon be in enough of a sugar coma to not recall the day.

I jest. Sort of. I can applaud those moms for their talents while recognizing that, if I tried to compete with those efforts, I would be a tangled up ball of stress and nerves. That’s just not who I want to be.

And even more, that’s not what I want my kids to remember about me.

This year, as we head into summer and all of the expectations for Olympic-level swimming skills and creative crafts and The Exact Right camp for our people, let’s take ourselves off the treadmill of being the Supermoms. Let’s just be moms….moms who love our kids and are mostly ok with being good at what we are good at and accepting of what we’re not. Without a hint of comparison or condemnation. Because sometimes we save the harshest words for our own interior monologue, words we would never think of uttering to a friend.

Who’s with me? Let’s give ourselves (and each other) credit for the things we totally nail and give ourselves (and each other) a break for the screw-ups. Let’s sincerely celebrate when someone does it better than we do, instead of competing with her. Let’s enjoy the days and weeks ahead. No Supermom cape required…And by the way, the water sure is a lot more fun without it.

Jessica Otto lives in the country with her family, a flock of ducks, and a dog. She’s a former missionary, a teacher of children (hers and other people’s), a pianist, and someone who would have a really hard time choosing between coffee, books, or a day in Paris. You can find her musings at www.jessicaottowrites.com

Surprise Summer (Plus a Summer Survival Kit)

May 23, 2017 In Childhood Soul Care for Moms 5 Comments

***This week we are doing a fun giveaway in celebration of the Kindred Mom Podcast release (quick links to subscribe to the podcast are on the sidebar, and we have a podcast page in the navigation with show notes for each episode). From May 17-May 24, you can enter to win one of two Hospitality Bundles full of goodies that might help you head up a Summer Connection Group in your local area. There are some beautiful things from Magnolia Market included. Not to be missed! Enter on Instagram (beginning May 17) for the Backyard Coffee Hour Bundle or subscribe to our email newsletter to win the Evening Moms Gathering Bundle. Winners for both giveaways will be chosen on May 24th.***

This is something I originally shared on my personal blog last September. I thought it would be appropriate to share here in preparation of the summer months ahead. At the bottom of the post, you’ll find some of the things that make up my Summer Survival Kit. I’m planning another summer of time outdoors, and I’m full of hope that this one will be just as meaningful as the last.

The summer, warm and healing, arrived without fanfare, and established a comfortable presence without drama or angst or the always striving that pulses through my veins. Like usual, I was planning to take summer by storm, muscle my household into order, and make the most of every day with some very specific expectations. I didn’t quite expect the peace. I certainly wasn’t looking for it. I was on a road with a heavy load over my shoulder — the responsibility to mother six little people and fill them with whatever good things I could scrape up from the bottom of my own barrel. Summer came, and I don’t know how it circumvented my tight grip on the possibilities for these months, but I found myself seated in a collapsible camp chair in the shade of a big tree, watching my children climb and run, play and discover without me for hours on end — my burden laid down and peace sinking in. We did a lot of nothing that was delightfully everything; hours in open spaces playing, jumping, running, in neon park shirts so mama could spy them from a distance while nursing a chunky love of a baby.

Bright and mild June days set the stage for a summer full of connection, drawing deep from a well of peace, and countless tiny realizations that amount to a total awakening within my heart to a pace and a life that I would never have chosen off the shelf, but embrace with all my heart now that I understand. Some things don’t make sense until you’re holding them. Babies. Ideas. Life-callings. Wholeness that I never thought I would experience quite like this. Every time I think I’m at a whole place, I discover yet another layer of sweetness that comes from trusting God with every detail and every day, relaxing into the reality that so many things I want to control are ultimately up to Him and not me.

We spent many days out of the house. I have always been the stay-in type, probably because I made outings more complicated than they needed to be, and also because many small children of a certain age are quite a challenge to herd in the same direction. I developed a system that involves a kit of items that stayed in the car all summer: 2 strollers, a collapsible wagon, 5 collapsible camp chairs, and a zip-up beach blanket. Every time we went to the park, I would unfurl the above campsite, invite friends to join, and play, chat, and eat for sometimes 4 or 5 hours on a given day. It was comfortable, easy, restful. The mobile kids wore their neon park shirts, and all I had to do was count the dots around the park every few minutes and dish out the food when they came around with grumbling tummies. The other part of our system relied on a packing cube that I refilled daily with diapers, clothes for the baby, and sunscreen, and a large packed lunch with water for everyone that could last us all day if we wanted it to.

We did nature walks in various places — intentionally taking notice of plants, wildlife, insects and other natural things, and the kids sketched things on drawing pads with colored pencils. We visited the library a dozen different times and picked up whatever books interested them, and they read on everything from soccer to crochet to adventurous classics. In the hottest months, we went to splash parks and wading pools in the area, and the kids would come home and make projects from the recycling bin, draw, and play. My two older boys caught the sewing bug from their oldest sister and spent hours stitching different haphazardly cut out fabric pieces together to make bags, and stuffed animals, and other randomness. Both are eager to start using a sewing machine, which I won’t allow them to do until they have achieved a level of mastery with hand-sewing that warrants such a promotion. That yet-out-of-reach reality keeps them both experimenting, tediously stitching, and gaining skills that are not typical of boys these days but make me smile.

It wasn’t until part way through the summer I realized I set everything else down to be fully present with the kids. It wasn’t on-purpose, but more of a grace that landed on me. I didn’t write. I didn’t take pictures with my big camera. I didn’t jam our schedule full of urgent things that weren’t important. Instead, I sat still at the parks and pools while they played, watching, listening, pondering, and privately processing the transition into this new season of having six kids in my care. I am in love with them. They are the sweetest, dearest children I can imagine knowing. My desire to be faithful to this mothering task has grown as my heart swells with love for each of them, and I recognize that there are many, many things that threaten to clutter the precious years we have together.

With the arrival of every new baby, I have learned that our family enters a new season that is full of unexpected turns and surprises — some unexpectedly challenging, and some unexpectedly wonderful. It is like we, as a family, are all new again. As a mother, I am all new again.

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.” Matthew 11:28-30

Components of my Summer Survival Kit

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Collapsible Camp Chairs – I kept 5 of these in my vehicle at all times throughout last summer so I would have chairs for our family or for friends who stopped in to join us at the park. If you set up a camp site in the middle of a park, its easy to stay there all day! I think these chairs may be cheaper at a sporting goods store.

Collapsible Wagon – We bought our collapsible wagon from Costco years ago and I use it daily during the summer, especially on days when we’re headed off to a wading pool or splash park so I don’t have to carry all items + baby + lunch from the car to the set-up site. The wagon makes it a one-trip-job.

Stroller and/or travel Pack n Play – This summer I’ll be using the stroller, but I do have a travel-size pack n play that is easy to transport (fits in my collapsible wagon!) and I used last summer when my youngest was only a few months old. It was nice to have him contained (and able to nap) while the other kids played.

Beach Blanket – Our beach blanket zips up and was originally a gift from my mother-in-law. It has seen years of use now, but still holds up well. It isn’t this brand (not sure what brand it is!) but this is similar.

Water Bottles – This is the brand and style of water bottle I have been using for myself and I love it, although I did ditch the strainer piece shortly after I got it. I have a purple one. My kids use whatever multi-pack Costco has most recently carried.

Packing Cube – I have just one packing cube right now, that was a gift from a friend over 5 years ago, but I love its versatility and will be picking up a few more for this summer. I use it as the daily-refillable diaper container so we always have what we need when we’re out and about. I usually put extra clothes in for baby as well.

Utility Bag – These are my favorite things. I have two (different colors) and I have one as the designated lunch bag and one as the designated swimming bag. So convenient and easy to transport and get stuff in and out of it all day while we’re out. These bags are the only things I bring in daily to clear out and re-fill. All our other park-day gear stays in the car.

Fitpacker Containers – I use these containers to pack lunch items in. To me, they are more flexible than tupperware, and are more cost effective quantity-to-cost. If I buy grapes at Costco, I’ll wash and store grapes in 3-4 of these containers so they’re easy to grab when I’m throwing a lunch together in the morning. I do this with lots of things: cheese, nuts, apple slices, carrot slices, etc. They do have bento-style boxes, but for our large family, I like the single compartment and keeping each lunch item in one box.

Park Shirts for Kids – Any color park shirt will do, but the idea is to put all kids in the same color so its easy to spot them from a distance. We’ve had this neon yellow for several years, and I finally retired them and bough new orange ones for this summer in each size we need for our family. I keep them in the car at all times, and wash minimally (they get filthy), but the kids wear them over their other clothes. They put them on when we arrive at a park and take them off when we leave, and I bring them in just a few times a summer to wash when I can’t stand it any longer. Following this system keeps them from getting lost in the laundry abyss.

ThinkBaby Sunscreen (or ThinkSport) – This is our favorite sunscreen. The difference is minimal between ThinkBaby and ThinkSport – mostly different fragrances – and it’s easy to apply.

Sun Hat – I’m a fair-skinned gal, so I picked up one of these recently to keep the sun off my face when we are at a location that doesn’t have a shady spot available.

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Emily Sue Allen is the founder of Kindred Mom. She lives with her husband and six kids in Seattle, Washington. She is a contemplative, creative soul who celebrates the beauty of a humble, handmade life and deeply values the power of encouragement. She blogs at www.lightandloveliness.com, and shares bits of her life on Instagram.

Why Little Boys Love Peeing Outside

May 17, 2017 In Childhood Laughable Moments 9 Comments

We were three mothers standing in the cul-de-sac chatting about trivial things. Ripe strawberries, dogs, lost socks, dinner. The 5 children (1 girl and 4 boys), were playing kid stuff that involved running, stopping, yelling, bossing, and more running. We ladies were in the middle of a good laugh when my neighbor to the south glances at my front yard. Faster than a gate can swing shut in a cough of wind, her mouth fell open and her eyes widened to maximum orbit. She tried to say something, but only a few scratchy rounded vowel tones emerged from her tonsils. Her hands, though, were making small circles in the empty air as if they were grasping for something unseen.

My neighbor to the north and I stopped talking and turned around. We wanted to see what awesome or shocking thing had this mother of an adorable 6-year-old girl so speechless and so stupefied. Having had brothers and currently raising a boy or two, we just burst out in laughter at the sight.

“There he goes again,” my north neighbor stuttered between giggles.

I tapped her arm twice, struggling to birth some words between laughter. “Just watering.”

My southern neighbor finally closed her mouth enough to huff and puff a few times. “Did you see that?” she asked, he voice rising an octave between her first and fourth word.

We giggled some more.

“Doesn’t he know better?” Miss South asked, shock evident in her voice.

I nudged my northern neighbor. “At least it was your kid this time.”

Miss North wiped her eyes. “Do we owe you any damages for the yard?”

“Only if the grass turns yellow,” I laughed.

“D-did you teach him t-that? I mean d-does he, he, he do t-that everywhere? D-doesn’t he know better?” Miss South clearly had her vocal cords back, although she was stuttering from the shocking display.

“We occasionally allow him in the house,” Miss North giggled.

“You allow that, that kind of behavior? I mean . . . don’t you care?”

“He’s a boy,” Miss North and I said in unison.

“That can’t be normal? Miss South protested.

“Perfectly normal,” I said. ‘Actually quite normal.”

Miss South shook her head. It was obvious that she was glad for her one well-behaved girl who didn’t flash the neighbors and compromise her modesty when her bladder was full. Unlike Miss North’s son, who paused in the middle of running to pull down his pants and flash a cute little white heinny while watering the ground, only to start running again before the pants were firmly returned to his middle. He was clever too, because he wasn’t tagged during the whole 12-second episode.

One way boys and girls are different is that the grass on the other side of the yard always needs watering and young boys feel it is their responsibility to personally douse it, and douse it good. Even if there is a just clean and sanitized bathroom only 50 feet away.

My little blond boy during the summer tells me he is going next door. Thirty feet past the front door he pauses long enough to pee, then continues to the neighbors. “Go in the back fenced yard,” I tell him. He nods and pees out front again. His friends come over and I see them peeing in the front yard.

I’m not sure anyone teaches little boys to pee outside under the canopy of the blue endless sky, but once they have done it, they will forever be drawn to the magical charm of peeing outdoors. And not just little boys.

One grown man in my house looks for opportunities to take advantage of providing water to nature. He’ll step into the back yard, and under the cover of blackness, relieve his bladder. Then he’ll stroll in and comment on the briskness of night air or the chirping of crickets.

As a teenager I was quite embarrassed that my much younger brother often peed off the front porch.

“Doesn’t he know someone will see him?” I asked my mother, “And then what will they think of us?”
Mom took it all in stride and didn’t seem concerned. She must have already learned that boys love peeing outdoors.

I am taking her attitude these days. It may be a bit shocking to the neighbors, but it has been happening for centuries.

My son says he pees outside because it is easier and convenient. No lid to lift, toilet to flush, or seat to piddle on and get chastised for. Clearly it is also just plain fun.

I figure I can be remembered by my son as the mom who nagged him about peeing in the front, side, and back yard, or I can be remembered as the mom who remembered what being a child was like, and who doesn’t sweat the small things; a mom who encouraged him to laugh, play, finds joy in life, and didn’t criticize imperfection in her children. A mom who loved him unconditionally, even if he chooses to pee outside.

I also figure his wife may enjoy his descriptions of the stars on dark night.

Theresa Boedeker unwraps life with words to encourage, entertain, and bring forth laughter. She blogs to remember what’s important, and creates humorous story podcasts about Life as it Comes.

The Case for Naps

May 15, 2017 In Babies & Toddlers Childhood 3 Comments

For the month of May, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Feeling Inadequate, Sleep-Rest-and-Rejuvenation, and Mental Health Awareness Month. We hope you’ll return to read the wonderful essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them. If you missed the post we shared on Mother’s Day, it’s full of announcements and surprises we hope you won’t miss!

The routine has been the same for eight years: have lunch together, go outside or watch TV for a bit, then quiet time. Quiet time used to be called nap time before both my kids decided to opt out on middle-of-the-day sleep, but I’ll be honest: I take a nap every day.

The first time I heard the advice to sleep when your baby sleeps, I felt something click inside me. It was like everything my body had told me my whole life was suddenly being validated. It was okay to nap. In fact, I should because now I had a baby whose survival depended on me. I was never happier.

I’ve always loved napping. Any chance I’d get (usually on weekends), I’d plop down on the couch in the afternoon, flip on the TV, and close my eyes for a few minutes. Once my daughter was born, I left my full-time desk job to teach part time and stay home with her. I could nap every day. I could lie down in the morning and again in the afternoon, a luxury I took full advantage of as I adjusted to first-time motherhood and its constant demands. Like many first-time mothers, the learning curve was steep. Being able to lie down helped.

My daughter grew and two naps became one, one singular stretch of time every afternoon during which she would sleep and quietly play in her bed and I could doze off and still have time to get a few things done. I realized that nap time was sacred. It was a magical part of the day, one that could wash away a demanding morning and help me reset for the afternoon. A nap was an island in the unpredictable seas of babyhood, a safe place for my daughter and for me. We could return day after day, pressing pause and starting again.

Eventually, we added another baby to our family and my daughter gave up her nap. Still, I held firm on quiet time, saying, “You don’t have to nap, but you do have to be quiet.” I’d read the kids a book, give them kisses, then sneak into my bed for a little shut-eye.

A few weeks ago, my spinning instructor made a casual declaration to the class: “I take a nap every day.” I keyed right in. She’s in her early forties with three teenagers at home, and she still takes a nap. Her rationale was that she could barely make it to 10 p.m. without one, so why not.

Why not, indeed. It seems sensible to sleep when your baby sleeps, but it seems indulgent to nap when your kids get older. Shouldn’t the exhaustion ease up when your kids are teenagers? Apparently not. When I confessed my daytime nap routine to a friend whose kids are older, she advised me to nap as much as possible. “Take every advantage,” she said.

So here’s what I have to say about naps: If a nap helps you get through the day, do it. If it makes you a better mom and wife and friend, do it. If it gives you a boost so you can stay up later or not be grouchy all afternoon, do it. And if it makes you feel good and you can, go ahead and enjoy your nap.

If you listen carefully to the chorus of mothers, they’ll tell you there’s inherent value in resting. Motherhood is challenging. It can be exhausting. It’s hard on our bodies and our hearts. Whatever gift we can give ourselves, whatever respite and rest, we should. For me, that’s taking a nap. I’m not planning to give it up any time soon.

Lindsay Crandall is a photographer and writer living in upstate New York. She is half of the daily collaboration at hellotherefriend.com (which is currently on hiatus) and a contributing photographer with Stocksy United. More often than not, you’ll find her with a book or camera in her hand (and sometimes a glass of red wine). Learn more about her on her website or follow her on Instagram.

Prevailing Strength

May 10, 2017 In Childhood Faith & Encouragement No Comment

For the month of May, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Feeling Inadequate, Sleep-Rest-and-Rejuvenation, and Mental Health Awareness Month. We hope you’ll return to read the wonderful essays we have to share with you and cheer on the courageous mamas who have shared them. Join us on the Kindred Mom Facebook Group to connect with our community.

The sweat is streaming down my back but the sun is welcoming, not angry. My backpack is chafing a bit due to the sunburn I have achieved throughout the day. There is a satisfaction that comes with the hard work of exercising, of putting to use muscles which haven’t seen action for a while. I plod along, one foot in front of the other longing for the rest that lay ahead. My husband’s pocket spits out hip hop lyrics from Hamilton; his phone broadcasting the soundtrack. This keeps a rhythm, helps me move forward. We have already hiked two and a half miles up to a hidden waterfall, a wonderful reward for the hard work of going up. Now we have a mile and half remaining and my spirit is refreshed from the vigor of the excursion.

On this particular day, we purposed to do a family hike. Sitting at the kitchen table, five miles round trip seemed a bit more doable. Presently, one child lags as she looks for lizards, one is red-faced and forlorn and another is quickly losing the pep in his step. I’m seriously re-thinking our kitchen-table confidence.

I look at my 5 year old son and realize, he’s not going to make it.

“You’ve got this buddy!”

“You’ve done so well today! I’m so proud of you!”

I assess the unfolding events and realize that no amount of encouragement will get him to continue step, step, stepping down to the bottom of the canyon where we’ve parked our car. He’s done. The last thing I want to do is carry another human for the remaining mile, but with our littlest baby in the ergo on daddy, it’s my back that’s available. I hand daddy the backpack I’ve been carrying and take my son by the arms. “Jump!” I say as I swing him up on my back. My hands find each other behind me, under his little bottom. I tell myself to settle in because this little one won’t be hiking again today.

At first, it’s easy. Heading downhill and already sweaty, there isn’t much I need to worry about. But even the easy 50 pounds of a 5 year old will test a mother’s back. He and I sway and bob as we head down the mountain, and I feel his muscles grow slack; a sure sign he’s fallen asleep. My commitment must remain strong. With a sleeping child on my back, I cannot give up. He has no thought of my strength or ability to endure; only his own exhaustion. I smile a bit as I consider his total dependence on the strength of my back.

My back. It aches sometimes. It’s usually tense in one spot or another, from nursing, scrubbing, holding, dish-doing, or bending over to pick up errant toys. I usually don’t think about the aches. They seem a package deal with motherhood. But now, as I bear the weight of my boy, I think about my back and the strength it wields.

Strength to hold me up.
Strength to give good, strong hugs.
Strength to bring laundry upstairs or down.
Strength to bend and scoop up a crying baby in the night.
Strength to walk for miles and miles in a marathon.
Strength to labor and deliver 4 babies.
Strength to weep for the babies I miscarried.
Strength to let go and lean into my husband for his strength.
Strength to sit next to a sick child and make sure they fall asleep.
Strength to walk for miles through London, baby in the Ergo, blisters forming, persevering because it’s so worth it.
Strength to piggy back my children up to their beds because it’s fun.

We are nearing the parking area and I realize I’ve walked for nearly a mile and my little guy is still asleep on my back. My husband yells back to me, “Wow, Supermom, how are you doing?” I chuckle and say “I’m fine” because I really I am. Am I tired? YES! Am I sweatier than before? Also, yes! Do I regret that we took this hike, or that it was ultimately up to me to help my son reach the destination? Not for one second.

This is what motherhood comes down to. When we reach the travailing parts of the hike, we don’t sit in the dusty dirt and the hot sun and give up. We find a grit and resolve within us to draw up the feeble ones and carry them along with us, and we keep going. My back is accustomed to this task. My back is strong, like my love. I am strong; stronger than I ever imagined I would be. Motherhood can do that.

Mama, you are strong too.

You have been tested through pregnancy and birth. You have survived sleepless nights. You have surfaced after nursing through growth spurts. You have endured the gauntlet of toddler taming. You have been scoffed at and criticized and undermined and proselytized with every bit of “helpful” advice under the sun, and you have been found capable. With every burden you’ve borne on your back, you have prevailed.

You are strong. Resilient. Trust that strength. And while you’re at it, swing one of your kiddos onto your strong back today and laugh together at the fun of it.

Lynne lives in Los Angeles with her family. She pursues excellence in letting it go, letting messy happen, and letting motherhood be fun. You can find her on Instagram and Twitter.

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