Does anyone else completely freak out when they read a parenting book?
I pick it up and start to skim. This looks interesting. Wow, a lot of this sounds like what we're doing already. Wait a minute! I'm in the section of things that you're not supposed to do! Oh no! We're not nurturing enough...or maybe we're too nurturing and not spending enough time teaching him how to play pat-a-cake. Uh oh, he's not eating enough solids...or else he should be exclusively breastfed until he's two. If he doesn't get enough sleep his brain won't develop properly...but if we sleep train he'll grow up to be a sociopath ...aarghhh.
I happen to be a bit of a perfectionist, so my approach to parenting has been to research everything to death. There is truly a sea of advice on the internet and in parenting books, a lot of it contradictory. The problem is that every child is different, every parent is different and every situation is different. How can any parenting book have all the answers? How can any google search for "parenting tips"even scratch the surface of decision making that goes into parenting? There are thousands of great parenting ideas out there, and sometimes I get myself worked up thinking that we're failing miserably if we don't do them all.
When I skim through a parenting book and panic starts to set in I'm gradually realizing that I need to take a step back, a deep breath, and remind myself that we are not perfect. It's one of the great tragedies of parenthood that I can't be perfect for my sweet, innocent Isaac (short of sainthood, of course, which is a work in progress). As inevitable as it may be, it actually breaks my heart to think that our sinfulness will affect Isaac for the rest of his life. We are not perfect, our parenting is not going to be perfect. Sigh. We're just doing the best we can with the information that we have.
The solution, like so many others, lies in prayer. Prayer that, through grace, we'll raise a holy, happy little man, in spite of our faults. And prayer that through parenting we'll have the grace to grow ever closer to God and to sainthood.
Thursday, 22 November 2012
Friday, 9 November 2012
awesome strangers at Mass
This morning I took Isaac to Mass. I love going to daily Mass. Or perhaps, to be more honest, I love the idea of going to daily Mass. Participating in Holy Mass is nothing short of the greatest thing that we humble human beings can do. I believe this to be true. And yet...
By the time Isaac and I are bundled up for the walk--racing to get my coat on before he gets up too many stairs, pulling him off the stairs to his screams of protest, digging through piles of laundry to find his missing sock, deciding that no one will really notice if his socks don't match, trying to get his coat, hat, mitts, and boots on while he takes all the shoes off the shoe rack--I'm already tired. By the time I've struggled out the door with the stroller in one arm and Isaac in the other I feel like my arm is going to fall off (the one that's holding my 28 lb baby). Then there's the Mass itself.
Sometimes I see babies in church who are content to sit in their parent's arms and watch as the Mass proceeds. If they get restless they flip through one of those adorable baby bibles. If they get tired they rest their head on their parent's shoulder.
I confess that when I see those babies my thoughts are not always holy. Because Isaac has never been one of those babies. I don't want to imply that he's "bad" in church. He's usually very happy to be in a new place with lots of new things to look at and touch. What he is not happy about is having to stay still. So he doesn't. We can't let him roam free, but he's pretty much in constant motion in our arms. He leans forward for the hymnal, but it's not enough to just touch it. He has to stand in my lap so that he can touch it from a better angle. He then has to tell everyone in the church how happy he is to be standing on my knees (in his own language of course): "do da dee doe-DAH, doe-DAH." You get the idea.
This morning, by the Consecration, he was getting restless and I was getting tired of his squirmy-ness, so we went to the soundproofed children's room where he could have a little more freedom and I could (hopefully) concentrate a little more on prayer. I had forgotten that his favorite part of the children's room also happens to be the least soundproof: the door. He can reach the handle and pull on it making the door rattle and he loves to knock on the glass panel. There I was, trying to follow the Mass and at the same time wondering how much of Isaac's noise was audible outside and trying to figure out a way to stop him without making him upset, when a man approached the door.
I recognized him as the old gentleman with the cane who always comes to daily Mass and sits at the back. He had always seemed friendly but all I could think was, "Oh no! He's going to tell me that they can hear Isaac banging on the glass and that I should restrain my child."
I opened the door for him and smiled weakly. He said, "I just wanted to mention..."
Here it comes, I'm about to get an earful.
"I just wanted to mention that I think mothers are the most important people in the world. I really mean it."
"Thank you." I was so touched my eyes welled up a little. "The most important people in the world." What a humbling compliment. What beautiful recognition of the sacrifice, the hard work, the joy and heartache of being a mom.
At the end of Mass we were back in our pew and getting ready to go. Many of the people walking by stopped and said hi to Isaac. One lady commented, "I just love hearing little ones at Mass. It's not often you hear them at daily Mass." When I said that I always worry he's being too loud she protested, "Oh no, he was so so good." Once again I was touched.
You see, since we moved here and I started bringing Isaac to daily Mass when I've had the chance, I've been afraid of what people think of us there. It's not a young parish and daily Mass would be so peaceful and so quiet apart from Isaac's many noises. I'm always afraid of being disruptive and of being judged on how I "handle" my baby.
Lately I've been pretty slack on going to daily Mass. With all the winter gear to put on, it's a lot of effort to get there. And Isaac has been harder and harder to contain during Mass as he becomes more mobile. Sometimes by the end of Mass I'm frustrated and feel like I haven't really prayed at all. Some days it just doesn't seem worth it (which is a sad and horrible thing to say).
Today I really felt that these strangers were being Christ to me. With a gentle nudge Jesus was reminding me that it may be difficult but it IS worth it. Prayer is worth it. Being a mom is worth it. My wiggly one year old is a precious little person worth all the time and effort and LOVE that goes into feeding, clothing, cleaning, and entertaining him. It's worth all the lost mittens and last minute diaper changes it takes to make it to daily Mass when possible.
Thank you, strangers, for being awesome today!
By the time Isaac and I are bundled up for the walk--racing to get my coat on before he gets up too many stairs, pulling him off the stairs to his screams of protest, digging through piles of laundry to find his missing sock, deciding that no one will really notice if his socks don't match, trying to get his coat, hat, mitts, and boots on while he takes all the shoes off the shoe rack--I'm already tired. By the time I've struggled out the door with the stroller in one arm and Isaac in the other I feel like my arm is going to fall off (the one that's holding my 28 lb baby). Then there's the Mass itself.
Sometimes I see babies in church who are content to sit in their parent's arms and watch as the Mass proceeds. If they get restless they flip through one of those adorable baby bibles. If they get tired they rest their head on their parent's shoulder.
I confess that when I see those babies my thoughts are not always holy. Because Isaac has never been one of those babies. I don't want to imply that he's "bad" in church. He's usually very happy to be in a new place with lots of new things to look at and touch. What he is not happy about is having to stay still. So he doesn't. We can't let him roam free, but he's pretty much in constant motion in our arms. He leans forward for the hymnal, but it's not enough to just touch it. He has to stand in my lap so that he can touch it from a better angle. He then has to tell everyone in the church how happy he is to be standing on my knees (in his own language of course): "do da dee doe-DAH, doe-DAH." You get the idea.
This morning, by the Consecration, he was getting restless and I was getting tired of his squirmy-ness, so we went to the soundproofed children's room where he could have a little more freedom and I could (hopefully) concentrate a little more on prayer. I had forgotten that his favorite part of the children's room also happens to be the least soundproof: the door. He can reach the handle and pull on it making the door rattle and he loves to knock on the glass panel. There I was, trying to follow the Mass and at the same time wondering how much of Isaac's noise was audible outside and trying to figure out a way to stop him without making him upset, when a man approached the door.
I recognized him as the old gentleman with the cane who always comes to daily Mass and sits at the back. He had always seemed friendly but all I could think was, "Oh no! He's going to tell me that they can hear Isaac banging on the glass and that I should restrain my child."
I opened the door for him and smiled weakly. He said, "I just wanted to mention..."
Here it comes, I'm about to get an earful.
"I just wanted to mention that I think mothers are the most important people in the world. I really mean it."
"Thank you." I was so touched my eyes welled up a little. "The most important people in the world." What a humbling compliment. What beautiful recognition of the sacrifice, the hard work, the joy and heartache of being a mom.
At the end of Mass we were back in our pew and getting ready to go. Many of the people walking by stopped and said hi to Isaac. One lady commented, "I just love hearing little ones at Mass. It's not often you hear them at daily Mass." When I said that I always worry he's being too loud she protested, "Oh no, he was so so good." Once again I was touched.
You see, since we moved here and I started bringing Isaac to daily Mass when I've had the chance, I've been afraid of what people think of us there. It's not a young parish and daily Mass would be so peaceful and so quiet apart from Isaac's many noises. I'm always afraid of being disruptive and of being judged on how I "handle" my baby.
Lately I've been pretty slack on going to daily Mass. With all the winter gear to put on, it's a lot of effort to get there. And Isaac has been harder and harder to contain during Mass as he becomes more mobile. Sometimes by the end of Mass I'm frustrated and feel like I haven't really prayed at all. Some days it just doesn't seem worth it (which is a sad and horrible thing to say).
Today I really felt that these strangers were being Christ to me. With a gentle nudge Jesus was reminding me that it may be difficult but it IS worth it. Prayer is worth it. Being a mom is worth it. My wiggly one year old is a precious little person worth all the time and effort and LOVE that goes into feeding, clothing, cleaning, and entertaining him. It's worth all the lost mittens and last minute diaper changes it takes to make it to daily Mass when possible.
Thank you, strangers, for being awesome today!
Friday, 21 September 2012
these baby days...
It's true that mothers are always worried. I have discovered in the last year that I am no exception. And since Isaac has, for the most part, been healthy, happy and thriving I've had to invent things to worry about. For example: should he be eating more solids? Or maybe he's eating too much and not nursing enough? Is it normal for hair to take this long to grow in?
The big worry monkey on my back tends to be milestones. Shouldn't he be sitting, crawling, standing, talking by now? I am very sad and very ashamed to admit that I'm one of those mothers who thinks her baby should be some kind of prodigy. It's something that I struggle with. He IS my beautiful, amazing prodigy child no matter when he hits his milestones. I'm torn between loving him so much and savoring these fleeting baby days, and wanting him to achieve at the same pace or faster than other babies his age.
The next big milestones for him are walking and talking. He's coming up to a year old, the age I had in my mind as the time when he would start doing these things. And he is actually. As I read this to myself it sounds utterly ridiculous because he is pulling up and getting better and better at cruising along furniture, and he says Mama and Dada (somewhat randomly, but still) and tries to repeat sounds that you make for him. So he really is well on his way for an almost-one-year-old.
Sometimes I worry that I should be spending more time trying to teach him things. On the other hand, he will learn in his own time and I just want to enjoy these last days of babyhood. He is his own person with his own ideas of what he wants to do or not do, not my little puppet. Of course, I'll teach him things as we play, because that's what parents do, but I will not push him into things he's not ready for.
In conclusion, I'm silly and I need to stop worrying so much.
The big worry monkey on my back tends to be milestones. Shouldn't he be sitting, crawling, standing, talking by now? I am very sad and very ashamed to admit that I'm one of those mothers who thinks her baby should be some kind of prodigy. It's something that I struggle with. He IS my beautiful, amazing prodigy child no matter when he hits his milestones. I'm torn between loving him so much and savoring these fleeting baby days, and wanting him to achieve at the same pace or faster than other babies his age.
The next big milestones for him are walking and talking. He's coming up to a year old, the age I had in my mind as the time when he would start doing these things. And he is actually. As I read this to myself it sounds utterly ridiculous because he is pulling up and getting better and better at cruising along furniture, and he says Mama and Dada (somewhat randomly, but still) and tries to repeat sounds that you make for him. So he really is well on his way for an almost-one-year-old.
Sometimes I worry that I should be spending more time trying to teach him things. On the other hand, he will learn in his own time and I just want to enjoy these last days of babyhood. He is his own person with his own ideas of what he wants to do or not do, not my little puppet. Of course, I'll teach him things as we play, because that's what parents do, but I will not push him into things he's not ready for.
In conclusion, I'm silly and I need to stop worrying so much.
Sunday, 9 September 2012
boys
I love my boys. I love that I can say that. I love that I can watch Sean with Isaac and swoon over my incredible boys.
When I was pregnant I think I secretly wanted a boy. I'm not sure why. There's just something so fun about them. I like to be feminine but I'm not really into pink or sparkles or princesses. I know that many girls are with me on this, but my nieces currently have a major disney princess obsession, so that's what I've been exposed to lately. Of course, I would have loved a little girl too and there are so many more cute things that you can sew for a girl that I'm excited for when we someday (hopefully) have a girl.
My mother-in-law, who raised 6 boys and 2 girls says that girls are more particular and boys are more laid back. Boys can be more of handful because they tend to be more adventurous but they're also easier to please in a lot of ways. If this is true then it's definitely a good thing that we had Isaac. We are a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants kind of family right now. His adventures can be a challenge but he really is so easy going and flexible.
Anyway, I just had a swoon moment. We were trying to get Isaac settled down so we were playing with him on our bed. At this stage this means he'll look at a toy for thirty seconds, then lunge at one of us headfirst (in order to bite us...? Or give us kisses...?), use his head as leverage to get himself back up, repeat. Then Sean took Isaac to put him to bed and I just looked at them and thought--oh how I love my boys.
When I was pregnant I think I secretly wanted a boy. I'm not sure why. There's just something so fun about them. I like to be feminine but I'm not really into pink or sparkles or princesses. I know that many girls are with me on this, but my nieces currently have a major disney princess obsession, so that's what I've been exposed to lately. Of course, I would have loved a little girl too and there are so many more cute things that you can sew for a girl that I'm excited for when we someday (hopefully) have a girl.
My mother-in-law, who raised 6 boys and 2 girls says that girls are more particular and boys are more laid back. Boys can be more of handful because they tend to be more adventurous but they're also easier to please in a lot of ways. If this is true then it's definitely a good thing that we had Isaac. We are a fly-by-the-seat-of-our-pants kind of family right now. His adventures can be a challenge but he really is so easy going and flexible.
Anyway, I just had a swoon moment. We were trying to get Isaac settled down so we were playing with him on our bed. At this stage this means he'll look at a toy for thirty seconds, then lunge at one of us headfirst (in order to bite us...? Or give us kisses...?), use his head as leverage to get himself back up, repeat. Then Sean took Isaac to put him to bed and I just looked at them and thought--oh how I love my boys.
Friday, 7 September 2012
service
The other day I was reading from Luke's Gospel about the healing of Peter's mother-in-law. The part that has always struck me is that once she is healed "immediately she rose and served them" (Lk 4:39). I picture her getting up and starting to cook, or pouring them another glass of wine, or tidying up the room. This passage struck me especially today for some reason. We are all called to service, but I know that I'm particularly called to the same type of service that Peter's mother-in-law probably rendered that day. Being a stay-at-home-mom I'm called to love my family through cooking and cleaning (among other things, of course). I'm not very good at it. I find it difficult to do much while Isaac is awake because he always has to get into everything and while he naps I'd much rather sit down with a cup of tea and put my feet up than pull out the mop. Anyway, why am I writing this? Well, I suppose I'm reminding myself of the beauty of such service. Service, even in such small things, is good and noble work. It is work that is undervalued in our society.
I am part of a generation that was taught that being a "housewife" is not enough. It may have been good enough for our mothers but we're better than that. This attitude has been very damaging for many women, myself included. Don't get me wrong. I'm not an ultra-conservative traditionalist. Women have more options now and that's great. I just think that the traditional family structure, flawed though it may have been, was in place for a reason. Many women find great fulfillment in being full-time mothers. I mean, how many women really want to leave their kids to be raised by strangers eight hours a day? We want to be with our children, we want beautiful homes, yet we feel that if that's "all" we do we're selling ourselves short.
What a pack of lies. Looking after a home and children is a full-time job (hey, if I didn't do it I would have to pay someone to, right?). Heck, it's way more than a full-time job. It's give every ounce of yourself 24 hours a day 7 days a week. And then, when you've already done that, it's give some more because it's 3 am and the baby is teething.
Anyway, there have been many things written in defense of the whole wife/mother gig and that's not really what I intended this post to be about.
Awhile ago we were at a friend's wedding and one of the readings was about what it means to be a good wife. Ok, so the quotation that I can find is: "Like the sun rising in the heights of the Lord, so is the beauty of the good wife in her well-ordered home" (Sirach 26:16 RSV). But it must have been a different translation at the wedding because I remember it talking about the "radiance" of her home. I also remember being very humbled by that reading. When's the last time my home has been radiant? Probably never. Substitute "grimy" and "chaotic" for "radiant" and "well-ordered" and you've got a better idea of what kind of house we live in. I try not to be too hard on myself for this kind of thing. After all, in order for me to keep Isaac occupied while I clean I have to let him empty out the pots and pans cupboards. It's hard to tell that I've just been cleaning when there are pots and pans all over the floor. Also, sometimes I can get caught up in the details and forget the bigger picture: I think the greater point of this Scripture passage is that a wife should make her home a welcoming place. It should be a peaceful, loving environment that family members look forward to coming home to every evening. There's much more to that than order and cleanliness.
BUT, before I let myself off the hook completely--there is something to be said for order and cleanliness. In fact, there's a lot to be said. Keeping a clean home is part of my calling right now so it should be a form of prayer for me. If I tidy up after dinner out of love for my family with cheerful spirit of sacrifice I'm going a long way toward making my home radiant. So I guess I'm finally coming to the point of this rambling post: (with God's grace) I can do better. I can start each day with the resolution of making the most of it. I can patiently tidy up after my never ending whirlwind Isaac. I can make an extra effort and offer up those tasks that I find less than thrilling. And I can bend my creative energies toward making my home more beautiful. Lord, help me! I better print this out and tack it up somewhere that I'll see it everyday. Now, maybe I should go do some cleaning...
I am part of a generation that was taught that being a "housewife" is not enough. It may have been good enough for our mothers but we're better than that. This attitude has been very damaging for many women, myself included. Don't get me wrong. I'm not an ultra-conservative traditionalist. Women have more options now and that's great. I just think that the traditional family structure, flawed though it may have been, was in place for a reason. Many women find great fulfillment in being full-time mothers. I mean, how many women really want to leave their kids to be raised by strangers eight hours a day? We want to be with our children, we want beautiful homes, yet we feel that if that's "all" we do we're selling ourselves short.
What a pack of lies. Looking after a home and children is a full-time job (hey, if I didn't do it I would have to pay someone to, right?). Heck, it's way more than a full-time job. It's give every ounce of yourself 24 hours a day 7 days a week. And then, when you've already done that, it's give some more because it's 3 am and the baby is teething.
Anyway, there have been many things written in defense of the whole wife/mother gig and that's not really what I intended this post to be about.
Awhile ago we were at a friend's wedding and one of the readings was about what it means to be a good wife. Ok, so the quotation that I can find is: "Like the sun rising in the heights of the Lord, so is the beauty of the good wife in her well-ordered home" (Sirach 26:16 RSV). But it must have been a different translation at the wedding because I remember it talking about the "radiance" of her home. I also remember being very humbled by that reading. When's the last time my home has been radiant? Probably never. Substitute "grimy" and "chaotic" for "radiant" and "well-ordered" and you've got a better idea of what kind of house we live in. I try not to be too hard on myself for this kind of thing. After all, in order for me to keep Isaac occupied while I clean I have to let him empty out the pots and pans cupboards. It's hard to tell that I've just been cleaning when there are pots and pans all over the floor. Also, sometimes I can get caught up in the details and forget the bigger picture: I think the greater point of this Scripture passage is that a wife should make her home a welcoming place. It should be a peaceful, loving environment that family members look forward to coming home to every evening. There's much more to that than order and cleanliness.
BUT, before I let myself off the hook completely--there is something to be said for order and cleanliness. In fact, there's a lot to be said. Keeping a clean home is part of my calling right now so it should be a form of prayer for me. If I tidy up after dinner out of love for my family with cheerful spirit of sacrifice I'm going a long way toward making my home radiant. So I guess I'm finally coming to the point of this rambling post: (with God's grace) I can do better. I can start each day with the resolution of making the most of it. I can patiently tidy up after my never ending whirlwind Isaac. I can make an extra effort and offer up those tasks that I find less than thrilling. And I can bend my creative energies toward making my home more beautiful. Lord, help me! I better print this out and tack it up somewhere that I'll see it everyday. Now, maybe I should go do some cleaning...
Monday, 27 August 2012
what to do, what to do...
So I obviously haven't been keeping up very well with this blog. I want to revive it but I'm not sure which direction to take it. I could document some of my sewing projects, or our home renovations. And, of course, I could always write about life as a mother to my sweet little man. It would be nice to write down some family memories as they happen. The point of starting this was that it was something for me to enjoy: no expectations, no pressure. I also want it to be a way to glorify God, not a way to boost my own ego. Hmmm....we shall see.
Thursday, 14 June 2012
one of those days
Do you ever have one of those days where you just feel inadequate? I look at other moms and I think, "how do they do it?" They cloth diaper, they teach baby sign language, they start potty training from birth, all with a clean house and dinner on the table. Then I look at myself. I'm a lazy slob. We've lived here for over a month and I still haven't really cleaned the bathroom. Isaac doesn't know sign language, is not potty trained, and I totally couldn't hack cloth diapering. I rarely have dinner ready when Sean gets home and sometimes he ends up making it himself. Sometimes I'm grumpy. I don't always want to give myself fully as I vowed to do when I got married. I'd much rather stay contained in an independent, selfish, little pod. And Isaac, well, he is the joy of my life and I love him fiercely, BUT sometimes I'm impatient, irritable, etc. We let him cry because I couldn't handle being up several hours a night with him anymore. And sometimes, Lord forgive me, I feel the need to push him to be some kind of prodigy child who hits all his milestones early and is perfectly well-behaved, instead of just loving him for the wonderful little person that he is. I don't always like being a mom. Sometimes I'd rather retreat into the aforesaid pod to eat junk food and watch TV all day.
These are my confessions. A few of them anyway. I'm sure I've left out enough to fill a whole Victorian novel. But now that that's out there let me just pray that God will use me anyway. That my faults will allow me to rely solely on His grace. That I will have the humility to finally stop trying to do it on my own and instead surrender to His Divine Will.
Now, maybe I should get some housework done before Isaac wakes up.
"I know my call despite my faults and despite my growing fears" -Mumford and Sons
"God doesn't ask us to be successful, he only asks us to be faithful" -St. Teresa of Calcutta
These are my confessions. A few of them anyway. I'm sure I've left out enough to fill a whole Victorian novel. But now that that's out there let me just pray that God will use me anyway. That my faults will allow me to rely solely on His grace. That I will have the humility to finally stop trying to do it on my own and instead surrender to His Divine Will.
Now, maybe I should get some housework done before Isaac wakes up.
"I know my call despite my faults and despite my growing fears" -Mumford and Sons
"God doesn't ask us to be successful, he only asks us to be faithful" -St. Teresa of Calcutta
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