Be Brave and Kind, small steps in gathering courage to let go

I wrote this piece for RichmondMom. You can read the full article here. 
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I felt a kind of courage on Roscoe’s first day of summer camp when his delight and anticipation for something yet unknown felt so much mine. We drove steadily across town with the windows open. The warm air blew through the backseat, and roared to the front where I watched him through the rear view mirror. He was a little quieter than usual, ruminating. “Mama, can you roll the windows up? I can’t hear!” When the air fell silent he spoke with thoughtful pauses and upward inflections to question if the other kids would be kind to him. He wondered out loud about whether his teacher would help him out of a bind if he needed her.

Wall art displayed in our playroom to remind us every day.
(Mixed media by the lovely Suzanne L. Vinson)

I assured him, with genuine enthusiasm (tempered by the hesitation I felt from the weight of my own looming questions), that he was going to meet buddies at school and that, with the help of his teacher, they would work together to take good care of each other.

But the truth is that I couldn’t promise that kids would be kind or that his teacher would be available to help him if he was in need of rescue. I couldn’t guarantee that my little guy, who had been home with me for his first four years would follow direction, get along in a crowd, or manage his emotions as I know he can, but often doesn’t.

I parked the car and helped him out of his seat. He positioned his back pack just so and as we walked to drop-off he trailed a step or two behind me. He perked up as I reminded him that I would be back in a few short hours and that the suspense would kill me until then: I couldn’t wait to hear all about his day.

(Read more...)

Two kids or three?

A view from the sound, NC.

After dinner had been devoured, and after we abandoned the dining room with the tablecloth that often doubles as a napkin and the piled dishes and the leftovers that would surely have to wait until morning, and after I helped the boys into their jammies and read them each a story, and after I sang my rendition of hush little baby (complete with a firetruck and a too short ladder, a police car with a much too quiet siren, and an ambulance too slow to make it in time), and not until I shushed them from the near and far corners of the house and their eyes were closed and their breathing heavy, only then did I tiptoe across the unswept floors to pour myself a glass of wine, scoop up my journal, and find my place on the screened-in porch to spend some time with my thoughts.

As I journaled about my relationship with food, of all things, It suddenly hit me that maybe Andy is right, maybe two kids are enough. I have for years thought of myself as a woman meant to mother many children, always imagining a closely spaced grouping of four or five siblings.

Over the last few months a new feeling has been creeping up slowly and surely until one day last week after a typical morning, I sent a text to Andy: Today I do not want any more kids. 

We have argued and discussed this topic for more than 2 years. Should we have a third? Should we aim for four? Should we stick with two? His reply: You are a great momma, don't forget it. 

The kids are amazing. Each of them. Both of them. They are cunning and funny, testy and full of grand emotion. They surprise us in ways that astound us and alarm us. They are so different from each other and yet so the same. I am not a perfect mother but I am a good one. I do not love imaginary play or loud noises, or chaos. I am sometimes overwhelmed to meet the demands of these two growing boys. At the end of many days I am tired. So very tired.

For years I was resolute that 4 was my lucky number. Two didn't feel like "family" the way that three does, and four just tips it all over the edge to guarantee a boisterous home life and kindred spirits for days. I can look ahead to when the kids are grown and take comfort in the idea of having all that company and extended family to call on.  I like the way I think that would feel.

The justification game: the weighing of short and long-term costs and benefits. I find that the exercise can be a little bit of a thrill when I am on the side of saying goodbye to the childbearing years. But there is a sadness too in leaving it behind so suddenly. When I was pregnant with Merritt, when I gave birth to him, when I weaned him, I knew there would be a third. On the other hand, I have experienced all of my motherhood so far in real time, intensely, and truly. I've written about it, I've processed it, I've lived it.

I value my relationship with my kids and husband more than anything else, but there are other things happening in the world that inspire me too. With Merritt turning 3 this Winter and Roscoe turning 5 next Spring, some of the lost freedom that came with pregnancy and parenting in the early years feels just within arms reach. I'm so tempted.

One morning last week, the energy of the kids was so very high that I played momma hooky and called in our nanny two hours early because I just needed to get away. But then there are nights like last night where we all move through our nightly routine in rhythm and without fuss, and I can see a version of perfection co-existing in this messy house. It is a good life.

For today at least, I'm willing to try on the idea that the two boys we have are and will forever more be enough for us. Is there ever a final word on this kind of life decision, anyway? It's a pretty tough call to make one way or the other isn't it. (Interestingly, we had a similar discussion around this time last year...)

Boundaries, FAQ answers

A while back readers posted questions to an FAQ request. Today I'm sharing more about how we prioritize the family's needs in the context of a larger family structure.

Anonymous asks:
"I would like to know how you manage these intentional life choices within the context of a broader family structure - So, how do you explain/justify and support your efforts and money spent on eating well to extended family who just don't get it? How do you keep an eye on your overall family goals when they are challenged by other needs you must attend to (for example, spending time with or caring for or celebrating with extended family members and friends when it might seem to come at the expense of immediate family)."

After giving it some thought, the answer to both questions really comes down to boundaries.

As parents, Andy and I have not always been good at establishing healthy boundaries, especially within those familial relationships where they are probably needed most (i.e., grandparents!). Even though we are more aware and wiser to the better outcomes that having clear boundaries and expectations can create for all involved, we are still learning how to be effective, kind, and true to ourselves when we express our needs to our families and friends. Holding others accountable for respecting our boundaries is the other aspect of boundary setting that we often struggle with. Setting boundaries is iterative and lifelong but worth the benefits of improved communication and the preservation of important relationships. Our individual and family needs will change over time, so there will be plenty of opportunity to practice until it becomes second nature. (I like this article on boundary setting and accountability.) I'm breaking this up into two parts:


1. How do you explain, justify, and support your efforts and money spent on eating well to extended family who just don't get it?

When it comes to how we spend our money, what we eat, and/or how we invest in our health we don't typically discuss these topics with our family (or friends). While I love to talk about actively sourcing and preparing the foods that we eat, how we see our family's place in our food chain, and the importance of eating good food from animals that led good lives (including the health benefits of eating animals that have been fed their normal diets), I reserve those passionate discussions for individuals whom I know share my views. Otherwise, I'm happy to explore these topics when asked about them directly but, as with politics, I generally don't go out of my way to go into detail.

It is very likely that neither set of grandparents, nor most of our friends fully understand our motivations to seek out pastured/local/seasonal/organic foods, and that's ok. We are fortunate that criticism and other negativity from our immediate circles are not part of the dialogue around this topic.

2. How do you keep an eye on your overall family goals when they are challenged by other needs you must attend to (for example, spending time with or caring for or celebrating with extended family members and friends when it might seem to come at the expense of immediate family time.

As a new mother I was surprised to find that one of the most challenging aspects of my transition was the effort required to navigate the fundamental and necessary shift in family dynamic that occurs when a daughter becomes a mother and a mother becomes a grandmother, or really when any adult child becomes a parent to the next generation. The simple fact challenges the established ways of communicating and interacting.

When we became parents the importance of maintaining a routine became clear early on. While we were learning to live at a slower pace, and to care for our nuclear unit, our extended family's expectations had not changed all that much and their requests began to feel more like unreasonable demands, with consequences. After some trial and error and attempts to compromise, we realized that pushing the kids past their limits in order to partake in activities or events to which we had committed ourselves (by choice or obligation) just wasn't working for us. These scenarios almost always ended with feelings of disappointment and frustration as our ability to fully engage and enjoy the time spent was hindered by the extra effort required to care for unhappy babies and toddlers.

The solution was to set boundaries by communicating the kinds of activities that our young family could commit to participate in while also being honest about what we couldn't manage, at least for now.

When it comes to participating or not in family and other social events we do pick and choose what we feel is reasonable and on what level. We may decline an invitation altogether or suggest an alternative that works better for our family. We may participate in only a portion of the activities scheduled for a given event. We may make special accommodations in order to ensure our family's needs are met at the same time that we are meeting the needs of others. There have been times when Andy and I really wanted or needed to show up for an event, like a college graduation, and we knew that the kids would require naps mid-day and that they wouldn't likely be able to sit through the entire ceremony. In order to make it happen we planned ahead and did the best we could. We have become very comfortable dropping everything and leaving when it is clear that the kids can't tolerate a given situation. In the case of the graduation, they boys were animals and Andy left with them so they could nap in the car and I stayed behind to witness my little brother receive his diploma.

We've also developed a level of comfort for the scenarios in which an identifiable compromise doesn't exist, and in those cases we choose our family. I understand that life is lived in phases and right now when the kids are so young and when it is our responsibility to meet their basic needs* we remain flexible but prioritize their needs and our parental sanity over the needs of others. It doesn't always please everyone, but it is necessary for us.

Our extended family has grown to better understand our changed priorities, and as a result their expectations have also changed. They don't seem as disappointed as they may have been early on. Another important detail of our story is that we live in a different city from our families, and most of our close friends, so distance makes our independence and autonomy easier, if not built-in.

*basic needs: nutrition, sleep, rest, downtime, safety, connection, cuddling, fun, and mastery (Peaceful Parent, Happy Kid).

A change in plans, no babies for a while

Summertime is chalk and homemade tie dye tees

While at the beach this year Andy and I were able to do exactly two things together, alone.

One oppressive and sticky night we took a beach walk at sunset, trudging through the sand and talking at a fervent pace about our future, our family, and life in general. We walked until the sky went dark when we were left to carefully retrace our path along the shoreline lit only by the glow from the houses that perched over the dunes. That conversation centered largely on dismantling our plan for adding more kids to our brood this year.

The following night we put the boys to bed, and then drove out to Corolla for dinner overlooking the sound. The conversation was unusually playful. I had a martini (rare!)--which pretty much blew me over--and we drove home lighthearted and giddy, headed straight for the hot tub like impulsive teenagers. It was good to feel our marriage so alive, when it more often seems like our relationship lies dormant somewhere beneath a wintry landscape fraught with demands.

I've felt the thaw for many months now. A quiet awakening and a healthy burst of energy as we emerge from the experience of the last four years. Bringing our partnership out into the bright Summer sun and canopied under the warm starry nights helped to bring our marriage back into focus and gave us some much-needed perspective. We want to hold onto the feeling we have right now, and we need some downtime.

Of course the boys have our hearts in every moment and they are as amazing now as they were born. I want a large family, but if I push through to have a third this year we would likely stop there. Roscoe and Merritt are incredible and I want to give them everything. For me it has been a hard exchange and, as I've mentioned before, I'm learning to respect my limits.

In the spirit of imperfect timing, we added that maternity rider to our health insurance plan effective this month with intention to get pregnant in the Spring. After some debate we're keeping the rider because it is insurance, after all, but our plans have most definitely changed. For now we are content as a family of four. I've been yearning for this sense of calm, and I finally feel it.  We want to see where life takes us in the next couple years and aim for a baby born when Roscoe and Merritt are closer to school-age. 

Everyone will be weaned!  Everyone will be out of diapers! Maybe everyone will actually sleep through the night!!? (We're still working on this, believe it or not.) With time we also get space for our marriage to reconnect and thrive, for our parental reserves to refuel, and for our relationship with our two little guys to continue to develop. Respite and stability sound pretty solid right now.

A larger spread between siblings changes the family dynamic I've always imagined for us, but taking all things into consideration the lightness we feel in our hearts tells me it is the right thing for us right now. We'll know when we're ready again to embrace the unknown of another pregnancy and the exhausting bliss of a newborn.

Work ends, life begins

We're keeping it cool, literally (with ice cream, of course)
and figuratively (because life is crazy-good right now).

The beginning of last week was a frenzy of email exchanges and conference calls wrapping up what has been my career for the past six years. I'm so very grateful to have had the opportunity over the last three years to remain intimately involved in the boys' daily life while also growing professionally. I am also more than happy to have agreed to remain available to the Initiative through the end of September on an as-needed basis. I know what you're thinking. Not a huge commitment, just offering limited availability to see the grant through its final months and to support the team as we close the remaining open projects. (It has been hard for me to submit entirely to the idea that I won't have my own income stream and so I suppose this is my way of hanging on until the very last second.)

On Wednesday I swiftly turned my attention and energy to addressing a long list of to-dos that I had been putting off for the better part of 8 months, maybe longer, all hinged on the anticipated moment of work's end. 

So many household chores have been ignored or left undone out of necessity to prioritize and I tackled a good chunk in just a couple days: listing baby items for sale on craigslist; deep cleaning the kitchen; reinventing the screened-in porch from a cluttered storage space to a cozy dining area; culling the kids' worn and age inappropriate toys from the good ones for tossing and for putting into storage; sifting through their drawers and closets to pack away the clothes that no longer fit; yard maintenance; and finally working with Roscoe to support his efforts to potty train. (His progress in only two days has been tremendous and exciting for all of us.)

I've also had some time to devote to getting my birth work off the ground. I hired someone to help with my brand, I'm digging into the curriculum, securing a teaching space, and ordering workbooks and teaching aids--a female pelvis arrived in the mail yesterday!

My first series of classes begin in August and the next three weeks are going to be intense in the best ways possible. We're headed to the beach on Sunday for a family vacation with our extended family, and when we return I'll be headed off to Blogher '12, then shortly after I'll put on a new hat to assume the role of birth educator. It is a dream come true to be immersed in activity that feeds my passions and contributes to building community and improving quality of life, for others and for myself. I think the whole family's happiness and contentment just got kicked up a notch. 

I bought a laptop so that I can stay connected through my travels and adventures, and have every intention to resume dialogue here starting . . . now.

Life after work

As I prepare to carve out a new life for myself as a stay at home mom, I'm also preparing to embark on a new professional path.

My passion for the last decade has been reproductive and sexual health education. In this time I have accrued thousands of volunteer hours centered around improving the health of the people that live in my community. I have a bachelors degree in Biomedical Engineering, and a masters in Public Health Epidemiology. Since graduating I've held two professional positions, neither of which have fully utilized my expertise, nor have they struck gold in my heart of hearts.

The past four years spent behind a desk, first in DC, and now from home, have given me the time and opportunity to reflect on what I really want from my career. I've come to realize that content trumps most everything else. Better than prestige. Even better than money.

I miss grass roots community health. I ache to find work that connects me face to face with real live people, and challenges me with opportunities to educate and empower individuals to improve their health and their quality of life.

In November I will begin the process to become certified to teach natural birthing classes. I have chosen the Bradley Method because of the enormous impact that it has had on our family. I also appreciate the comprehensive nature of Bradley instruction and its emphasis on preventive measures to help pregnant women remain low risk and avoid unnecessary intervention.

I am delighted at the chance to advocate for and empower couples and families about issues centered on birth. The transition of pregnancy and birth provide extraordinary opportunities to learn, grow, and fully realize our power as women, mothers, and partners. Giving birth was transformative for me, and I hope to inspire and support couples as they prepare for a birth experience that is both positive and meaningful.

While my primary focus will remain the ever-growing Sears brood and family life, I'll have an outlet through which I can pursue my personal interests, apply my professional knowledge and experience, and perhaps build a bridge to future work that will fulfill me in ways that can only be found in passion and purpose.