Tag: keeping

There’s a Disney quotation or lyric for everything, isn’t there?

My husband says that the entire movie of Emperor’s New Groove should be made into GIFs.

He’s not wrong…

The other day, my kids wanted to watch a movie. Considering it was hotter than the surface of the sun outside and the babykins was cranks from teeth coming in, I acquiesced and found myself overhearing snippets and songs from Hercules while cleaning the kitchen.

I began wondering how many years ago that movie came out, but stopped. It was a little discouraging… besides, I had already put away the math manipulatives. Ha!

Anyhoo, I’m wiping down counters when I hear teen Hercules singing “I can go the distance.” Applicable in the whole mothering thing in general, yes? But the phrase that kept repeating in my head after the song had stopped and the movie had moved on was “I would go most anywhere to feel that I belong.”

Man, I didn’t think I’d relate to a pubescent demi-god so much at this point in my life.

Motherhood has given me an identity crisis of sorts… and I know I’m not alone.

I’m reading a book right now for mompreneurs that hits on this fact.

It’s called Boss Up! by Lindsay Teague Moreno. It’s good. If you find yourself doing a side hustle or not-so-side hustle while homeschooling, you’ll find it super helpful. Inspiring, even. And a kick in pants, if you are needing motivation that a business is worth doing as a mom. The book acknowledges that motherhood isn’t as fulfilling for some women as we assumed it would be… and how some women aren’t happy being stay-at-home-moms and regret that decision. You know what? It’s true. I think it isn’t talked about as much as it should be– that motherhood isn’t what we thought it would be and doesn’t complete us like we were told it would. But wanting to stop being with my kids to go back into the workforce full-time or heavily part-time? I don’t fit in that category.

Here’s my thing: I want to “stay at home.” I want to teach my kids. I love this homeschooling gig. I love reading stories to my kids, and doing art with them, and seeing their little ah-ha moments. I love planning learning units. I’m a curriculum junkie… I love it! It fulfills me. It lights my fire.

It’s the day-in, day-out other stuff that I lament. Warning: I’m about to sound like my 3 year old when he drops his ice cream cone on the ground, okay? I completely understand that I don’t sound like a “mature” adult that is supposed to have her “big girl panties” on.

But the constant straightening? The constant dirty clothes and putting away clean ones? The constant wiping down puddles on sinks and rings in toilets? The constant making sure everything is up off of the floor so my crawling baby doesn’t choke on the trail of rocks my boy likes to sneak inside? The constant looking around and seeing 1,000 things to do that I have no desire to do? The undoneness of all the things that I don’t have time for that reminds me of all I didn’t get to when I’ve been busy all dang day?

The pretty-much-constant-unless-we-are-actively-engaged-with-school-or-mom fighting between my two oldest (6 and 3 yo)?

THESE things. They wear my soul down. Make me feel like I’m slowly drowning in things that must be done and tolerated instead of things that bring joy.

I used to teach college. Now when I teach outside of the home, it’s to upper-grade highschool. And sure, there’s some mundane-ness to teaching. Grading isn’t my favorite… but I love the privilege of seeing minds sharpened. I love how the act of learning benefits ALL– student and teacher alike. I feel like my energy and effort is “worth” something, versus folding underwear. Or <<shutter>> sifting through kids’ clothes to swap out sizes.

To borrow from yet another Disney song…

Basically, I want to homeschool my kids, soak in all the moments with them, outsource all the stuff I don’t want to do, and invest the time doing laundry and cleaning and and and…

into something else.

Into the business that I have on the side. It’s not even a want, really. It’s a need.*

I don’t want to be 100% home. I don’t want to be 100% outside-the-home, either.

I want what I want from both.

And I realize as I type that how completely unrealistic that sounds.

I think that’s why the idea of Essentialism appeals to me so very much.

Less, but BETTER.

I 100% agree with McKceown that “only once you give yourself the permission to stop trying to do it all, to stop saying yes to everyone, can you make your highest contribution towards the things that really matter.”

I think for women that want the best of staying at home, and want the best of contributing in external ways (like me)… we don’t feel like we belong in the SAHM camp OR the working mom camp. So, we end up trying to do BOTH… and that’s just. not. possible. (Enter burn-out.)

Something has to give.

It makes sense to keep what brings you joy, what you are good at, what gifts contribute to others’ good the most– and somehow say no to the rest.

Is that selfish? Or is that “essential?”

Because I’ll be honest. I didn’t decide to stop teaching college to stay home and clean my house all day. I did it so I could spend time with and educate my own children. My side job? It’s a flexible thing that I like doing that allows me to be present for my kids– not free up hours to sweep and referee at the same time.**

So, besides spending money (that I can’t currently budget) to bring in someone to do what I don’t want to do, what’s the answer?

Let the non-essentials go? Ignore them, despite the chaos it would cause?

Keep doing the non-essentials, despite the fact it wears on happiness and prevents solid time investments in a side job that would make it possible to financially afford concentrating on the essentials the way you want?

Are there any fellow women that land in this no-man-land’s of Motherhood? One foot in, one foot out of this SAHM, Working mom thing?

If so, I’d love to learn from you! Tell me how you handle this odd internal conflict AND how it practically looks for you in your home! Let’s encourage each other!

Comment on this post. Find me on facebook. Or connect with me on Insta or my page.

Let’s be friends!

*My business needs more of my time. But I don’t want to sacrifice my time with my kids for it. I will sacrifice bathroom clean-up. But I still need bathrooms to be clean… See the conundrum?

So, I’m in the middle (chapter 10, to be precise) of reading Sarah Mackenzie’s The Read-Aloud Family. And by “reading,” I mean “listening.” Ironically, the only way I can read right now is to be read-aloud to myself. 🙂 I much prefer reading an actual book. I love underlining and circling and underlining and dog-earring. I love writing my thoughts and mini-essays in the margins. I process and remember so much better that way.

But after going through a LOOOOONG season of not reading much of anything besides board books and debate briefs, I decided a subscription to Scribd was a small price to pay for my own mental health and investment in mother culture.

I have no regrets.

There are lots of great parts in Read-Aloud that I wish I had pushed the “bookmark” button for, but didn’t get to, (alas, the downfalls of listening and driving…) but this one I managed to scramble and tap the small icon before it moved on too much past the thought.

Mackenzie is quoting children/YA author, Katherine Paterson, when she writes,

“When I write a story it is not an attempt to make children good or wise. Nobody but God can do that, and even God doesn’t do it without the child’s cooperation. I am trying, in a book, to simply give children a place where they can find rest for their weary souls.”

These three sentences sponsored several thoughts.

First, I have written Christian drama, adapted books for stage, and even dabbled in children’s writing myself–although I want to do more. I have personally felt the conflict of wanting to make the best decision for the story, and the expectations of a conservative Christian audience to insert clear black and white messages and even work in a salvation prayer or a character hug somewhere. But you and I know that life isn’t like that. It isn’t black and white. We don’t know all the answers. And I don’t know why writers are expected to inject all of that in a play that’s 90 minutes long, or a story that’s barely 10 pages (in the case of a child’s picture book). I mean, we aren’t all script writers for Full House, you know?

Second, I love the implication here that, just like we shouldn’t expect an author to shoulder the burden of “making children good or wise,” we CAN expect THE Author to do that. I believe that each story has the Gospel in it– Creation can’t escape it. Every time a story has good triumph over evil… every time sin has a consequence… every time a character struggles to make the right choice… every time a princess is rescued or ANYONE is rescued– that’s Gospel. That’s Truth. That’s the Story that is inscribed on our hearts. I believe God can and does use story–all of it– to impress Truth on us. That’s His Craft. His Business. His Work.

The third thought Paterson’s words provoked had absolutely nothing to do with writing and everything to do with parenting. Ah, parenting. You know. That 24/7 job that, at least for me, takes 98% of my brain’s CPU when its in problem-solving mode.

I very much feel the heaviness in my heart when my children do things they aren’t supposed to do. The problem isn’t that they are “misbehaving” or “acting their age.” Children do silly things, have maturing brains, etc., etc. I get that.

My thing is, so often, I have a hard time discerning if something is “just a phase,” or the beginning of a horrible character flaw and sin habit. The first possibility requires more patience than anything else. The second requires intentional consistency that is exhausting, but necessary.

Unlike bookwriting, parenting does have more of a goal and obligation of imparting goodness and wisdom in their children. It is the parents responsibility to take care of their specifically-given children, unlike an author that writes for an age-group of people they don’t personally know.

But here is where I think the quotation hits home. Literally.

Like a story, I can’t make my children good and wise. I can’t. Sure, I can *try.* Sure, I can encourage it and make choices that help deposit those things in the heart of my children. And sure, I can do my best to NOT GET IN THE WAY of goodness and wisdom taking root. But the burden of squeezing in all goodness and wisdom in my children in the 18 years I have them? I can’t do that.

But you know what? Making my children good and wise isn’t my job. Because “nobody but God can do that.” And Paterson is also right– God waits for cooperation. A willingness. He waits for me– and will wait for my children– to come to Him, after feeling the tug and persuasiveness of His Love and Truth and promise of Rest.

And that leads us to the end of the quotation: “I am trying, in a book, to simply give children a place where they can find rest for their weary souls.“

Recently, I have been full of my own wonderings of “what should I do?!” as a parent. I don’t want to under-react or over-react, so I don’t know how to ACT at all.

But when I heard this quotation, it was like a little light went off in my head and heart.

What if I tried, in my home, to simply give children a place where they can find rest for their weary souls. That was it. To offer rest.

So when drama happens? Offer rest.

When they are tired? Offer rest.

When they are sad? Offer rest.

When they don’t know what to do? Offer rest.

And we might think to ourselves, “how much rest do they really need? How ‘weary’ can a 3 year old be?” (Or a 6 year old or 10 year old or 13 years old or 35 year old… <<ahem>>)

But weariness affects our children just as much as it affects us. They have their version. We have ours.

And in our weariness, what do we want most?

Rest.

Rest.

And think about it. Isn’t it life-Rest and soul-Rest that draws us to Jesus?

So, it makes me wonder. What would happen if I stopped trying so hard to “make” my children good and wise, and instead, focused on making a home that invited them to experience True rest?

Wouldn’t I be inviting them to Jesus?

Wouldn’t I be ushering them to the One who CAN make them Wise and Good and Whole and Well?

And in focusing on Rest for them, an interesting thing happens.

I find that I can find Rest, too.