Childhood

When You’re Not Sure If You Like Your Kids (Guest Post)
September 19, 2017 In Babies & Toddlers Childhood 1 Comment

Today, we are sharing an excerpt of a guest post Kindred Mom founder Emily Allen is sharing over on An Invitation to Dream Big, hosted by Amber Salhus. Please visit there to read the complete post!

 

I stood in the back of a women’s conference session with six-month old baby (my first) on my hip. A content, but increasingly active baby, I swayed with her and nibbled the side of her neck every few minutes so she’d light up and giggle at me, batting at me with her chubby hands. A few feet away, an older woman whom I greatly respect, who has always been warm and encouraging whispered to me, “Enjoy her now while she is little and sweet. Before you know it, she will be driving you up the wall, and you might not even like her.”

I nearly gasped. How dare she say such a thing? I smiled awkwardly and offered a courtesy laugh, but I could not fathom such a day would come when I would be anything but smitten with this darling little curly-haired creature and absolutely everything she did. I was in the honeymoon phase of mothering; a new mom just beyond the challenging newborn days (my baby slept mostly through the night by this point), but still quite unaware of how demanding parenting becomes as a child grows. Five more babies came after her, and as each of them reached new milestones, so arrived new perspective.

That brief conversation was eleven years ago. At the time, I was appalled by her words, but in the years since, I have thought of that woman’s comment–most often in moments of heightened parenting challenges–and I confess it is true. There are times I really don’t like my kids….

Read the rest of this essay on Amber’s blog…

 

 

The Kindred Mom Vision Team wants to encourage you in your motherhood journey. For a while now, we have wanted to create something useful to share with you that might really provide practical helps for the tough days of motherhood. That dream has now become a reality!

We have created a quick resource guide titled Manage the Mayhem of Motherhood: 52 Ideas to Help You Flourish, and you can get your copy today! We are so grateful for your support of Kindred Mom and hope this guide is just the encouragement you need.

This guide gives specific suggestions regarding the most common struggles for moms in the trenches, and we think you’ll find it is helpful, inspiring, and encouraging. Get your copy today!

 Emily Sue Allen is the founder of the Kindred Mom blog and podcast and is passionate about helping moms flourish in motherhood. She is a contemplative, creative soul who celebrates the beauty of a humble, handmade life and deeply values the power of encouragement. She lives with her husband and six kids in the Pacific Northwest, and personally blogs at lightandloveliness.com. She invites you to connect with the Kindred Mom community on Instagram or Facebook.

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The Power of Presence: A Cancer Story
September 11, 2017 In Childhood Tender Topics 1 Comment

For the month of September, Kindred Mom is kicking off our New Mom Series with a focus on Pregnancy.  We are also covering the following topics: Routines & Habits for Success, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast resumes this month after a break in August. Subscribe in your favorite podcast app to stay up to date with new episodes as they release.

Photo by Ryan Booth on Unsplash

I sat on an unfamiliar bench under a sky turning dark. I was surrounded by trees I didn’t know. On my right loomed a massive hospital whose halls I never conceived needing to walk. I sat, choking on the words. They stuck in my throat; maybe if I didn’t say them it all wouldn’t be true. I forced them out anyhow.

“I just don’t want her to die.”

A painfully long–yet unsettlingly quick–few days later, a diagnosis entered our lives, forever to be seared into our daughter’s future. Stage IV, high-risk neuroblastoma. Cancer. Our precious, longed-for and adored 14 month old daughter Jade had a destructive beast growing inside her, spreading and overtaking her healthy body. It began in her left adrenal gland, spiraling into a large tumor that curled around her aorta. It hungrily took up residence in her large bones and orbital bones. Unsatisfied, it infiltrated her bone marrow. Her doctors wouldn’t give us statistics, but I couldn’t stop myself from looking them up. At the state she was diagnosed in, Jade had a 30 percent chance of surviving five or more years. All of the things I had hoped and prayed for her, and things I didn’t even know I had hoped for her, came falling down around us, shattering as they hit rock bottom with me as we learned about her treatment plan and what it would do to Jade’s body. Not just throughout her treatment, but also what it could do long term.

How do we, as parents, face the thought of only another five years with our babies being a gift? Throughout Jade’s 14 month treatment, I discovered that some days were faced head-on. We walked into those days with strength and confidence that we were all, Jade included, going to make it through this. Some days I only made it through the day five minutes at a time. If I could just do the next five minutes with Jade, then I could think about the next five, but no further. Cancer is like this: one day you feel like it can be beat and the next you are wondering if the treatment is worse than the disease your child is fighting. The choices a “cancer parent” faces are horrible vs. horrendous.  It does something unexplainably cruel to a parent’s psyche to have to agree to put poison through your child’s veins and irradiate their body in the hopes that it will keep them alive. It is a new type of torture watching the child you swore to protect at all costs, in deep pain and suffering knowing you signed the papers that consented to the treatment that is putting them in such pain.  And yet, it is all done because you swore to love, protect and save them at all costs.  There were so many moments when I wanted so desperately to steal away the suffering Jade was experiencing.  I would have taken it, tenfold, if only I could relieve her of it.

I was challenged repeatedly to learn so many things as a cancer patient’s parent. I learned how intense the caregiver’s role is. I learned how to care for Jade’s central line which was used for chemotherapy, blood draws, IV antibiotics and anesthesia. I learned how to care for and change the dressing, which must be kept sterile, that covered the central line entrance area on her chest. I learned how to manage feedings through her ng tube and how to replace her ng tube, which is a temporary feeding tube that Jade had for well over a year because she felt too sick to eat for much of the time. I often felt as if eating became foreign and uninteresting to her. Sometimes it seemed as if I was halfway towards earning my own nursing degree by the time Jade was through treatment.

I understood so much necessary medical terminology during Jade’s treatment, but discovered this was some of the least valuable information that I gained from being her primary caregiver. I learned of the vast wealth of power and strength the human body and soul have to experience pain and suffering, yet persevere through it. I was given a chance to see into my daughter’s emerging personality and glimpse the fighting spirit within her that said, “I will not die.” One amazing quality that Jade’s doctors and nurses would point out, was her determination to smile and enjoy at least five minutes of each day. There were very few days during Jade’s time at the hospital, when she would be in the thick of treatment and at her lowest, that she would not get out of bed to color, explore or play for at least a short while. I believe this spark within Jade is what kept her moving forward and kept her alive.

I also experienced tremendous personal growth. Facing this devastation made me look at God, full on, and decide where I chose to stand with Him. My choice was to never ask why; where could that possibly get me? My choice was not to be angry and blame God. I chose to dig deep, to discover what could it possibly mean to have joy despite being in your lowest state. My husband and I, together with our family, friends and community that rallied around us, prayed for healing; immediate and miraculous healing. We pleaded with God to give Jade longevity of life, strength and perseverance. Along the way though I discovered that for me, the miracle wasn’t that Jade was instantly healed, it was that I allowed God to miraculously change my heart in the most difficult time I have ever faced. I allowed Him to take something ugly and turn it into beautiful.

This beauty was fully putting all my faith & trust in the ultimate giver of love, God. It was experiencing and living out joy in the midst of adversity and pain. It was community rallying around our family as we were weak and hurting.  There were many days I felt lonely and isolated but I can see now how agape love was demonstrated as people continually showed up to stand with us through the entire war. This is the power of presence. There is nothing that contends with the power of someone just being there for another in the midst of suffering. Adversity will come, but when we invite God and others into our pain, it is then that true love is expressed and experienced.

 

In honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, we would like to highlight the following organizations that Nicole Marr supports:

 

Nicole Marr lives in northwest Montana with her husband and three children. She works as a hair stylist by day and amateur blogger by night. You can find her sharing about life with honesty and authenticity at neongreylife.

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The Exact Moment of Motherhood
September 6, 2017 In Childhood Pregnancy & Birth No Comment

For the month of September, Kindred Mom is kicking off our New Mom Series with a focus on Pregnancy.  We are also covering the following topics: Routines & Habits for Success, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast resumes this month after a break in August. Subscribe in your favorite podcast app to stay up to date with new episodes as they release.

Photo by Martin Pedersen on Unsplash

“There’s a pink line!” I called out through the closed bathroom door.  “One or two!?” my friend Katie shouted.  “Two.”  Dazed, I went to the door and opened it, feeling numb.  This was surreal….bizarre.

I fought through the haze of exhaustion in my mind, trying to remember the past few months.

When had I even seen my husband? 

I had limped, then crawled, to finish the spring semester, straining under the weight of a load and a half of courses while working.  I had pulled all-nighters and periodically spent my last dime on espresso.

I could barely take care of myself.  How could I be having a baby?

Now it was summer.  I wanted to lose the weight that had been piling on and attaching itself to my usually-slender frame.  I wanted to relax with friends and lie by the pool and be carefree and nonchalant again and get my life back.

I did not want to be pregnant.

It wasn’t just that I didn’t want to be pregnant then.  I wasn’t sure that I wanted to be pregnant ever.  My husband, Dave, and I hadn’t ever really talked about it.  We had been having too much fun and were too preoccupied with trying to figure out how to be grownups.

At home the next night, I unceremoniously presented him with a gift bag.  He pulled out the tissue paper to find the pregnancy test.  I don’t remember what he said, only that he held me close for the next two and a half hours in our tiny dark living room as I heaved with sobs that came from the depths of my soul.

As the baby in my family, I had not grown up around babies.  I wasn’t a teenager who liked to babysit.  It was a world that I knew nothing about.  I only had one friend who had become pregnant so far, and she lived states away. In those early months, seeing my enlarging abdomen and feeling those first flutters of life, I felt that an alien life form was taking over my body.  I had not invited it in.  Where had it come from? I watched in horror as my body swelled and ballooned out of control.  I had to turn away when I woke up one morning and saw that stretch marks had violently marred my belly, leaving me looking as if I had been clawed by a wild beast.  No more bikinis.  I was only 23.

I hadn’t had much time to wear them at all, I thought.

The delivery was scary.  My first major surgery was a C-section.  The first few days at home were awkward and uncomfortable.  Yet slowly I learned to sift through the myriad of advice that was constantly coming at us. I learned to shut out all of the voices clamoring for my attention and to choose what worked for us.  I made terrible mistakes, but I learned to pick myself up and keep trying.  I learned that my baby had a reason for every cry, and I learned what each one meant.

I don’t know the exact moment when I truly became a mother.  Maybe it was one of those times toward the end of my pregnancy when I felt the baby move and shock and dread were replaced momentarily by a flicker of hope, a glimmer of joy, and a surge of expectancy.

Maybe it was when I sat in the wheelchair, looking out through the big glass sliding door of the hospital on that glorious sunny day with little bits of snow flying about, watching my husband trying to wrestle the car seat into the back of his sports car so we could drive the baby home.  (I remember thinking, “He doesn’t have a clue what he’s doing and neither do I, but my God, I would follow that man anywhere.”)

Maybe it was on the walks, the miles and hours of walks up and down the sun-dappled, tree-lined streets, when I would look down at the stroller and see the clouds reflected in her eyes. Or one of the cozy summer mornings at home, snuggling her close in a blanket once life had really slowed down.

Perhaps it was even years later, when my husband again held me while I sobbed in his arms for hours on our same white couch in our same tiny darkened living room—although this time I was sobbing after putting her to bed and kissing her goodnight on the top of her sweet head. This time I sobbed while asking myself, how could I ever have not wanted her?

I have cried a lot over the years, in some seasons more than others. Now she is twelve and all summer I have cried a lot.  I let my husband sleep, and late at night I curl up into a ball on top of the closed toilet lid under the harsh fluorescent bathroom light and I cry. It’s a ragged cry that fights its way up from someplace deep inside. At the beginning of the summer I snapped a photo of her one evening at the park.  She is stretched out face down on a wooden step next to the water, gazing into its depths while the last rays of sunlight play across the top of the river and pick up the blonde highlights in her hair. That night after she went to bed, I clutched that photo to my chest and sobbed.  I did the math.  She is twelve. Six more years of having her in my house.  Too fast. It goes too fast. The realization rips at my soul.

Twelve is such a tender age.  She loves animals.  Last week we drove up the mountain to the animal shelter to visit and walk the dogs.  As the car wound around the roads that were sprinkled with sunlight (it always seems to me that it is sunny when she is nearby), she shared with me about something that had happened recently.  She was at a sleepover when her friend started gushing about the big birthday party, the party of the summer, and how much fun it had been.  The friend said, “You were there, right?” and my daughter had to explain that she hadn’t been, that she wasn’t invited.  “Mom, how could she not even know that I wasn’t there?” she asked.  I said something soothing and the conversation moved on.  But that night found me once again huddled on top of the toilet hunched over sobbing.  In all of my awkward growing up years, I don’t think I ever cried over not being invited to a party.  But I cry for her.  For all of the hurt that I can’t heal for her, and for how hard and confusing and messy this life really is.

I look back on the naïve, immature 23-year-old girl that I was once.  I think that girl somehow knew how motherhood would stretch her heart and cause it to swell and heave and to scar beautifully again and again.  Maybe that is why I thought then that I never wanted to be a mother.  Maybe that’s how I know that I already was one.  

Helen Gentry writes and blogs from her mountain home in North Carolina where she lives with her daughter, husband and two rescue dogs. Passionate about helping women to reach their full potential, Helen is currently a full-time graduate student studying to become a counselor and a coach.  When she is not writing, doing homework or parenting, she can be found dabbling in trail running, hiking, photography, and farm-to-table cooking.  She drops everything for a mountain sunset or a good cup of coffee.

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A Flourishing Life (Pediatric Cancer Awareness)
September 4, 2017 In Childhood Tender Topics 1 Comment

For the month of September, Kindred Mom is kicking off our New Mom Series with a focus on Pregnancy.  We are also covering the following topics: Routines & Habits for Success, Childhood Cancer Awareness Month as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast resumes this month after a break in August. Subscribe in your favorite podcast app to stay up to date with new episodes as they release.

 

In the line that meandered through the displays of deep velvets and the sparkle of sequins sown to necklines, through tables piled with holiday décor now a little less festive with Christmas past, I stood, hands full.  Turning the items this way and that, considering, shifting my weight from one foot to another, wondering if I really needed this cheery garland now half off, or the ornament and the sweater meant to be paired with a party dress.  But such great deals, hard to resist.

At some point I looked up, my eyes swept the scene before me and the frenzy of the after-Christmas sale seemed to hush.  Had I not been here before?  Had I not been here hundreds of times before?  My favorite store, compelling not just for what one could purchase, but also for the experience of it, just the sheer delight of walking into its beautiful midst.  Colors and textures, patterns and light all satiating just a bit of my hunger for beauty.  Somehow the unspoken draw that this place could help me set the world a little right, enable me to carve out a space restful and fair.

My heart startled, a gag constricting my throat, an unconscious shake of the head, trying to clear the bafflement, the tilting sense of disorientation.  The contrast suddenly slicing, a rogue waving knocking me off axis.  How?  How can these two worlds lay side by side?  No more than a mile up the road dwells a place I had known about for years, but never before known. The Children’s Hospital sat on a hill on the way to my friend’s house, on the way to a lovely park along the lake, to a plant nursery I liked to peruse.  It was a landmark I passed by, never a destination.

With mechanical motion I had responded to the doctor’s instructions: go to the Emergency Room at the Children’s Hospital, park in Lot 4, she needs a transfusion immediately.  We met there, we four, my husband and two little girls, quiet, tears brimming when my eyes met his, not knowing what dark thread had just pierced our lives.  “Does she have access?” the nurse asked.  “What?” my mind fumbled trying to make sense of her question.  Seeing my confused look she blurted, “Does she have cancer?” “What? NO!” I exclaimed, simultaneously thinking it an absurd idea and sinking terror cutting into my heart, wondering if such a thing could possibly be true.

Now the sight of bald heads and feeding tubes taped to cheeks, commonplace, though still jarring.  One evening in the hospital I rounded the corner, horror sweeping me, heat up the back of my neck, a mom and dad, one pushing the stroller, the other the IV pole with the bag holding some garish red fluid, bright yellow of the Hazardous Drug sticker draped across.  My eyes followed the line from IV pole down to a wee baby.

“What is this place?” I wanted to scream.  Every instinct in me demanded I run, flee, be rid of this terror, get away, get out, don’t look back.  What parent purposefully allows poison to seep into the veins of their child, allows the perfect soft flesh of their child’s chest to be punctured with a port, with a double-lumen Hickman catheter, with access?  We were told that a beast we could not perceive with our eyes was threatening to eat away the lives of our children.  So time after time we signed consent, we nodded our heads and said yes to horrors our child must bear, while we could only look on, desperate for some means of transaction that would allow us to take away this burden and heap it upon ourselves.

It would merely be the first of many holidays spent locked away behind those doors.   The whole earth ebbing and flowing, moving through one season into another, anticipation and preparation for countless occasions, birthday parties and Thanksgiving turkeys, spring break and family camping trips.  And we, in an eddy, an endless cycle of blood draws and labs, rounds of chemo and scans, languishing while all the world continues on unblinking, we the unseen.

But my heart can never un-see what it has witnessed.  I will never look at the windows of that building the same.  Just mere glass reflecting sunlight, glowing with the coming of night, behind which are lives engaged in incomprehensible battles, hopes strained so taut, wailing for a child gone still.

I still love to go to Anthropologie to run my hands along the rich texture of a beautiful sweater and take in the sight of a new arrangement of glasses in colorful array.  But it is bittersweet.  The barb drags sharp across my tender scarred flesh, a wan smile on my lips remembering how she loved to methodically smell each lotion and perfume, blue eyes glancing up at me bright with the questioning, could she try just this one?

The entirety of her life only spanned six years.  From the first moment I heard the word “leukemia,” linked with my 21-month old girl, I could sense the possibility of death ever standing in the periphery, its shadow ever threatening.  I remembered the words of a mother whose son had autism; she had to learn to dream different dreams for her child.  From her first two-year-old tantrum there in the hallway of the Oncology Unit, as she stood stalwart, cheeks flushed, determined not to put away the little bike she had just been riding, I knew I had a choice.  This was not the life I would have ever chosen for my child, but this was the life she had been handed and we were going to do everything we could to make it a life of flourishing, a life expectant.

I chose to treat her as a child with a future, to hold the line and set limits when it was so tempting to relent, to give into her demands, feeling sorry for this little bald headed girl with the lines looping out her shirt up to the IV pole.  I crafted a schedule right smack in the middle of that strange hospital life.  She dressed in happy bright outfits rather than succumbing to endless pajamas; a declaration that she would not be defined by sickness.  We danced to music and painted glitter on nails, she wore tutus and crowns, little plastic vampire teeth and a sparkling cape or butterfly wings as she sped through the halls on her bike, I careening along in tow, desperate to keep the IV pole upright.

Though her life was cut brutally short, hers was a life brimming with joy and giddy delight.  She learned to do the hard things: the pierce of another needle puncturing her skin, countless icky medicines throughout the day, to lie ever so still as her body passed through the CT machine.  She was a girl who loved to laugh, made fast friends with all the staff, would color anything a hundred colors of the rainbow.  In her last days, as she was home on hospice, she named herself “Sapphire Rainbow Sparkle Jewel.”  I can think of no better name to perfectly sum her up.  By God’s profound grace, my sweet girl’s life was not marked primarily by suffering, rather, by a flourishing within it.

 

In honor of Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, we would like to highlight the following organizations that Jai Anderson supports:

 

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Jai Anderson is the mother of two girls and is recently divorced following the death of her younger daughter to cancer in 2016.  She is banking on God’s promise of the redemption of all her sorrows and harkening God’s call to be expectant, to be on the lookout for the abundance He will bring.  It is her joy as a social worker to support families in parenting and individuals through counseling in a small town in Montana. She blogs at www.ConglomerationofJoy.com

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The Power of Imagination
August 17, 2017 In Childhood Creativity No Comment

For the month of August, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: The Wonder of Childhood, Mom-On-The-Go as well as some of our Core Themes. 

The Kindred Mom podcast is currently on a brief hiatus for the rest of August, but we welcome you to check out any episodes you may have missed this summer. 

(Photo by Lina Angelov on Unsplash)

I thunder among the stars galloping at a breakneck pace astride my noble steed, a stunning pegasus-unicorn hybrid. She is the most breathtaking creature: crowned with a glittering horn, a face and body the color of a twilight sunset, and gigantic wings that push through the air with hurricane force. A jeweled tiara adorns my head, catching sunbeams and scattering light in a million directions. I leave beauty, courage, and truth effervescent in my wake with the white satin cape that flows weightlessly behind me. Golden sword drawn to fight for those who cannot muster their own strength. I am altogether graceful and fierce–menacing in the eyes of those who perpetrate evil.  

All of this occurred in my mind’s eye as a seven-year-old brown-haired girl. In hi-top tennis shoes, a green sweater and faded blue jeans, I ran wildly around the playground, flapping my arms, yelling for evildoers to look out. I was a timid and cautious child throughout my early years; shy when put on the spot, but as I imagined myself to be a fierce and courageous warrior, I began to see I possessed those heroic qualities within me.

I put these new found traits to work as the hero figure of my imagination became reality on the playground one spring day that same year.

A couple of kids in my class began to tease my new friend. She was a sweet, quiet girl with a crooked smile, new to our school and shy. In some ways, she was just like me, except she had very noticeable hearing aids, which became the subject of her torment.  I was the only friend she had at the beginning of the year. I could see past the hearing aids and noticed the fun-loving girl wearing them. The other kids taunted her about not being able to hear, calling her hearing aids ugly. Unwilling to tolerate the ridicule, I stood up. Just average me, no crown, sword or intimidating mythical beast by my side. I looked them squarely in the eyes.

“Leave her alone.”

Bold, remarkable courage flooded me as I continued to stare at them down, unflinching as if to say, take your best shot, I’m not going anywhere. It didn’t take them long to get the message and leave us alone.

Trying “fierce” and “courageous” on for size in my imagination led me to stick up for my deaf friend, and I overcame the fear that those mean kids would turn their taunting loose on me for doing so.

For someone looking in from the outside, children appear silly as they pantomime the vivid stories playing in their mind. However, what is happening in the brain of an imaginative child is far from silly. It is a drawing board used to develop their inner voice which affects the way they approach the world.

Through pretending to be different characters, children try on stories, where they get to play the hero, the villain, the damsel, or the horse (with or without wings). They experiment with the attributes of those roles, all the while deciding what aspects of the story resonate with them. Children excavate their ideas, discover new and exciting parts of themselves. They learn what they like, and what makes them tick. They stack towers of possibilities, knocking them to the ground, and building them up again in new ways. Over and over. They become something different or better for a brief time that may inform their reality from that point forward.

Childhood is a garden, a verdant time of life that offers freedom to innocently explore the deepest parts of the soul without regard for who is watching or what they think. I like to think of childhood as the richest soil, lush and teeming with possibility. Imagination is the seed of an idea, a treasure box waiting to be unlocked. The act of play is sunlight and rain, causing that seed to burst forth from the soil to become a vibrant plant. Enough of those ideas planted, watered, and tended grow into an abundant garden of personal truth. The creativity cultivated during childhood continues to grow and serve a person well into their adulthood.

The lessons gleaned along the way are the sort that last a lifetime. Power, artistry, and belief reside in a child’s imagination. Like a master sculptor with a chisel in hand, improvised creativity is stunning to behold.

  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.


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Parenting In Public
August 7, 2017 In Childhood Home & Family 1 Comment

For the month of August, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: The Wonder of Childhood, Mom-On-The-Go as well as some of our Core Themes. Please note, the deadline for essay submissions on September topics is coming up this week: August 10th! If you’re interested in contributing a piece, please visit the Write for Us page for all the details, guidelines, and topics.

(Photo by Thiago Cerqueira on Unsplash)

I remember the first time I caught myself doing it.

My firstborn was a toddler, barely a year. I was at the post office with her near Christmas, waiting in the holiday lines to send a package. I don’t remember what she did exactly, but it required correction. I squatted down on her level, acutely aware of anyone in my peripheral vision who might be discreetly watching me parent, and explained what I needed her to do and why, just a *little* too loudly, in terms far above a 13-month-old’s grasp.

That was the beginning of justifying my parenting in public.

Raising kids brings up ALL my insecurities and magnifies them, so when I’m out around other people, I’m naturally very conscious of what my kids are doing, how I’m responding, and how I might be coming across to people within earshot.

Misbehavior is always the worst, obviously. Online parent-shaming is sort of a national hobby. I’ve read posts with titles like “How to Discipline Positively,” “How NOT to Discipline your Child,” and (my favorite) “Seven Reasons It’s Your Fault Your Kid is a Brat.” Everyone has an opinion and has read dozens of blog posts to support it as the best and only way to go. When my child misbehaves, the consensus seems to be it’s my fault: if I were more effective, she wouldn’t be acting out. Maybe she needs more discipline. Maybe she needs more love. Maybe I should cut out dairy and gluten. Whatever it is, her naughtiness is a problem rooted in my lousy mothering. So I’m already in the hole, at least a little. But NOW I have to respond to it, and that’s where my specific mothering style feels especially scrutinized.

So I do things as I should. Calm. Kind. Compassionate. All explained about 20% louder than necessary with about three times as many words as my kids need, just in case someone nearby doesn’t understand I’M MAKING THE RIGHT DECISION HERE, AND THIS IS WHY.

Fast forward 5 1/2 years. I’m running around with a total of four now. When we leave the house for any reason, I count myself lucky if I’m correcting *only* one kid at any given moment. Here’s what I’ve learned about disciplining in public:

Ready?

Nobody cares.

Just kidding; that’s a lie. My kids totally care. They would love for me to parent differently in public. Today at Sam’s Club, that same first born (now 6 1/2 and apparently the self-appointed spokeswoman) told me, “How about this… We’ll start obeying ONLY IF you get us ice cream.” Um… no.

But the cashier? The person in line behind me? The lady browsing the shelf over there? They don’t care. Or if they do, they don’t get a say. I’m busy raising four little people WHILE SHOPPING, so imagining judgment from the people around me and responding to said perceived judgment is a poor use of my mental resources.

Here’s the bottom line: some people—not all, or even many, but some—judge parents they don’t know. There’s not much I can do about that, but I don’t have to let them be the boss of me. I don’t need to appease Ms. Judgypants by guessing how she might want me to parent in this moment, then doing it while explaining; my responsibility is to my family and to God. She can gasp or roll her eyes or clutch her pearls. Shoot, she can even tell me about it (my stock response to random parenting tips is “Okay, thanks” and carry on) but she doesn’t get a say.

My kids need me to be consistent, but the shoppers in the produce department don’t really *need* anything from me. I’m still doing my best to be kind, consistent, and compassionate in discipline, not to appease strangers, but because that’s how kids learn to be people. My desire to have my parenting understood and approved by every bystander was…insane. Also, counterproductive. The littles can tell when I’m putting on a show (the too-loud voice and the deluge of words are a dead giveaway) and they don’t take me seriously. I’m learning to parent as I normally want to, possibly *quieter* rather than louder, and ignore the others. This makes them more receptive and focuses me on my actual job rather than my insecurities.

It’s still lame when my kids misbehave in public (duh), but letting go of the pressure I imagine from strangers makes it much simpler.

 Robin Chapman is a full-time imperfect Jesus lover, wife, and mama to four babies six and down. When she isn’t buried in children or hiding from them, she enjoys reading, photography, and sharing stories on her blog, where she’d love to connect with you! You can also find her on Facebook or Instagram… or perhaps hiding in her bathroom with some coffee. 

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Spellbinding Summer: Savoring Childhood
August 2, 2017 In Childhood Home & Family 1 Comment

For the month of August, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: The Wonder of Childhood and Mom-On-The-Go, 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 join in the conversations we have over on the private Kindred Mom Facebook Group.

 

He staples together pieces of maple leaves, dotting eyes and nose with black marker, and proudly hands me his creation: a fox head made of leaves. Another child is making a collection of mini robot-droids with Legos, while my daughter waters the thirsty flower pots on the back patio. The oldest is drawing cartoons. I’m sipping iced coffee with books and a chatty 5T-wearing three-year old in my lap, willing time to stop. Maybe later we will escape the heat at our local pool, or hang out at Grandma’s house with cousins. A few weeks ago we went on an ocean vacation with my side of the family. Big planned events are always memorable, but for me, it’s the simple moments of unremarkable days that make up the essence of summertime. Certainly, there are endless sibling squabbles to referee, extra messes to clean, and dirty feet marks all over floors, no matter how recently mopped, but summer affords us the opportunity to slow down. Summer puts the brakes on our frantic coming and going, and illuminates the scenery that’s been whizzing past us throughout the school year.

As a homeschool mom, fall is looming, and at least part of my summer is consumed with school preparations. Against my natural tendency, I force myself to hold down the pause button just a little longer. Whether it’s an extravagant vacation or a simple backyard sprinkler, in all your happy doings, remember to savor.

Treasure.

This time with your children? It’s magic. Spellbinding for a short season only, and recalled only as clearly as the attention you give it in the present.

Every mom is different, but for me, appreciating this brief juncture looks like intentionally choosing to not fill up every day with activity. Boredom spawns the most brilliant creativity in children, and it’s exciting to see the personalities of my children emerge when they aren’t told exactly what they should be doing next. Sometimes I think we moms place unnecessary responsibility on ourselves to create all kinds of magical experiences for our kids to have the “perfect” childhood. The irony is that childhood is most magical with very little intervention. I’ve discovered that it doesn’t take an amusement park to amuse my kids. They need me to leave room in their lives. It is as simple as giving them a little time and space, and once they get past the craving for instant pleasure via cheap entertainment, they aren’t be bored for long! The unique bent of each child becomes more visible through our languid summer afternoons.

Summer for us also means lots of time outdoors. Stocking up on Vitamin D while actively playing with neighbor kids, throwing balls or pumping on swings – these are nature’s medicine, feeding both body and soul. In the first summer days, I’ve been known to set a timer after lunch and not allow them inside for two solid hours. Now, I rarely have to encourage outdoor time. They are out the door right after breakfast, ready for exploration and adventure in their own backyard.

Last week, the kids caught a tadpole in a local pond and we learned together how to create a temporary habitat so they could track and photograph its transformation into frog-hood. Each morning they run outside, anticipating the day his tail will be gone and ready to release back to his natural environment.

I’m not watching the frog. I’m watching their fascination, their avid minds, their bonding together over this shared experience, and treasuring this summer of childhood, anticipating the day they too will be fully grown and ready to release into the wild world.

Song Harri is a happy wife, mom and homemaker in the small town of Walla Walla, Washington. While she keeps very busy raising and teaching five children at home, she pursues a life of simplicity, laughter and loving Jesus.

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Family Fun Night
July 14, 2017 In Childhood Home & Family 1 Comment

For the month of July, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Family Culture & Connection, Simplicity, and Infertility/Secondary Infertility 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!

 

“What day is it Mummy?” my almost four-year old asks, while she rubs her still sleepy eyes and then stretches to her full height in her jammies.

“It’s Friday,” I state quietly, one eyebrow raised waiting for the reaction I know is coming.

“Yay!” She shouts and leaps up. The excitement builds as she rehearses with me what Friday means to her and to our family.

“Are we gonna have chicken and french fries?” She locks eyes, earnestly awaiting my answer.

“Yes we are! We always do,” I reply as I reach for her clothes.

In her excitement, she dances around and I can’t dress her until her inner wiggle-worm settles down.

The back and forth continues: 

“Are we gonna watch a movie?!”

“Yep!”

“And have dessert?!”

“Yep!”  

She settles into my lap, wrapping her arms around me, “It’s family fun night,” She says with glee.

“That’s right, it’s family fun night,” I reply with a bit of my own glee.  

What it means to be a family is always changing, because we are a group of people with ever-evolving needs, morphing alongside one another. We are still new at this whole thing. Two little kids in two years—after only a few years of marriage—means the dust is still settling on our newly minted family unit. Though, in some ways it feels like we have all been a part of each other forever, we’re still establishing our identity together.

At some point in the last year or so, we have come to understand that we get to decide who we are and why it matters. Day to day, my husband and I can easily get distracted by everything that is outside of us. These outside influences are trying to shape our family and use up our resources. Some things we love and gladly give ourselves to. Somewhere along the journey, we began to realize that we need to pull back from all of that to realign our family, to unify us.

Enter: Family Fun Night. This was a tradition held sacred in my own family of origin, and it was easy for me to adopt the practice. We get one of our favorite take out dinners from an amazing Lebanese chicken shop and choose a favorite movie. There are sticky fingers and salty french fries, with the garlic dipping-sauce we all love. The kids sit at their little table, my son’s busy legs bumping against my daughter’s as they both settle in. My husband and I sit in the arm chairs behind the kids. They tune into the movie, and my husband and I get to tune into each other. We talk quietly behind the noise of the TV, reconnecting after a week of busy doing. We get back to being. Listening to him sharing his thoughts and his plans, debriefing with him about my daily rush with the kids. Our voices are often rushed and strained at first but, as we unburden ourselves, we slow down and find restoration together.  We are still learning how to do it, and some weeks are more cohesive and restorative than others. Like a rest stop on a long road trip, we stretch our legs, and deal with our needs, and shake off some of that tired feeling that relentless movement leaves us with. We pull off the highway each week to be together because we love being together, and sometimes we have to stop moving in order to remember that.

Sometimes when the plates are empty and the bellies are full, I sit with my first born baby on my lap, her warm little girl body pressing into me, her hands gripping mine. It’s easy to transport myself back to that first year when she made me a mother. Looking back, we have both grown so much. Sometimes my little boy will repeat a line from the movie that he finds funny, making all of us laugh at his adorable attempt to repeat it. He has grown too, and his imitations remind me he still is growing. This weekly ritual gives us time to look back and see all that God has done in growing all of us, and to celebrate that we are still going, still growing and still loving this good gift of family that He has given us.

Looking across the room on a Friday night my heart is full to bursting with the blessing of family and the gift of love.

Shannon Anderson lives with her husband, who is the love of her life, and their two kids, in Sydney Australia. They are currently at Bible College while they are preparing for full time cross-cultural ministry in a remote Aboriginal Community. But, in the meantime Shannon is hitting up as many amazing Sydney coffee shops as possible and is kid wrangling full time and writing in the margins of life with a young family. You can catch her on Instagram occasionally.

 

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Less is More: Capsule Wardrobes for Kids
July 12, 2017 In Childhood Home & Family No Comment

For the month of July, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Family Culture & Connection, Simplicity, and Infertility/Secondary Infertility 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 climb the stairs with my warm bundle of clothing heaping in the basket. I inhale the soft clean scent and think to myself: this is the only time laundry is so delightful—warm and fresh. At the top of the stairs, my moment of downy-fresh bliss is interrupted by twins fighting over a toy, and my baby squawking for a fresh diaper. The clock strikes “lunch time,” and in an instant, I’m waiting for my fairy godmother to float down, wand waving, to sort it all out…complete with a pretty new dress for me.

Record scratch, reality check.

There is no fairy godmother, there is only me—Regular Mother and I am being called to duty. I toss the beautiful fresh laundry in a heap on the couch. I’ll get to that later. Only I never do. Instead, the three other loads I later bring up from the basement get piled up on top and a 3 foot mountain of clothing forms atop my sofa. There is no rescue, and no reprieve.

Confrontations over toys is not the only thing that causes the laundry to pile up. I cannot find a place to put all of the clothes once they are clean and folded. Storage is a premium when there is no hall closet, no linen cabinet, and no coat closet. My three children share the same small room (twin 4yr olds, and a 1 year old), with a tiny closet and one modest dresser. Teetering stacks of clothing on top of the dresser or small closet shelves stress me out because it looks dumpy, unorganized and overflowing. I yearn for the peacefulness that comes with tidiness.  

I’ve had to be intentional about our space considerations, dusting off my mama-ingenuity skills and figure out how to pare down anything my family does not absolutely need. More importantly, I have learned that chasing peacefulness within my home is imperative to me.  How can I make it easier on myself and find freedom from oversized laundry piles?

It hit me like a ton of Pinterest worthy bricks…capsule wardrobes for my kids.


A capsule wardrobe is a compact-yet-carefully-curated batch of essential clothing pieces, in coordinating colors that mix and match and don’t go out of fashion easily.  

It sounded like a pretty great way to reduce the amount of laundry I had been doing each week, and like it might solve my storage problems, simplifying my laundry-life in one fell swoop. I was excited to find a possible solution, but I had doubts as well.

How is this going to work?
What if I pare down too far and there is nothing for the kids to wear?
What if we get bored with the same clothes everyday?

I decided I might try making my own capsule wardrobe first, and started by getting rid of anything that didn’t fit me or I didn’t like. Some things were easy to part with because they were already stashed in the back of the closet, and were rarely worn. Others were more challenging, like the dress from my days before children that I really liked but was now too tight through the hips.  The sentiment of those days were wrapped up in a garment that I used to love but now felt self-conscious wearing. I decided it had to go. All of the items that didn’t hit the mark for my current needs, shape, and style had to go.

The fewer items there were, the lighter I felt.  Through that process of paring down, I have found peace.  I love knowing that everything I have in my closet is something I enjoy wearing and suits me. My clothes no longer overwhelm the modest closet space I share with my husband which makes me feel light and a little bit carefree, and my closet is now stocked with exactly what I need.  I have been surprised at how few clothing items I actually need.

When I honestly look at our practice of changing clothes, I realize that everyone in the family wears different clothing items multiple times per week. We go days on end without washing jeans, which sounds crunchy but it does make them last longer, and lightens the laundry load.

Building on the success of my personal capsule wardrobe, I focused on taming the laundry fiasco in the kids’ room. I started sketching out a plan for each child, figuring out the minimum reasonable number of items I might need for each one.  The weather was getting warmer, we would be outside more often.  I envisioned activities that would occur in the cool mountains and also in the heat of an urban summer, which meant they would need both long pants and shorts–long sleeves and short. Goodwill bag in hand, I looked through every clothing item and out went everything that was too small, too tattered, or not useful. The cute down vests the boys wore when they were 1, would be too small for my daughter when this winter rolls around–into the bag.

A simple three drawer chest dresser now houses 99% of all of the children’s clothing, even though it used to be quite inadequate for the previous volume of laundry. Everything has a place and the children only have clothes in their drawer that are their size and appropriate for the season.

Creating capsule wardrobes for my children has brought with it the added bonus of setting my children up for autonomy in choosing their own clothes. I know that everything in the boys’ drawer fits them well and since the the clothing colors are mostly neutral each piece can easily match any other piece. They can pick out their own clothes and look put together all by themselves. Mom Win!

These family-wide capsule wardrobes have been a harbinger of peace for me. If you have been buried under a mountain of laundry, a capsule wardrobe could be helpful in simplifying operations for your family. In my experience with this whole clothing endeavor, less is definitely more.

Creating a Capsule Wardrobe for Children

 

If you are interested in creating a capsule wardrobe for your kids, here are some helpful tips and things to consider as you get started.

Evaluate the needs of the season.

I create two wardrobes for my kids per year: one for spring/summer, the other for fall/winter.  Here are a few questions I ask myself:

Will they need long sleeves, short or a mix of both?
Will they need long pants, shorts or a mix of both?
What activities do you plan to engage in as a family? Camping trips, beach trips, pools/splash pads, parks?

Consider how kids will grow throughout the season. I try to buy clothes at the beginning of the season that are intentionally big because I know they will grow into them as the season progresses.

Buy clothes that mix and match well. Blue jeans and khaki pants (short and long) go with all t-shirts for both boys and girls. I try to stay away from outfit sets because they usually only look good as a set and not mixed. Err on the side of neutrals or clothes/shoes with no recognizable characters slathered all over. Give your kid a timeless look that is fashionable no matter what.

Buy the best quality you can afford. I tend not to care so much about the brand name of my children’s clothing because they are going to Wear.This.Stuff.Out. I am okay with that, but when I consider that these clothes are meant to last them through an entire season or longer, I want to buy the best made clothing I can afford. At the end of the season…I assess the clothes. If they are in good repair and still fit, I hang onto them for the next season, next year or next sibling. If they are too small but still in good shape, I donate. If they look pretty worn or shabby I will toss them in the garbage or make rags out of them.

Consider laundry habits. How often do you wash laundry now in your household? Are you comfortable with this frequency or would you like to do less? Design your capsule wardrobes around how often you would like to be doing laundry. After creating a capsule wardrobe for my kids, I am able to do one load of kid-laundry per week, which may not be possible for all families, but has been a life-saver for me.   

Here is an example of the capsule wardrobes I made for my children for Spring/Summer 2017:

My sons each have:

Bottoms:
1 pair of dark wash jeans
1 pair of light wash jeans
1 pair of jean shorts
1 pair of cotton elastic band shorts
1 pair of swim trunks

Tops:
4 short sleeve t-shirts
2 heavy-weight long sleeved shirts
2 light-weight long sleeved shirts

Other Essentials:
3 sets of pajamas
8 pairs of underwear
8 pairs of socks (approximate…there is a collective sock bin)
1 zip-up hoodie

My 1 year old Daughter has:
Bottoms:
1 pair of jeans
1 pair of khaki pants
2 skirts
2 pairs of shorts
3 pairs of cotton pants

Tops:
1 long-sleeved onesie
9 short-sleeved onesies

Other Essentials:
4 pairs of pajamas
1 dress
4 zip-up hoodies
6 pairs of socks

Every family and every child is different. A capsule wardrobe will look quite different based on the age, gender, and activities of each child. My daughter is 1 and her wardrobe contains several more tops and bottoms than her brothers, that is because she soils her clothes faster than they do. Diaper blow-outs, messy table habits, etc. The bottom line is that a capsule wardrobe should reflect the unique needs of the person it is created for. There is not a prescribed “right way” to curate a capsule wardrobe, it is more a practice of being mindful of real clothing needs and eliminating anything that falls outside of that.

 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. 

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Remembering My Kids are Different
July 10, 2017 In Childhood Home & Family 1 Comment

For the month of July, Kindred Mom is covering the following topics: Family Culture & Connection, Simplicity, and Infertility/Secondary Infertility 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!

The other day, my daughter and I left her little sister at grandma’s house and drove to the dentist together. My nearly-five-year-old exclaimed from the backseat, “Mom! This is the best day! I love the dentist and I love spending quality time with you! We’re never in the car, just the two of us!”

I laughed, partly at the use of exclamation points and partly because my child incorporates words like “quality time” into our daily conversations.

A couple years ago, this same daughter and I were in the midst of the classic “threenager” drama. I remember sitting on our upstairs landing one day after yet another power struggle—in tears—wondering why on earth I had been chosen to be the mother of this strong, opinionated, passionate girl. I felt incompetent; like such a failure.

Suddenly, a book flashed through my mind. When we were first married, a friend lent us The Five Love Languages by Gary Chapman. I knew he had written one about children and that evening I picked up a copy. As I read about how our children respond to love and discipline, I saw how I could improve our family culture.

After reading the descriptors, it was clear that my daughter is a classic “physical touch” kid. When she’s frustrated or upset, she stamps her feet and throws toys. When she feels unsafe or tired, she snuggles in and needs to be held. When she’s content and wants to talk about her day, she does it sitting in my lap. When she snuggles, every single part of her body has to touch my body.

This is not at all how I’m programed. My love language is “quality time,” in which I don’t need the close proximity that my daughter loves. With this insight, I set about to rewrite our interactions. I looked for small, natural ways to incorporate her need for physical touch before she became desperate.

Of course, nothing is magical and we still experience our share of misunderstandings and power struggles, but when I can start our day with a snuggle and a book rather than rushing around, it sets the tone for a better morning. When we can spend a little time before the craziness of dinner together on the couch, the witching hour seems to diminish. When we’re out and about, I give her hand a squeeze or make sure we get some physical contact at the playground. 

These small moments and opportunities help. They remind me that we are all different. Even though physical touch can feel so draining to me, I have learned that a small gesture makes a huge different for my daughter’s wellbeing and sense of safety. 

It’s funny that, at nearly five years into this mothering journey, I’m still remembering that I’m raising individuals. These girls are not “mini-me’s.” Each is their own unique person with their own way of relating to the world. My job isn’t to make them more like me; it’s to learn how to nurture their personalities and outlooks. 

Our second daughter is nearly two-years-old and I’m starting to look for ways she thrives and feels loved. (Chapman advises that a dominant love language usually doesn’t appear until around the age of five.) Even though she’s still developing, she interacts so differently than her sister. When she wants snuggle time, it means laying on the couch next to her; when she reads, she doesn’t mind sitting near. She still loves lap-time, of course—what kid doesn’t?— but the way she asks and responds is completely different from her old sister. 

I’m starting to look more closely at these differences, wondering how I can best meet her needs. It’s easy to want to lump the two girls together—what worked for our oldest must work for our second. As any seasoned parent will tell you, that’s both silly and impractical. Because they are different people, I look for ways to parent their needs differently.

As they grow older, I hope they recognize this unique aspect of our family’s dynamic. What works for one shouldn’t work for the other. The way in which my husband and I parent will be different. We’re starting to use this language and these expectations in hopes that our daughters won’t view it as unfair parenting, but as best-practices parenting.

Right now, they don’t seem to notice the differences, but I do. When I remember this small shift in thinking, our days look so much different and our interactions are much sweeter. We work as a coherent group rather than as frustrated individuals, and that is ultimately my hope for our family—that we always remember to function as a supportive team, celebrating our own unique needs and ways of interacting.

How do you parent your kids differently? What have you learned most from those interactions?

 Annie Rim lives in Colorado where she plays with her two daughters, hikes with her husband, and reflects about life & faith on her blog. A world traveler, she has taught in the classroom, at an art museum, and now in the playroom.  You can connect with her on Twitter and Instagram.

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