Seven – A Lot of Photos on My Big Girl’s Day

Posted on February 18, 2016February 19, 2016 by Amy

Seven years ago today, this happened:

My oldest girl made me a mama.

I get so sappy and nostalgic on my kids’ birthdays.

I can hardly believe she’s seven!

Just look how she’s grown.

She’s racing through first grade.

She loves reading (Happy Potter at the moment) and singing and all kinds of crafts.

She plays the piano and takes ballet lessons. She sings in the children’s choir at our church, and she’s in Little Flowers Girls’ Club. She loved soccer last year. She runs like the wind.

She’s sweet and loving. She’s creative and loves to explore. She’s funny and quite goofy, but sometimes she’s very serious. She has a habit of twirling her hair. She likes to learn about things before getting too involved with them. She’s tough, but not a daredevil.

She loves her sisters and her friends and her dogs. She would spend all of her time outside if she could.

She’s a great helper, and she can’t wait for her baby brother to be born.

Seven. I don’t know how time has flown by so quickly. I have been poring over her baby photos and videos today and marveling at how she has changed and matured and grown.

I just tucked her into bed after a wonderful birthday party with all of her cousins, and I told her she has to stop growing. She thought that was hilarious, but I was only half joking. She’s such an amazing little girl, and my time with her here at home is feeling so fleeting today (I told you I get super sappy on my kids’ birthdays!).

I can’t believe how blessed I am to be her mama.

Is the “Competitive Mom” a Thing?

Posted on November 9, 2015 by Amy

We’re having some landscape work done at our new house, and the guys doing the work like to listen to a local radio station while they’re here doing their thing. The other day I was outside wiping my dogs’ muddy feet (for the 1437th time), and I happened to hear the DJs on the radio station commenting about what makes a “competitive mom.” The DJs were two men and a woman, and they seemed to be reading a list of things they had found somewhere about what supposedly makes someone a competitive mom.

I was a bit surprised to hear these radio personalities discussing this topic, and as I was listening to their conversation, I was thinking to myself what a ridiculous thing it was for them to be talking about. I’ve heard of the concept of a “competitive mom,” I suppose. More often I’ve heard disparaging remarks about “Pinterest moms” and “overachieving moms.” Whoever compiled the list these DJs were reading on air seemed to have combined all of these mom stereotypes into one to create this inventory of seemingly offensive things a mom can do to qualify her as “competitive.” Here are a few that I remember (paraphrased):

Spend weeks making costumes for your kid’s school play
Bake over-the-top baked goods for your child’s school bake sale
Make sure your child always has the latest and greatest gadgets
Arrive a half and hour early to save front row seats for your child’s performance in something

There were a few more they mentioned, but these are the ones that stuck in my memory. For each one, the male DJs would read the offense, and the female DJ would scoff at it, as if it was a completely ridiculous thing, and basically say, “No way, I would never do that.” As if actually baking items for a bake sale instead of buying them from a bakery was a terrible thing for a mom to do.

I attempted to look up the list, and found what seems to be the same one (interestingly on a different radio station’s website). Here are a few more of the “offenses”:

Make fancy desserts for your kids to pass out on their birthday
Throw amazing parties for events such as Halloween, Easter, and Christmas
Make the most amazing and expensive party bags for favors
Enrolling their kids in extracurricular classes like music or computers

You can look at the rest of the list here if you’re interested.

So, here’s what I think about this list, and other lists like it: they are utterly stupid.

Now, I’ll say that I can probably think of a few characteristics or behaviors that might lead me to think of someone as a competitive mom. Most moms have probably experienced interactions with or heard stories about the “one-up” mom or the pushy mom who insists you do things the same way she does or you’re wrong.

But honestly, ridiculing moms for going the extra mile for their kids is just a jerky thing to do. Maybe there are some moms who go overboard to try to compete with other moms, but I have never had the feeling that another mom was baking cupcakes or PTA-ing at me. Most of the time I think that moms do the things they do for their kids because they love them and they want to show them in ways that they might just to be especially talented in.

I happen to really enjoy throwing special birthday parties for my kids, complete with fun favor bags that go with the party’s theme.

I also love sewing and/or otherwise crafting cute decorations for my kids’ bedrooms. It’s just my thing.

Once I baked really ugly pumpkin cupcakes for Miss’s kindergarten Halloween party. I’m a terrible baker, and I was so excited that I actually used real pumpkin in them, that I mentioned this to a few other moms.

Did they think I was bragging or trying to compete with them? I sure hope not, but maybe.

I’d like to think that instead of rolling our eyes at or ridiculing moms for doing things we might not choose to do, we could just say instead, “Wow, that was such a cool party she threw for her kid, she must really like doing stuff like that,” Or “She has such a skill at baking, how cool that she shares it in that way to support her kids”?

I think it’s awesome for a mom to spend extra time doing something special for her little ones. And I’ll bet that 99 times out of 100, that mom is only thinking of the joy her efforts will bring to her kids, and not about anyone else at all.

The idea of the “competitive mom” is probably not a complete myth, but I do believe it is a highly overblown and misrepresented notion. What do you think?

The First Week – A Homeschool High

Posted on September 4, 2015September 4, 2015 by Amy

I promise I will go back to blogging about stuff other than homeschooling very soon, but this week, it has pretty much been all-homeschool-all-the-time in my brain, so I’m needing to tell everyone how we did. Ready?

Ahem. We crushed it.

The week was fantastic.

The curriculum was very easy to follow and implement.

The girls loved the workbox system.

They are crazy about the Star Wars workbooks that I work into their workboxes in between their “real” work.

(When proofreading, I realized how many times I used the word “work” in that ^^ sentence. I started to edit, but then decided I enjoy the fact that it is used four times in there, with four different meanings. I’m leaving it.)

We did a science experiment.

We did an art project.

I let my kids use Sharpies, and we all made it out unscathed (including our clothes and furniture).

We learned about Mother Teresa (her feast day is tomorrow).

Miss developed an intense interest in Japan.

We read and discussed the Gospel for this Sunday, as well as most of them from the Mass readings for the week.

We memorized a Bible verse (Psalm 1:1). They did much better at this than I did. Even Sis has it down.

It was so fun.

We even named our little school after our patron saints. I had the idea the night before our first day that I was going to ask the girls to choose a patron saint for our school for the year. I worried a bit that introducing this might be a big disaster. I suspected they would fight over which saint we should choose. To my surprise, they came to an agreement almost immediately. When I first asked whom we should choose, Sis said, “Saint Joseph.” Miss said, “That’s exactly what I was just going to say!” Lass said, “Mary.” I said, “How about the Holy Family?” They said, “Yeah!”

So we are now Holy Family Academy.

I’m kind of feeling like Super Homeschool Mom. I’m having an “I need a cape” moment (these are few and far between, so I’m making the most of it).

Of course, it wasn’t perfect, by any stretch. There were a few tense moments. Even a few tears, because Lass has a hard time understanding that she isn’t supposed to do things perfectly when she is learning them, like cutting an oval shape. I repeated many times things like: “You don’t have to be perfect, you’re just learning,” and “It takes practice to get good at new skills,” and “In our school it’s okay to make mistakes. That’s how we learn.” And so on and so on. She still had a meltdown over the fact that her ovals were a bit angular.

I also need to streamline my process for prepping the next day’s work in the evenings and filling the girls’ workboxes. I think I spent at least an hour each night doing this, and that’s just not sustainable. I’m working on making it smoother, doing some of the prep work for the next day as the girls are finishing up their current day activities, and finding other ways to be more efficient. I’m hoping this will get faster as I get more familiar with the curriculum and once we are in a more user-friendly space after we move.

And speaking of user-friendly spaces, I learned that, although I really like having individual desks for the girls, I also like having the big table in the middle to use when we’re doing work together at the start of the day and when we do experiments and art projects. So we’ll probably be making room for the big table in our school room (we inherited a new dining room table from my in-laws).

So much packed into the first week.

Do you want to know my favorite part about the whole thing? I could watch my girls growing closer to each other through our work together and their helping each other.

I know that sounds crazy after just one week, but I swear they’re kinder to and closer to each other today than they were last Friday. They’re complimenting each other, they’re helping each other, they’re playing Star Wars together so nicely!

I’m feeling more connected with them too.

The house is a mess and my meal planning has gone to heck, but today it all feels so worth it.

Ditching the Cover-Up at the Pool

Posted on August 20, 2015 by Amy

Early this summer, one of the first times I took my girls swimming for the season, my oldest daughter said, while pulling down her bathing suit shirt as if to cover her rear end: “Oh my gosh, I’m so embarrassed!”

A few weeks later during a week of summer camp, my middle daughter asked me, “Mama, am I fat?” Then she started to cry.

Both of these scenarios shocked and confused me and broke my heart. I truly don’t know why one of my daughters would express embarrassment about her body while another would voice concern to me that she is fat. I’m pretty vigilant about not sharing my own body image issues with my girls. I don’t talk about my weight (or theirs) with or in front of them, and I never criticize my own appearance in front of them.

I have lost 40 pounds since January, but I have done it without mentioning weight loss or calorie counting in their presence. I don’t think they’ve even noticed a change in my appearance.

And yet, somehow my girls went from this innocent place where “fat” was just a word to describe something, to a place where the idea of being fat is embarrassing to them or makes them cry. I can’t help but feel physically sick just thinking about it.

I feel like I’m doing something wrong, like I’m failing them.

Then, a few minutes later, I feel like I’m not doing anything wrong, and there’s just nothing I can do to completely block the “fat messages” of our society from invading their innocence.

I’m not sure which is worse.

Why do I get so freaked out about this?

Because I remember being a tween/adolescent girl and feeling like I was fat and how much I hated feeling that way.

Because I remember some of my friends in high school taking diet pills and/or binging and purging (either by vomiting or using laxatives).

Because when I was a psychologist, I worked with people with eating disorders and body image issues. It’s so hard to help people who have lived most of their lives thinking they are ugly and/or fat.

Because even though I’m almost 40 years old and I just lost around 40 pounds, I still struggle sometimes with being accepting of my weight or appearance.

Right now, I weigh roughly what I did when I got married.

Unfortunately, my body looks drastically different. Back then, pretty much everything was where it was supposed to be and was fairly sleek and smooth and toned.

After three children in three years, “sleek, smooth, and toned” are not the right descriptors for me. Saggy, dimpled, and deflated are more accurate.

Fortunately, I have come a long way from my adolescent self, and the truth is that I usually don’t really mind these bodily changes of motherhood too much, as it’s a very small price to pay for the three precious daughters I’ve been blessed with (I’d happily gain 50+ pounds of “baby weight” all over again given the chance). When I’m dressed in regular clothes, I even feel pretty good, actually.

But when I’m a little less covered, like at the pool for example, I struggle.

In summers past, I have always just worn a big loose, flowy cover up over my bathing suit. But this year, in the moment when I heard my oldest daughter say, “I’m so embarrassed,” and I responded, “Honey, you have nothing to be embarrassed about when wearing a bathing suit,” I decided that my days in a cover up at the pool were over**.

This summer, even when I’m not in or near the pool, I’m not throwing on a cover up or wrapping myself in a towel anymore. This was uncomfortable at first, but after the first trip to the pool, I just don’t even pack the cover up anymore, and now it’s no big deal.

Except when I’m noticing how my thighs spread unattractively when I sit down to eat lunch, or when I feel the jiggle-jiggle as I walk around the deck of the pool, or when I notice that even with a midriff covering, somewhat loosely fitting top on my bathing suit, I still can’t hide my permanently pooched-out belly.

Yeah. Except for those times.

I wish this wasn’t an issue for me, but sometimes it just is. However, I’m going to continue to do everything I can to make sure it won’t be for my girls.

This weekend we’re having a pool party with some friends for Lass’s fifth birthday. I’ll be strolling around the pool in just my suit. I’ll feel self conscious, but hopefully I won’t show it. Sometimes it really is helpful to just “Fake it ’til you make it.”

**I’d like to quickly add that this post is not about shaming anyone who chooses to wear a cover over her suit, or suggesting that moms wearing bathing suit cover-ups cause their daughters to have poor body image. It’s just one small way for me to battle back at the anti-fat culture.

On Humility (or Lack Thereof)

Posted on August 10, 2015 by Amy

Last Thursday, we had our beginning-of-the-year, meet-the-new-members Little Flowers Girls’ Club Picnic. During the picnic, Miss was going to be getting her final badges to finish up her Wreath I. Lass was getting “sashed” in the Sashing Ceremony as a new member. We were all excited for the start of the new Little Flowers year.

To back up a little bit, Miss was one of the original members of our Little Flowers group (some of my friends and I started it together last year). At the beginning, all of the girls got sashes, since that was the only thing available from the website for wearing/displaying badges at that time. I lost my love of the sash pretty quickly, as it wasn’t terribly sturdy, and it always seemed awkward for the girls to wear. Then I accidentally got some glue stain on Miss’s when I was trying to use stitching glue to adhere her patches (don’t try this, it doesn’t work).

So when we started this new year, I was excited to see that there are now adorable vests available on the Little Flowers website. I immediately thought that all the Flowers in our group should switch to these, but no one else really wanted to go that far, so it was decided that each girl could decide whether to get a sash or vest for the upcoming year.

I decided to get a vest for Lass, and to go ahead and get one for Miss too, since her sash was a little messed up from the glue incident. I didn’t ask the girls what they wanted. I just got them what I wanted. I showed them the vests last week, and when they said, “Mom, I want a sash,” I “convinced” them that the vest was better, and that was that.

The night before the picnic, I stayed up late, taking Miss’s patches off her old sash and sewing hers and Lass’s onto the adorable vests.

Adorable, yes?

I was so excited for them to wake up the next morning and see their vests. I just knew they would love them.

You can see where this is going, right?

In the morning, I proudly showed the girls their vests. They both threw fits and said they wanted sashes. They wouldn’t even put the vests on. I got all fired up by righteous anger and I-stayed-up-late-sewing-this-for-you hurt feelings.

I yelled.

They cried.

I fumed.

They cried some more.

I was awful. It was ugly.

As I type this, I have no idea why I didn’t realize that this would happen. When I told the story to my husband, he said several times, “Well, you could have seen that coming,” and “You knew that was going to happen.” But I didn’t. I can only explain my complete idiocy on this issue as an excess of stubborn pride.

Somehow, that morning I managed to realize what a jerk I was being and how stupid it was for me to just decide to get them something different than what they were expecting without even asking them. How unfair it was for me to not listen when days before they had told me that they wanted sashes.

I tried in vain to think of what I could do to fix the situation. I wanted to address with the girls how their response to the vests I gave them was not really the right way to go (we generally try to discourage wailing and complaining when someone gives us something or does something nice for us), but mostly I wanted to figure out a way to fix my wrong in the situation. I knew there was no way I could get them sashes by that evening’s picnic. I felt horrible. I was near tears, and I sent up some desperate prayers for help and guidance on how to fix the mess that I had made.

When I am at my ugliest, the best thing to do is pray.

And then text Super Friend.

I sent her a text about my misery, because we were getting together with her and her kids later that morning, and I wasn’t sure we’d be very good company. I had absolutely no expectation that she would be able to help me. I just wanted to tell someone how awful I felt, and at the time I was still kind of mad about my girls’ responses to the vests, so I was looking for a little bit of sympathy too.

A short while later, Super Friend called me. She asked me if I had thrown away Miss’s gluey sash. I told her I hadn’t. She then said that she had managed to find an extra sash at her house and asked if I wanted it. She had an extra sash!

Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened for you. Matthew 7:7

I couldn’t even answer her over the lump in my throat. There was a long pause as I struggled to speak. Finally, I just started bawling, “Yes please!!!”

The guilt and relief and gratitude for an answered prayer just overwhelmed me.

I spent all of my girls’ rest time that afternoon taking off the patches I had so carefully sewn on the night before and re-sewing them to the sashes. I gouged my finger with a needle. I offered up that time of sewing for my girls.

May I always remember these sashes when my pride and selfishness get in the way of mothering my girls the way I want to.

That Time I Didn’t Ruin My Daughter’s Soccer Career

Posted on July 4, 2015 by Amy

Every time I think I’m starting to get motherhood figured out, some new situation or experience comes along to give me a nice beat down. Organized team sports, soccer to be specific, has been the latest. Here’s a little story to illustrate:

For the past two months, my older girls have been playing on a soccer team together. And as with most things, their vastly different personalities were very apparent when watching them on the soccer field.

Miss was a bit hesitant in her first game, but then something seemed to click for her and she was suddenly all over the place, scoring tons of goals and seemingly having a great time. She was confident and played hard whenever she was on the field.

Lass complained every time they had to go to practice or a game. She rarely seemed to put a in lot of effort, and during each practice and game she complained of her “tummy hurting” any time she ran much at all. She seemed insecure, and didn’t like to do most of the games or drills they did at practice, because she didn’t like to lose or make a mistake. I gave her all the gentle encouragement I could, but also a bit of tough love with, “In our family, we don’t quit and we always give our best effort. So get going.” She actually perked up a little bit at that point, though she still seemed to dread soccer days.

The season was going along well enough, but then I made a mistake that I thought was going to ruin the rest of the soccer season for my eldest child.

Miss was really on fire one night, scoring lots of goals and running all over the field. She kept yelling to her coach the tally of the number of goals she had scored (from that game and the previous one). It was something like this, “I’ve got seven! I’VE GOT SEVEN!” then “NOW I’VE GOT EIGHT!” The coach often didn’t hear her or was trying to give instructions to other kids, so she just kept yelling it over and over. I was thrilled that she was so excited, but thought to myself that perhaps we might need to have a little bit of a talk about humility at some point. . .

Later in the game she was running next to her teammate who was taking the ball to the goal and about to score. Miss took the ball from her teammate and scored the goal herself.

After the game, we congratulated her on a game well played and shared in her excitement about her successes. We praised Lass for an increase in energy and playing hard. As always, we tried to keep the post-game talks positive and encouraging of all efforts.

However, I wanted to say something to Miss about learning to display humility and also about being part of a team and supporting teammates without taking the ball away from them. I didn’t want to rain on her parade right after her exciting game, so I waited until the next day to talk to her about these things. We talked about how to be happy and excited about accomplishments without boasting. She seemed to easily understand the idea of not wanting to come across as bragging about the number of goals scored (we had recently studied humility in Little Flowers). Then we talked about playing on a team and not trying to take the ball away from her teammates. She seemed to get that just fine too, so I left it at that.

However, during her next game, she not only avoided taking the ball away from her teammates, she also barely kicked the ball at all. She held back so much that she didn’t even try to take the ball away from the other team!

I was horrified. I tried to talk to her briefly during the game to clarify what I had meant about just not taking the ball from her teammate when she is actively kicking it, and I encourage her to go after the ball, but it didn’t help.

For the rest of that game, she was hesitant and seemed to have lost the confidence that she had displayed in previous games.

Afterwards I tried to talk to her even more about what I meant. I over-explained. I apologized for perhaps confusing her or causing her to think that I wanted her to hold back. I encouraged her to go after the ball and play hard.

None of it made any difference. For the next several weeks, she played tentatively. Her spark was gone.

Do I need to tell you how terribly I was beating myself up? How my stomach clenched every time I saw her let the ball go by?

I had thought I was doing a good thing. I had thought I wasn’t criticizing, just providing a gentle lesson about how to play on a team. I had thought I was doing my job of teaching and guiding her in the ways of things.

Instead, I ended up fearing that I had crushed her little spirit and ruined her soccer career forever.

I talked to my husband about it. I talked to my mom about it. I talked to Super Friend about it (who assured me that the same thing had happened with her son and it would be okay). I prayed about it. I reminded myself that she’s only six. Still, every time I watched her, I felt awful and feared what horrible thing I had done to her.

I didn’t really know what to do. I felt like I had talked the issue to death in trying to backtrack and clarify what I had meant. So I just tried to encourage both girls to play hard, have fun, and get after the ball at each practice and game.

For a while, this didn’t seem to be making any change in Miss, but Lass was starting to show quite an improvement. The girls’ coach was wonderful and really put extra effort into helping her to enjoy the game and to score a goal either at practice or at a game. She mostly stopped complaining that her tummy hurt. She started having more fun. She really wanted to be able to score a goal, and though we always told the girls that the number of goals they scored wasn’t the most important thing, I suspected she would find the game much more enjoyable if she could experience that taste of success.

Last weekend, my husband and I decided to spend a lot of extra time playing running and kicking games with the girls. We all played duck-duck-goose and kickball, he played sharks and minnows and kicked the soccer ball around with them.

Thursday night was their last game. I prayed that they would both end their soccer season on a positive note. They were on the field together, and both started out playing hard.

And then, within a few minutes of getting into the game, Lass scored a goal!! Her first goal ever. I was standing up and cheering, and I actually started to cry, I was so happy to see her joy in her achievement. Her sister picked her up and hugged her fiercely. Lass ran back to her coach and said, “I love soccer!!” She looked over to us on the sideline with a beaming smile and said with two thumbs up, “I scored a goal!”

And her accomplishment seemed to finally light the fire in her sister again. Within minutes of her sister’s success, Miss scored three goals, one right after the other. I felt like my heart was going to burst with happiness for both of them. And with relief that I really hadn’t ruined my daughter forever.

I’ve found this soccer mom thing to be kind of tricky. I want to encourage my girls and push them to do their best, but not push them in such a way that they feel that approval is contingent upon scoring goals or some other specific measure of performance. I want to help them learn about how to be a good sport and a good teammate, but not squash their enthusiasm or desire for individual achievement.

In this situation, I had such good intentions, and still I totally blew it. Even now, I get a little teary thinking about it. I want nothing more than to help my daughters be confident and joyful in all the things they do. I know I will continue to make mistakes, so I only hope that an abundance of love and prayer will help them to overcome all of my shortcomings in the future.

At least I know they will never be lacking in those two things.

On Becoming a Runner. Again.

Posted on June 3, 2015June 3, 2015 by Amy

My husband came to visit me once when I was in graduate school, in the very early days of our courtship. That was back when I used to smoke, and stay up until three or four every night, and hit the bar scene hard, and sleep until noon most days, and so forth. At one point during his visit to my apartment, he got himself dressed in exercise garb and said he was going for a run. I blinked a few times at him while I took in such a foreign notion, and then told him to have fun while waving and lighting up a cigarette from my spot on my couch.

A few years later, I went to DC with him and cheered him on while he ran his first marathon. It was such an exciting event, and I decided I wanted to run a marathon myself.

So I did. Twice.

We did the Grandma’s Marathon in the summer of 2007

Standing in Lake Superior after the race made our feet and legs feel so good!

It was really cold.

And we did the Disney World Marathon in January 2008.

I did not much enjoy the Disney World Marathon, so after doing it I decided to take a break from running for a while. I had no idea it would be for over seven years.

Within five months after the DWM, Ben and I got married, and then I got pregnant. I then ended up being pregnant and/or nursing for the next five years, and though my husband has continued to run various events, during that time running just wasn’t on my radar. I had zero interest in it. I was focusing more on survival than on going out for an “invigorating” run when someone was available to watch my kids for me.

After I weaned Sis, I started to toy with the idea of running again. But it was really hard to get back into shape after my third baby in so many years, and I just couldn’t seem to get myself in gear to do it.

I even made a specific goal for 2014 to run some sort of event. Even if it was just a 5K, I wanted to do something. And then I got pregnant. And then I lost that baby. I had gained a lot of weight during that brief pregnancy, and I just lost all motivation to think about races, and training, and running in general.

Actually, if I’m really honest, for the past two years I’ve been toying with the idea of doing a run but not going through with it in part because of thinking, “But what if I get pregnant?” I’ve been avoiding signing up for any sort of race because of this possibility. Registering for such a long race is a bit of a commitment, and I kept thinking maybe and what if? and this could change things.

Well. A few months ago, my husband told me he wanted to run the Dam to Dam Half Marathon again in his home town area of Des Moines. He challenged all of his siblings to run the race with him, and he casually mentioned that perhaps I’d like to do it too.

I debated. I thought (again) about the what if? of potentially becoming pregnant. I told myself I wouldn’t have time to train because of the girls. I thought about the logistics of the race day and how it might be difficult to have someone take care of our girls and our dogs while we ran the race.

And then I decided to stop making excuses.

I realized that, if I did get pregnant, I would only be out fifty bucks or so for the entry fee. And that would not be a big deal.

I acknowledged that I wouldn’t be able to spend hours running every day like I used to. And then I decided that I could commit to doing enough. I knew that might not get in lots of long training runs (the longest I managed to do was seven miles), but I would still be able to train enough to finish the run.

I reminded myself that, of course my in laws would help with the girls and the dogs and it would be fine.

So I signed up for the run. And then I started running.

The majority of my runs were only about two or three miles, because that’s about as much as I could stand to do on my treadmill at one time. I did one four, one six, and one seven mile run (all outside). I did CrossFit to help strengthen my muscles and get my lungs in shape.

I knew I would be able to finish the race, though I would probably be slow and it would likely be painful.

And I did. And I was. And it was.

It was hard and it was painful, but it was also fun and very, very rewarding, just like my first two marathons.

This time, I had a few new strategies for getting through. Throughout the two and a half hours I was running (yes, it took me that long to run 13.1 miles, I got passed by a speed walker at one point), I focused intently on the fun of the experience and the beauty of the run and the people around me. I laughed at the antics of some of the other runners. I said “Thank you!” to the spectators. I offered up every ache and pain that I could (the stitch in my side, the ache in my thighs because I did too much of a squat workout three days before the run, the blister forming on my left foot, the pebble in my shoe for six miles, etc.). And I thought every. step. of the way. about my girls waiting for me at the finish line.

Maybe at some point, I can use my running as an example to them of how we can do hard things and have fun doing them. Or of how it’s okay to do something for the simple joy of accomplishment. Or how you can have fun doing something and not feel embarrassed even when you aren’t the best or fastest at doing it (did I mention I got passed by a speed walker??).

After I completed the run, they all asked me if they can run with me when they get bigger. And that’s the best motivation I could ever have.

Being a Mom. In a Nutshell.

Posted on May 10, 2015 by Amy

Yesterday I took my girls to a Mother’s Day Tea at our church.

After we ate lunch, the emcee of the event asked if anyone wanted to come up to say something about her mom. Lass, my talkative, never-met-a-stranger, middle child wanted to go right away. She walked to the front of the room, and when it was her turn to speak into the microphone, she clearly and sweetly said, “My mom gives good hugs.”

I started to cry a little. Obviously.

After a few more people went, Miss decided that she wanted to have a turn. This surprised me a little, because she is not much for speaking up in front of groups and she tends to be a bit more shy, especially with strangers. As she walked up to the front of the room, I sat there wondering what she was going to say. Not only is she my most reserved child, as a general rule she also isn’t as touchy-feely as her sisters.

She got the microphone and said, serious as can be, “My mom does the laundry.”

The whole room erupted in laughter, and she came back to the table giggling and feeling proud as punch that she had made a good joke, though she might not have been quite sure what it was.

This little situation served as a perfect example of the differences in my two older daughters. Their personalities were fully apparent in the comments they wanted to make about me as their Mom.

Last night, I was thinking back on the moment and smiling a little bit (and drinking some wine), when I realized that their words were also pretty much representative of what it means, in a nutshell, to be a mom in general.

We give love.

We serve.

We tuck little ones into bed with kisses and special lullabies. We give words of praise and encouragement. We tell our children how much we love them. We kiss boo-boos and cheer victories. We give good hugs.

We wash dishes. We cook meals. We teach manners (And do it again. And do it again). We let them help with chores, even though it takes longer. We do laundry.

These things are what make up the day to day of being a mom.

We give love and we serve in hundreds of different ways every day. In big ways and little ways. In obvious acts and those that no one ever notices. In ways that are easy and ways that sometimes feel so, so hard.

When I think about the moms I know, I see this so clearly.

To my Mom, my Grandma, my Mother-in-law, my Auntie, Super Friend, the Godmother, and all the rest of the moms, near and far, among my family and friends, I see you. I see how you love and serve your children, and families, and others. Thank you.

Happy Mother’s Day.

And Life Happens

Posted on May 6, 2015May 6, 2015 by Amy

I’m working on getting my house ready to sell. And meeting with our builder about all the little details of our new house. And homeschooling my kids. And life keeps on happening and somehow time keeps flying away from me so quickly.

I know I’m no more busy than anyone else, and yet I’m struggling a lot with keeping my mind and my life organized these days. Here are a few of our recent happenings:

My oldest daughter had a piano recital a week and a half ago. We got there, and I thought I was so on top of things because we were nice and early. Then I realized that I had forgotten her piano books! And we don’t live terribly close to our church, where the recital was held, so I had to frantically beg her piano teacher to move her back in the line up (she was scheduled to be one of the first to play) so I could race home to get her books.

It wasn’t a disaster, and everything turned out fine. But ugh. I just had that big yucky feeling of a super mom fail (and here super is modifying FAIL, not mom).

She did a fantastic job anyway, of course.

Then Friday, she broke her arm by falling off a swing in our backyard.

I peeked out the window and saw her crying on the ground, holding her arm. I ran out there to check things out and thought she was probably fine, since her arm didn’t look broken (meaning it wasn’t bent in a way it wasn’t supposed to be bent). I brought her in the house and put some ice on her arm and was standing around trying to figure out if we had more of a problem than a bumped arm, when thankfully, my husband got home.

He looked at her arm, asked her a few questions, and told her to try to squeeze his fingers, which she couldn’t do. He said that she had probably broken it, so we took her to the ER. Of course, he was right. He is so wonderful to have around at times like those!

Miss started feeling much better once she got a splint on her arm, and she is quite happy now to have a regular, below-elbow (and green!) cast.

On Saturday I got outside and went for a six mile run in the morning (again, very grateful for my husband!). I was so pleased with myself and felt energized and fabulous afterwards. Then I got in the house and realized that my phone, which I had tucked into my sports bra so I could listen to a Lighthouse talk hands free, had gotten drenched with sweat and was D.E.A.D.

Yes, you read that right. I ruined my cell phone with sweat. In my bra. Who does that?

So, homeschooling has been a big fat zero this week. I really try to make it a priority in my schedule, but with unplanned visits to the Verizon store and the orthopedic doctor, I haven’t done a very good job on my lesson plans.

I am starting to realize that I seem to be moving into a new season of mothering. A season in which I am feeling scatter-brained, not because of lack of sleep and many small people hanging on me and needing me to do things for them at all times (which used to be the case), but because of piano, and soccer, and choir, and homeschooling, and away-from-home school activities. Is this a real thing, or is it just me?

Life just keeps happening and suddenly I look up and realize that I am not a mom of lots of babies and toddlers anymore. I’m beyond the three-under-four stage, and I’m now a mom of little girls. Little girls who like to do lots of activities.

Please tell me I’m not the only one who feels overwhelmed by this new stage of activities and extracurriculars. I know this is only the beginning.

Easter-y, Mommy-ish Randomness

Posted on April 8, 2015 by Amy

We are visiting my parents this week, and I don’t want to interrupt our family time to do a long, or even thoughtful post (you’re welcome?). But I do have a few cute Easter pics and some good ones of my girls having fun at Grandma and Grandpa’s house, so I’m going to get rambly and probably a bit photo crazy for a minute.

If you’re not my mom or my mother-in-law or my Auntie, you may want to just stop here. I won’t mind.

Here goes –

Last week, I had lots of fun Holy Week activities planned. Then Miss got strep throat and we ended up skipping a few of them, like the search for 30 pieces of “silver” (or quarters) on Wednesday and Holy Thursday Mass as a family (Miss was still contagious). Most of the things we did do I didn’t get photos of, like our “Last Supper” dinner (which Miss didn’t feel well enough to eat anyway) or the foot washing on Thursday night after my husband and I got home from Mass.

We did get to the Good Friday service at our church, and the girls did surprisingly well for it being such a long and late event.

Holy Saturday started with an RCIA retreat for me from 9:00 until about 1:00. Then I came home, boiled eggs for dying, put out Easter decorations with the two older girls, gave the dogs baths, and packed our stuff. After Sis got up from her nap, we dyed eggs and my husband and I got ready for the Easter Vigil Mass.

She said the made ^^ that egg for Jesus.

The Vigil was beautiful, but I didn’t get a single photo from it this year. It was nice to experience it with a little less nervousness and adrenaline than I had last year. I realized that I hadn’t remembered much of the service from last year because of being so excited and anxious about being baptized and confirmed and receiving Communion for the first time (plus being interviewed in front of everyone). It was less exciting and emotional this time, but I probably was able to appreciate it more in some ways.

Sunday morning, we had our Easter egg hunt, I made resurrection rolls, we threw our things and our dogs and our kids in the car and hit the road for the drive to my parents’.

I was determined to be on the road by 8:00 so we could get here by dinner time and have my family’s traditional Easter and Christmas breakfast of creamed eggs for dinner. We got going at about 8:20, and we made it.

My kids have been enjoying Grandma and Grandpa and the lovely weather and flowers and greenness here since.

We have many lovely bouquets for Grandma of dandelions, or “Lellow Light-ups” as Sis calls them.

Someone, who gave up coloring for Lent, is very happy to be able to do one of her favorite activities again.

As a new Catholic, it amazes me how much Lent creates so much more appreciation of the Easter season and the celebration of spring, and life, and the Resurrection.

It’s Wednesday, but it’s still Easter. What joy. Happy Easter!

Motherhood and Miscellany

Motherhood