Caregiving is both a blessing and a challenge. Between my sisters and me, we manage our parents’ care. I’ve mentioned before that I live the furthest away, so I carry less of the load. Recently, I have been coming more on weekends to help out and have learned that just as I’m preparing to leave, I finally grasp the tips and tricks that make the day easier.
Things like:
Be direct – Answer questions and don’t overexplain: the more complex the answer, the more confusion ensues.
Give hope – Say yes to requests and ideas…if Mom thinks she’s going to recover the chairs in the kitchen, say YES, we can go to the fabric store.
Stay calm – Calm begets calm
Emphathize – Amid the moans and groans from aging and exhaustion from working outside, grab the heating pad, warm some tea, and use Aspercreme.
Nourish – Never underestimate the power of Cheerios any time of day for Mom and a peanut butter sandwich for Dad.
Go outside – Take a walk, sit in the shade, look up at the sky, and take notice.
Laugh – Mom is amazing at laughing at herself, even if she puts her shirt on backwards or, this morning, her bra. She says, “You could write a story about this and call it Idiot’s Delight.”
Let them – let them do as much as they can on their own. Independence is priceless.
Love them – Remember you are still their child,d and they need your love even more than they need you to help put in their partials (teeth). Although both are very important.
Listen – You’ve heard the stories a million times; let them tell it again.
What I learned:
I’m lucky to have my parents and my sisters, and I pray I have the same positivity as I grow older, even if I put my bra on backward someday.
Lenten Reflections #15 – Motherhood — the moments, the madness, the profound joy, the heart-breaking sorrows
A few years ago, on a Friday night, we went to a local pizza place, sat in our regular booth, chatted, and stared up at the outdated TVs, watching any team play basketball. It was March Madness, and with so many teams playing, the stakes and drama were high—it was truly a basketball binge-watching dream for fans.
That night, I watched the teenage workers pace back and forth delivering pizzas to booths, clearing tables, and refilling their clear cups with colorful flavors at the soda fountain machine. I saw a new employee stop and stare at one of the screens, riveted. I looked up. Wrestling? What? I hadn’t seen wrestling since high school…and on a March Madness night? It turned out it wasn’t just any match, it was the Division 1 Wrestling championships, and Iowa’s three-time national champion, Spencer Lee, was in the depths of competing for a chance at a possible fourth straight title. In the end, however, Lee lost the semi-finals to Matt Ramos from Purdue, cementing one of the most historical upsets in D1 wrestling.
Why did it matter to me? Spencer’s mom…
As notable as the loss, Spencer Lee’s mom was shown reacting to her son’s defeat. As soon as the referee lifted the winner’s arm (which was NOT attached to her son), Lee’s mom tore her glasses off her face and smashed them in her hands, not one, not two, but three times, hurling them to the floor.
Now that’s mad! Mad at the ref? The opponent? Her son?
Or is it passion? Or sadness? Or frustration?
My mind reeled. Sometimes as parents, we are overly invested emotionally and financially in our children’s activities, sports, and school progress. That is to say, wemay fail to recall who is swinging the bat, writing the essay, swimming the mile, and solving the equation. Hint: It’s not us…something I forget quite often. Our (sometimes unreasonable) expectations of what our kids can and should do are crystal clear in our minds: run faster, pitch harder, and study smarter. Easy for us to say.
Is it the “happiness” we want for our kids?
The joy of winning the race or getting into their number one college? I suppose the accomplishment is kinda like a Prime package at our doorstep where underneath the bubble wrap sits all the justification you need for your investment of time, money, and heartache. Of course until the next thing and the next.
Perhaps, as parents, we conflate passion and perfectionism.
Let’s face it, seeking perfection is a fool’s errand. We are all messy and cluttered and muddling through the days. Maybe the lesson here is that sometimes other kids are going to do a lot better than our own kids on the field or in the classroom. Sounds like real life doesn’t it?
I recently read about Esther Wojcicki, author of “How to Raise Successful People”. She is best known as the “Silicon Valley’s godmother” and mom to three very successful daughters: Susan, the former CEO of YouTube, Anne, co-founder and CEO of 23andMe, and Janet, a professor at UC San Francisco. By implementing her parenting philosophy, which Esther refers to as TRICK: trust, respect, independence, collaboration, and kindness, she feels she was able to raise capable, successful children. As far as being a parent, Wojcicki suggests focusing on your behavior. She says, “Parenting gives us perhaps the most profound opportunity to grow as human beings.”
What I learned this week:
Real life is all I know. Real joy, real feelings, real pain. Sundays I sit at church and gaze at the Stations of the Cross on the walls, and I see our own journeys to Calvary. Falling some days, getting up the next. Being carried and lifted, scorned and loved. Some days we need to carry each other on the path. Mr. Rogers’ mother used to tell him in times of tragedy, Grace will always show up in the helpers. Be the helper. Be there for the mom who hurls her glasses, the kid who misses the fly ball, and your own child who needs your presence, not your commentary. Not today anyway.
40 Reflections – #3: 40 days of raw recollections during the Lenten Season
When our children were younger, I would accompany them to birthday parties, playdates, practices, and other events and watch, wait, and chat with other parents. I loved connecting, it was like I would imagine the old Eharmony but for parents. A time to find your tribe of trusted moms and dads, then ever-so-carefully pick a few who relate to your cheeky humor, and pray your kids and theirs are in the next room bonding over a juice box.
As our kids aged, I noticed parents would leave these events, and return at the “pick-up time”. I always opted to stay, plopping down on the ground, cherishing my chats with the few other parents who would sit in their comfy cup-holding canvas chairs (such a great invention). Sure, sometimes, I was the mom who brought a book that other parents respectfully knew meant – whoever holds the book has just put themselves in a quiet, parental time out, a virtual “do not disturb sign”. That was rare. I needed to chat, commiserate about the losses, and celebrate the wins.
As the kids got a little older there was another shift. Either I grew more confident (or less patient waiting) and would go for a run while they practiced. As long as I was within a mom’s stone’s throw between them, I felt I could still get to them and perform CPR as needed. Of course, I was always happy to get in a run, but I missed the parent-share conversations… those words exchanged between parents that only the gap of time when our children are engaged with their friends allowed.
One night, all three of our children had events simultaneously, and a tough moment ensued. Clearly, we had to pick our least favorite child, leave them at their designated practice, and accompany the others.
Kidding. Our eldest was the default, and since some nights I was the lone mom hanging out for the two hours at swim practice anyway, I figured she’d be okay while I took our son to baseball practice. As I drove away, of course thinking the worst, it was one of the few times I was grateful our daughter had a phone. Plus, at baseball, there were other helicopter parents like myself to share best practices, a clear bonus. It all worked out.
What I learned:
Our children’s activities, whether we realize it or not, give us a chance to pause and discover we are not the only ones bouncing around blindly in this parenting pinball game. While our kids solidify their friendships at birthday parties or discover they truly despise dancing in toe shoes (my daughter), we are given the gift of connection to share our stories with other parents and listen to theirs.
Back then, I remembered feeling the weight of parenting lightened knowing I wasn’t the only parent who…
yelled at my children and regretted it profoundly seconds after
colored my gray roots at home out of a box
cursed at Siri when she doesn’t listen
never checked pockets before doing laundry
considered cereal dinner
took apart the washing machine, found the penny bonking around, and ended up with extra screws when reassembling
stayed up way too late listening to our children’s worries that only bubbled up at bedtime
wiped the tears from our children’s eyes, and our own when their hearts were broken
prayed our children would find their best friend
forgot to pick up their child at school/practice/Sunday School
delivered their child’s forgotten homework to school
bought bras at Costco (“one size fits most”)
panicked about working after years of staying home with the kids
clutched onto their children – as someone who is way too young died in a car accident, from a health complication, or God forbid — inside their school.
Our children are now all in college, but the bonds with those parents from the little league field, mountain biking trails, pool, and dance studio have stayed strong. Simply allowing ourselves to be transparent, and investing in relationships makes us better parents. It takes pluck to be vulnerable, but there is courage in the imperfect, strength in sharing, and certainty in the uncertain.
Dig Deep: Time your run (or walk briskly), then challenge yourself to do the same thing faster tomorrow.
Lenten Challenge: “Give feet to your faith”. Feed the hungry, pray for the sick, and share your grace with everyone who crosses your path.
Pope Health Update: VATICAN CITY, March 7 (Reuters) – Three weeks to the day after being admitted to Rome’s Gemelli hospital, Pope Francis is still struggling to shake off the double pneumonia that has battered his already fragile health.
A friend told me a story about her daughter coming home from college for Thanksgiving one year. She said upon her return, she noticed her daughter must have been taking some sort of psychology class as she was constantly “observing” her two younger siblings and how they interacted with their parents. Using her newly gained college acumen, she approached her mom and said, “There’s some really bad parenting going on here.” Ouch.
After hearing this, I thought of some of my not-so-stellar mom moments and a few not-so-bad moments mixed in…
The moment you realize…you’re at the shoe store and your child’s feet are a size 6 and they are wearing a size 3. Oops and Ouch.
The moment you realize…you washed your favorite shirt in a load of rags and now you’re cleaning the bathroom floor with it.
The moment you realize…you told your child (a little too loudly) not to “hold going to the bathroom” at a sleepover because he “WILL get a stomach ache”.
The moment you realize…you’ve just remade every bed in your home even though they were already “made” by your children.
The moment you realize…your parents were right when they said to always live within your means.
The moment you realize…your daughter has grown two inches, you’ve already hemmed her orchestra dress, and the concert is tonight.
The moment you realize…your parents were pretty cool to show up to every game, concert, 4-H event and so much more.
The moment you realize…you’re singing along loudly to the School House Rock CD in the car and no kids are present.
The moment you realize…your child has holes in his socks and he’s figured out the fold-and-tuck method to make them work.
The moment you realize…your child says, “Now that I’m in 3rd grade, can I call you Mom instead of Mama?” and you say “Um, No.”
The moment you realize…you are price matching at Publix.
The moment you realize…you’re at the orthodontist so often you get irritated when another parent is sitting in your seat. Rude.
The moment you realize…you won’t leave the house without a coupon.
The moment you realize…you want to make change for a $20 bill in the collection basket at church.
The moment you realize…you just yelled “Don’t forget to say your prayers!!” to your 7th grader who is standing at the bus stop with 10 other kids.
Perfection is overrated.
Spiritual Journey of the day – embrace all your imperfections.
Since my son, Dexter was 16 months old, he loved laying his head on anything to rest. One day he raced over to where I was feeding his baby brother, Zavier. Dexter did the quick toddler stop and rested his head on my lap. At the moment, I had a burp cloth ready for after the feeding, but when I reached down to use it, my sweet Dexter’s head was resting on top of it, eyes drowsily shutting. He looked perfectly comfortable. So, as all good mothers do, I used my shirt to burp his brother. After that day and for years following, Dexter slept with, traveled, and kept it by his pillow every day.
The duck-printed cloth had been transformed into something special. Dexter’s “Burp”. That’s what we named his buddy. Luckily, when these particular burp cloths were given as a gift — it was a two-pack. So, thinking ahead, I squirreled away the “Back Up Burp” (another named piece of material), just in case “Burp” was lost. (Yes, I saw the movie “Mr. Mom” and knew we should ween him from a security blanket-type appendage. But, we can all agree that despite all the teasing from Lucy, Linus seemed to be just fine with his blue blanket in tow.)
Throughout the years, Burp got lost in the covers, and we’d hunt and shake blankets and pillows, always to find it tucked on the side of the bed, tossed to the floor, or swaddling his stuffed lamb. He found comfort in that little cloth. And quiet. And calm.
Dexter is bright. As a kid, he was the guy that would take apart the engine, and reassemble it flawlessly; find wood, whittle it down, and make whatever was on his mind. He would ask over and over for things his friends had, and finally, just made them himself. Like the trailer for his bike, lacrosse shaft, bow, arrow, quiver, rubber band bracelet loom, paracord bracelets, phyton-type necklace, bike ramp, small car, tent, longboard, holster, a belt fashioned from a bike tire, and, fidgets made from bike chains.
You see like most people, Dexter gets antsy. Call him a kinetic learner, busy, jumpy, or just a fun kid –or you can cram him into the nearly 12% bunch of 12–18-year-old boys who are diagnosed with ADHD. Whatever it is, he’s Dexter. Smart, amazing, and so cognizant of his need to strategize, move, and find comfort in who he is, that “burp” just became a part of him, and us.
As the years passed, Dexter got bigger, and Burp began to get thinner and more waif-like than a potato chip, so I decided I should swap out the old for the new. I was sure most parents and childhood experts would advise against it, perhaps saying I was encouraging a rare “cotton cloth co-dependent behavior.” Despite my thoughts, I reached into my “everything in my pockets at the end of the day” top drawer — pushed aside special rocks, matchbox cars, doll parts, and legos, and in the waaaay back, I pulled out a bright white cloth with yellow ducks ready for their turn in the pond. In its place, I tucked the now fowl-less cloth in the drawer. Truth be told, it was his ninth birthday. Yes, nine. Not months, years.
Fast forward three years — and after prayers one night Dexter holds out what looks like one of my dad’s handkerchiefs I used to iron — and asks, “Mama, will you please fix this?” I looked at Burp, looked back at Dexter, and said, “Of course I will.” After unknotting the frayed edges, soaking, and drying it, I began to sew. I was slowly piecing together each strand, noticing how much smaller it was and thinking about how much bigger Dexter was at the time. I finished and held it up as if it were a priceless quilt. I thought about the many memories in one piece of fabric, so much security, and love. I knew for a boy like Dexter who had been pining to grow up fast, buy the dreaded motorcycle, and play by adult rules, clinging to his childhood was just as important to him. So I thought, — I’ll mend, sew, stitch, and hold together as much of his boyhood as I can, for as long as possible. “Dexter, Burp is ready!” He came in quickly, said thank you, and zoomed out rubbing it on his face.
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