On Motherhood

One of my dear friends sent me a link to this blog post a few days ago.  You'll either love it or hate it.  I loved it.

A Letter To Young Mothers

Dear Young Mothers Everywhere—

I was one of you once and I know how hard it is.

Motherhood has to be the hardest job on the planet but I think it is getting harder. Not harder in the it-hurts-to-push-this-baby-out sort of way. Not harder in the must-lug-gallons-of-water-to-the-stove sort of way. Not harder in the pray-my-children-survive-the-polio-epidemic sort of way. No. In many ways, motherhood has gotten considerably easier. Medical advances and indoor plumbing and labor saving devices have done wonders for the daily life of the average mother. These advances have made life easier and given us free time and kept us from looking like worn out pieces of beef jerky by the time we are 40. But they have come with a cost and that cost is driving us crazy.

I had my first child in 1990. Back then I was faced with a few choices: Natural childbirth vs. intervention, breast vs. bottle, stay-at-home vs. work, and cloth vs. disposable. That was it. For me, the choices were easy. There were not categories and subcategories and sub-subcategories. There was no internet to tell you the pros and cons of each decision you made. You just did life. You just lived.

Even then, in these most basic of decisions, people could get defensive. It wasn't all fun and games. There were awkward moments. I held to my mothering principles with much more vigor than I should have. I failed to be as gracious to those who chose a different path . . . or had the path chosen for them. But looking back that seems rather mild compared to the coming storm.

Fast forward a few years and the Great Parenting Debates took over. For the first time I started to see parents treating each other with absolute scorn. No longer were women just a little defensive over their choices. What came next was out and out war.

Parenting programs took over churches. Cultural cliques were formed overnight. Parenthood, and motherhood by extension, became a matter of "doing it right." Schedules and disciplines and programs ruled the day and your success was judged by the behavior of your children. Those who succeeded at the program gloated in their success and gave out exhausting and exalted advice, all with an air of superiority and self-righteousness. Those who just couldn't get with the program were left feeling like desperate failures as parents.

By 1996 I had 4 kids who were as poor at following programs as I was at implementing them. Our life was just . .  well . . . chaos. But it was fun chaos, most of the time. I do remember on more than one occasion being totally overwhelmed and wanting to run off to Montana . . . ALONE, and even once when I actually wished I were deaf, but looking back, I do not have one single regret that I failed to get with the program.

Fast forward to today. I have lots and lots of friends on Facebook who are young moms or young moms-to-be. The choices they have before them are astronomical. The websites, the mommy blogs, Pinterest (oh EVIL Pinterest). The stakes are high. The expectations are huge. The consequences of every little decision are supposedly so dire. At least that is what they say.

Somewhere along the way we began to believe a lie. And it is a LIE FROM THE PIT OF HELL. The lie that there is one right way to be a mother. The lie that we must make every RIGHT decision or the consequences will be catastrophic. The lie that we can control our children's lives. The lie that being a failure as a mother is a fate worse than death.

Run, I say, RUN to pick up your Bible. Turn to Micah 6:8 and read aloud what it says. "He has showed you, O man, what is good. And what does The Lord require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God."

No mention of childbirth techniques or clever birth announcements. No mention of diapers, cloth or not. No mention of schedules. No mention of highchair manners. No mention of education. No mention of medical advances or food sources. No mention of anything specific at all.

God does not require of you to be a perfect mother. The minute you begin to gloat over your successes or wallow in your failures you are using the wrong measuring stick.

So if you want to put your baby in all organic diapers and grow and make your own baby food, go right ahead. If you just gave your toddler a can of cold Spaghetti-os for lunch, no problem, you are in good company (even if no one else admits it). If you can homeschool with delight and your kids thrive in the environment, good for you. If you feel that a professional teacher may be a better choice for your child, you may be right. If you are concerned about vaccines and decide to withhold them, fine. If you are concerned about communicable diseases and feel that having immunizations are in the best interest of your children, go for it.

We are limited and finite and can only do so much. God created us with different strengths and weaknesses, gives us different resources, places us in different circumstances. This one-size-fits-all-robot-Stepford-mom stuff is robbing us of our joy and pulling us away from what we were created to do: To do justice, love mercy and walk humbly with our God.

With sympathetic love-

A Worn Out Mom and Kindred Spirit

How Do You Know?

Why the sudden return to blogging?  I have no idea.  Maybe it's because I now spend vast amounts of brain power writing about cancer, which we all know is utterly fulfilling.  I think I just need a place to throw out all the other thoughts that keep me up at night, however unappealing they may be (see last weeks post on a song that was sung at the Academy Awards.  My mom was way proud of me for that one).  It's actually kind of liberating to write on a blog that only has 3 followers.  Seriously.  You should try it sometime.

Today's topic is a little less artificial superficial than the last one.  But it's something that I JUST CAN'T STOP thinking about.  And here it is.  How do you know when you're done, you know, having kids?  I mean, I've spent the last year or so thinking I was done.  SO done.  Because more often than not, it's a miracle when I make it an entire day without totally losing my crap.  Not because my kids are so horribly behaved or anything (with the exception of Peanut Baby, who regularly tempts me to hang her upside down by her pinky toe for extended periods of time).  It's more because I'm so overwhelmed with all the stuff they have going on.  We are in the car every day from the moment school gets out until 9:45 pm.  Okay, I know what you're thinking.  Helloooo!  Don't have them participate in so many activities!  Problem solved.  But it doesn't really work like that for us.  Not to mention that if they weren't doing so many extracurriculars, they'd be running around the house like wild banchee's.  Believe me.  We're a psychotherapist's dream family.  Whichever chromosome is responsible for ADD has like, quadrupled itself in our kids.  Which leads me to my next issue.  There's not a chance in Hell that we'd suddenly be able to produce a calm child.  We're 0 for 4, so it's not like we'd be holding our breath or anything.  But I seriously don't know if I could handle it.  Then again, I remember thinking that before we had our 2nd child.  And then again before we had our 3rd child.  And AGAIN before our 4th!  So, maybe it's just me.  Which leads me to another issue.  My body sucks at being pregnant.  Last time, if you recall, it decided at 34 weeks that being pregnant pretty much blew.  I know I'd spend 9 months totally stressed about the possibility of my pancreas and uterus backing out of the deal again and winding up with another itty bitty.  I definitely prefer my babies to be larger than dwarf hamsters.

But you guys, I can't get over the idea of it really being...over.  We've done the whole pray and search for an answer thing.  And not that I don't believe it's a good route to take, but so far my answer has been, "you decide".  And, you know, He's right.  We've done a decent job of procreating, so I wouldn't feel guilty or anything if we opted to bow out this time.  We have multiplied and replen-i-shed.  I think I just want another one.  But here's my question.  Does that nagging feeling ever go away?  Do you ever really feel complete?  Is there a point where you can let go and not be terrified that you'll regret that decision some day?  Come on internetz (all 3 of you)!  Give me something to work with!

Cancer is an Attention Whore

My brother has cancer.  My dad has cancer.  Apparently cancer is determined to be the center of attention right now.  If you'd like to follow my family's cancer journey click here.  If, however, you have fond feelings towards cancer, I would encourage you not to read.  Me and cancer aren't exactly seeing eye to eye right now.  

Finally, My Pinterest Addiction Bareth Fruit

Crud.  School's out.  It's been 7 hours and I'm struggling already.  The idea of having a fifth child seems so doable until I have the current 4 all home at the same time.  
Enter Valium.  And birth control.


I haven't really planned much in terms of academic maintenance for the summer.  But I did at long last put my many Pinterest hours to good use.  Can the words "Pinterest" and "good use" be used in the same sentence?  Because my husband would argue that they contradict each other.  At best.  BUT, behold the instagram summer journals...

So far I haven't done much more than stare at them while trying to decide what exactly I will demand be written in them, but they really do have great potential.  20 bucks says they're still blank come September.


Another thing that comes with summer is Tootsie's dance recital.  Today was picture day.  I want to love it but to be honest, it seems a little too similar to those nut-job beauty pageants that are really just an excuse for moms to dress their 5 year olds up like hookers.  It feels one set of false teeth away from ridiculous.  But she laps it up like a golden retriever on a desert island.  So of course I pull out my camera and let her work her tap dancing, booty shaking mojo.  And then I thank the good Lord that we have 364 days until we have to do it again.  

And finally, because I have absolutely no ability to stick to one topic, I want to ask you something.  When and how have you chosen to talk to your kids about the birds and the bees?  Why do you feel the way you do?  For some reason I keep running into this topic of conversation with various individuals.  I've been surprised at how greatly opinions seem to vary from one person to the next.  I came across this article recently but haven't yet decided how I feel about it.  Please, internetz, do impart your wisdom.    

Impulse Control is Not My Forte

Last Friday I took the kids to the IFA store to look at the baby chickens.  It was only a few minutes before I found myself driving home with 6 of them in a cardboard box.  I don't know what happened.  We were all, "oh look how cuuuuute and fuzzyyyyy!"  And then I was like, "yes I'll take 6 please".  I don't remember what my train of thought was in between those two moments (I did NOT go into the store with the intention of purchasing one single thing - I'll tell you what).  But alas, we are now proud chicken owners.  Actually, I'm not very proud.  In fact, I'm kind of embarrassed about the whole thing.  Ryan will gladly tell you how thrilled he is that I took it upon myself to bless our home with 6 family pets.  No, I don't have a problem with impulse control thank you very much.  Okay, maybe I do.  They're really cute though.  And with any luck they'll provide us with a few years worth of amazing organic eggs.  And LOTS of fertilizer.  


Tootsie insisted on choosing names for them.  So would you be surprised if I told you that she has finally settled on Fluffy, Fluffy, Fluffy, Fluffy, Fluffy, and Peaches (the black one-of course)?  

We supposedly got 5 buff Orphingtons and 1 black Sexlink.  But over the past few days one of our "supposedly" buff Orphingtons has mysteriously turned white, doubled in size, and sprouted feathers on her feet.  I did a little research about this sort of chicken mutation and found out that we may have one of these on our hands.

I think it looks like a muppet.  I can't put my finger on which one exactly but there's some muppet in there for sure.  For now though, she's still pretty cute (see below).

Right as I took this picture, Peanut Baby reached in and gave Peaches a little love choke squeeze.  All six chickens wince a little bit whenever they see Peanut Baby approaching.  And for good reason.

                          Haiiiii Mom!  Am harassing chickens and just generally acting like a derp.  Is fun!

Tootsie is something of a chicken whisperer.  She can get any one of the five Fluffy's to jump into her hand just by saying, "chickee - chickee - chickee".  It's all very magical.  Until one of them craps on her hand.

I asked Ryan if he would build our chickens a small modest home.  He cautiously agreed knowing full well that there was more to my request than implied.  I repeated the words small and modest a few more times just to show him how low my expectations really were.  And then I showed him this...

Good news, we're still married.  But our chickens are going to have to live with something more along the lines of a plastic bin enclosed by a baby gate.  Some day.  Some day.  *sigh*  

Not to give you subject matter whiplash or anything, but yesterday I had the in-laws over for dinner.  The actual dinner was nothing to write home about, but at the last second I decided to bust out a batch of these Lemon Bomb Cookies.  I got the recipe from my mom, so I don't know where it came from originally.  I wish I knew, because I would send that person flowers every day for the rest of their life.  Internetz, these cookies are the KING of cookies.  They are so good in fact, that my notoriously difficult to impress mother-in-law asked to take some home with her.  They are soft and chewy and have little bits of crushed up lemon heads inside.  I know!!!  Those chickens had better deliver because I'll be making these on a regular basis in the near future.  Here's the recipe...

3 cups flour

1 teaspoon baking soda
1/2 teaspoon salt
1 tablespoon finely grated lemon zest
1 1/3 cups sugar
1 cup butter
2 eggs
1 teaspoon vanilla
1/2 teaspoon lemon extract
4-5 ounces lemon head candies, crushed (use food processor for best results)
3 tablespoons lemon juice 
1 1/2 cups powdered sugar


Preheat oven to 350 degrees.  Sift together dry ingredients and set aside.  Cream together zest and butter.  Add eggs one at a time and beat until light and fluffy.  Add vanilla and lemon extract.  Gradually add flour mixture and mix until just blended.  Stir in crushed lemon drops.  Roll into 1-inch balls and bake on parchment or greased baking sheet for 10-12 minutes or until edges are slightly brown and centers are almost set.  Let cool.


Mix powdered sugar and lemon juice to make glaze (add lemon zest and a bit of butter if desired).  Spread glaze over tops of cookies.


Oh, and for all you photography enthusiasts, have you ever tried the technique called free-lensing?  OHMYHOLYCRAPIMOBSESSED!  It's not exactly healthy for your camera but it's super fun.  We'll see if I still have good things to say about it by the time I destroy my lens.  Read about it here.

A Post From My Inner Weakness

I know that lately I've been all, la la la, my kids aren't eating any sugar for a year and stuff.  But truth be told, Tootsie never really grasped the idea to begin with so she was kicked out of the contest early on, and Spanky was caught cheating about ten thousand too many times so he's out too.  At this point, there remains only one in the game.  He is awesome and stoic and quite frankly, the only one of my children I can trust anyway.  So I will support him and cheer him on.  But I have fallen.  OH DEAR GRACIOUS I have fallen.  I don't know what has gotten in to me but I've been making the most evil of desserts lately.  And consuming them.  In front of my son who isn't eating any sugar for a year.  Beause my heart is only slightly larger than a raisin.

Exhibit A: Vanilla Cake with Strawberry Cream Frosting

This is the most amazing cake recipe I've ever tried.  And I don't mess around when it comes to cake...

Cake

3 cups cake flour

3/4 teaspoon salt

1/2 teaspoon baking powder

1/2 teaspoon baking soda

3 cups sugar

1 cup (2 sticks) unsalted butter, room temperature

7 large eggs

2 Tablespoons vanilla extract

1 cup sour cream

6 Tablespoons plus 1/3 cup seedless strawberry jam

2 1/4 lbs strawberries, hulled, sliced (about 6 cups), divided

Strawberry Frosting

6 Tablespoons unsalted butter, at room temperature

1 8 ounce package cream cheese, at room temperature

5 1/2 cups confectioners sugar

3/4 cup fresh or frozen strawberries, pureed in food processor

2-3 teaspoons lime juice

To make the cake:

1) Preheat the oven to 325 degrees F. Butter and flour two 9-inch cake pans with 2-inch high sides. (I used 10″ cheesecake pans – aka springform pans – ) In a medium bowl, whisk together flour, salt, baking powder, and baking soda. In a large bowl, cream butter and sugar together until light and fluffy. Add eggs, one at a time, beating after each addition. Beat in vanilla. Add sour cream, and beat for 30 seconds. Add flour mixture in three additions, beating to blend after each addition. Divide batter into prepared pans.  Bake cake 52-60 minutes (mine was done after about 53 minutes).

2) Now make the frosting:

With an electric mixer on medium speed, cream together the butter, cream cheese, and sugar until smooth.  Add the strawberries.  Mix well.  Add lime juice a bit at a time until you reach desired consistency.  Store in the refrigerator until it’s time to frost the cake.

  3) Remove cake from oven and cool for 10 minutes. Run a sharp knife around the edges of the pans, then turn cakes out onto a rack to cool completely. I threw the two cake layers in the freezer for about an hour to make the cake assembly easier, but you don't necessarily need to do that.

 4) Using a serrated knife, divide each layer in half horizontally. Place one half, cake side down, on a cake plate.

      5) Spread a thin layer of strawberry jam over the cake, then spread a thicker layer of the frosting over the jam. Arrange 3/4 c of the sliced strawberries on top of the frosting in a single layer. Repeat two more times with cake layer, jam, frosting, and strawberries.

            6) Top with remaining cake layer, cut side down (I used a bottom piece so that the top would be super flat). Spread two cups of frosting over the top and sides of the cake in a thin layer, then frost with remaining frosting. This recipe makes a very big 4-layer cake that will feed a lot of people. It says it serves 12 people but I would say more like 16-18 at least.  It was HUGE!

Moves Like Spanky

My kids aren't typically the "significant accomplishment" types.  I mean, you know, I love them.  But really they're just average kids who happen to have lounged around inside my uterus for 9 months (give or take).  They don't very often do anything that I consider to be blog worthy (except for Peanut Baby who I have consistently featured for, oh, about 13 months now - lets face it, until they hit 2, you could easily blog about almost everything they do).  Every once in awhile though, the kid I'm about to list on ebay pulls off a miracle and makes me proud.  And his pint-sized six pack makes me want to buy myself a freaking ab-roller.

*Pardon the cheese ball music.  It's his FAVE right now.