Mothering can be so difficult. So, so difficult.

I've been struggling at this gig for a little while now. Mostly, I'm just tired. Really, really tired. I can't think straight (in fact, I half wrote this post - and a different title - while washing dishes just now and I can't remember any of it. Bear with me.).

My baby has been waking up a fair bit at night. And even though I've vowed with each kid to "sleep train" them, something has come up and, despite my best efforts, it hasn't worked and the time frame has passed. Truth be told, she's not nearly as bad as a previous baby, but I seem to have to function more now. I'm just not getting my REM.

Mothering had me in tears last night. I yelled at the kids too many times. I had zero time to myself. I just couldn't teach that math concept.

7:30pm came and Emilie was (amazingly!) sleeping and I was preparing for a workout when an older brother came out of his room to use the bathroom and woke his little sister. I spent almost an hour getting her to sleep and to sleep again last night and headed down for my workout, tears still in my eyes, at 8:50pm.

After finally showering, snacking, and finishing my Rosary, I sat down with my book on Mother Teresa to read for 10 minutes. Earlier in the day, looking at my book, Joseph had asked: "Do you read your chapter book at night after we're in bed, Mom?" No, no I don't. Because usually Emilie is up and taking up my attention. So last night, even though it was 10pm and I was tired, I sat down with it.

"Love. Love until it hurts."

That's what she told me. Mother Teresa. And that's exactly what I needed to hear.

But it hurts to love all the time.

But these kids are so needy.

But I want a little time to myself.

But I'm so tired. 

While my excuses might be valid, it doesn't really matter. I must love until it hurts, while it hurts.

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At night, there were tears, but joy came with the dawn. John Paul found me on the couch at 6:50am this morning and snuggled in with a blanket and book. "Were you waiting for me to get up this morning, Mom?"

Love. Love until it hurts.

We left off the math lesson for today, left the house and went to the park. We let the baby fall asleep in the stroller (see, she really is a good baby) and played at the park. We brought along Go, dog. Go and Joseph read to us on the play structure.

It was Amazing. Wonderful. Joyful.

We came home and I brought out my book again: to just sit in the sun outside and read.

I looked up and found John Paul and Joseph had both retrieved books and were sitting around reading too. Joseph, my newly minted reader, sitting on a homemade swing and silently struggling through the words all by himself for the very first time.

This is not my work (well, maybe a bit), but really and truly the answer to my prayer: Please, let tomorrow be better. Help me love. Even if it hurts.

At night there were tears, but joy surely came with the dawn.

The Working Mom and the Most Important Job

I have spoken to a number of local moms recently whose babies just celebrated their first birthday and who are now headed back to work as their maternity leave ends.

Some of these moms decided to work part-time to be able to still be home with their young children some days. When all was settled, their particular work schedule ended up being half-days and they still have to pay full-day childcare to save their child's daycare spot, whether the child is there all day or not. But this means, say the moms, they will be able to do groceries, clean house, get a massage, or run errands while still having their children in daycare on those afternoons they are required to pay for.

When all is said and done, they won't actually be making much money at work. By the time you have two children in full-time daycare, it's a lot more difficult for any job to make considerable income over and above expenses.

So, why do these moms work?

Some moms have to work. I get that. Some families need two incomes to survive.

But the moms I'm talking about, the ones I know in our small rural town? Many don't need to work to contribute to their family income. Their husbands are well-off farmers, accountants, oil workers, chiropractors. Yet the daycares are numerous and full.

These moms work because they "need a break" from their kids and believe their kids need a break from them too, or to afford their expensive homes, campers, designer kids' clothes, and winter vacations, or because they want a social life and it's easily found in their workplace.

I'm not here to make all the disclaimers about how some women and kids do actually need those breaks, that social life, or that people can choose what they value as important and where they spend their money. I'm not here to say SAHM moms are better than working moms or do a better job at mothering. I want to make another proposition.

When we first moved to Tisdale, I asked around to find a mom's group, thinking it would be an easy way to make friends for me and my children. I discovered that there were no groups. None at all. At the time, the only group for children not in preschool was a library story-time and even that was full of children from the daycare/preschool in the same building. It took me a long time to meet any other moms.

(We now have an early childhood education program for children that parents participate in and a moms and tots group at one of the local churches, but it took a couple years for these to emerge.)

But at the time, I wondered, where are all the moms? Working.

I can't speak for all small towns, but I believe ours is especially geared towards moms returning to work after maternity leave and their children to childcare. And I often wonder why?

A few months back, I read a comment from a homeschooling mom that stuck with me. She said she was happily homeschooling because she believed she was doing something she could do better than anyone else and that gave her pride and joy. Now, it doesn't matter whether you agree or not that homeschooling her children was something she could do better than anyone else. The point is, she believed that and gave it her all.

I think the same principle can be applied to mothering. It's nothing new that women desire affirmation: to be told they're beautiful, to be complimented on a delicious meal or a well-ordered home, or admirable children. We want to know we're doing well, or better, that we're doing the best. job. ever.

But when it comes to work and employment? Our society fails women, specifically mothers.

We are often led to believe that it's better for us to be employed: it empowers us, we contribute to society, we have a social life and influence. And although we're told that it's completely up to us what we choose for our young children as far as childcare, the pressure is there for children to get ready for school with organized preschool, and to make friends through preschool programs. We are often led to believe that it is better for our children to be away from us because they will be better prepared for life and happier with their peers.

But what if we told a woman that being a stay-at-home mom and caring for her babies, toddlers, and preschoolers was something she could do better than anyone else? What if we really believed that? What if mothers really believed that?

Because, you know what? I really believe that mothers can care for their young children better than anyone else. Religious talk about how God gave us mothering hearts and our specific children aside. Mothers are meant to be mothers. Children need their mothers when they are young. Period.

(Yes, kids need their dads too. And yes, stay-at-home dads can be great!)

But our society doesn't believe childcare is the most important job of mothers or certainly doesn't support it. Our previous Conservative government was consistently accused of wanting to keep women in the home and flatly denied this repeatedly, saying payments like the UCCB were to help families make childcare decisions for themselves (which I strongly agree with). But what if they did say that they wanted to keep women in the home? What if they said that they believe raising their young children is the most important job of a mother and that it is something she can do better than anyone else?

What if we all said and believed that?

I think there would be a lot more and better mom's groups and support for the SAHM. I think moms would have a great social life, still be able to "take a break" and get a massage if need be. I think moms might be happier, might be less stressed and overworked, might enjoy their time with their preschool-aged kids more.

Maybe it's a stretch. But then again maybe not. If we really believed staying home to care for their young children was something moms could do better than anyone else and if we told them so, I think more moms would be willing to try it and might discover that their most important job could be their full-time job.

Pass the Alcohol, Please

You know, parenting is tough. You knew that already?! Oh. Well, it's true. It's an insanely difficult vocation that also happens to be so rewarding. I'm talking about when the kids are finally quiet and sleeping in their beds and you look down at them and marvel at how they've grown and how wonderful they are - while they sleep!

I was reading something from St Josemaria Escriva last night: 

Look, even humanly speaking it is good not to find 

it all done for you, with no hitches. Something -- a lot! -- depends

on you. Otherwise, how could you become a saint?

Yes! If it wasn't a challenge, if life was just easy-peasy -- then where would be the room to grow and change and be moulded into the person God wants me to be? Saints didn't just get born that way (except, of course, our Blessed Mother). 

Alas, I'm far from sainthood. But, as Dan told me matter-of-factly last night when I recounted to him how badly I'd done the whole day: "Well, just say your Act of Contrition and then do better tomorrow." Thank God we can pick ourselves up off the floor and get back in the game.

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John Paul is teething. Does that explain things?! I know now that he actually is teething because I felt the giant molar underneath his gum last night at 10:30pm when he was crying for 2 hours. Before that, I would periodically tell myself (and happily be convinced of it) that he was teething to make an excuse for him (and my own impatience). 

We're all pretty worn out and tired, too. It's the end of the school year and Dan's been fighting a bug for a couple weeks now, too busy to take much time to recover. The rest of us? Well, maybe we're just pity-partying with him. The boys have colds and runny, runny noses; we're all just not getting enough sleep (or maybe that's just me projecting). 

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We're surviving. But not exactly thriving. I was thinking this -- or maybe saying this to Dan, I forget which. I feel like we've been surviving for a really long time (John Paul, it's all your fault! Joking.). I want to do more than survive. I want to thrive. But I'm beginning to think that maybe my ideas of thriving aren't the ways and makings of becoming a saint. Because, in my mind, thriving somehow means having everything running smoothly with no hiccups and peachy-perfect lives. That all seems very nice, but is that reality?

I've read and received a few pieces of really good advice: 1) having all little kids is really hard and 2) if something is really difficult right now or bothers you a lot (where kids are concerned), just wait a few weeks and it will be different. Another piece of advice I learned the hard way, is never automatically pat yourself on the back if something is really going well with your baby/child. It might be you, or you might be very blessed right now and it might change later. In other words, it's probably not that I'm such a wonderful parent.

All this to say: it's not going to be easy all the time, or even most of the time. When it's hard, when I think I'm just surviving, well, I must survive as best I can. Raising kids is hard, hard work. If it were easy there'd be something wrong. If any vocation were easy, there'd be something wrong. We're told, "Take up your cross and follow me" not, "Take up your pleasantly cool alcoholic beverage and relax in the sun."

Get discouraged, I must not. Carry on, I must. And I might just enjoy a little cool alcoholic beverage this weekend and relax in the sun... so I'm prepared to take on next week's challenge.

Rookie Mom

When Joseph was around 6 months old, we decided to start him on solid foods. At the time, we lived in a small mature-student apartment at Redeemer University in Ancaster. With just two months left in Dan's school year before we moved permanently to Saskatchewan, we had no intention of buying a high-chair and carting it back out west with us. So, we made do.

We still lived much like university students. More often than not, we didn't eat at our kitchen table. It was in an awkward corner of the kitchen and slightly too high for our $10 Walmart folding chairs. Instead, we just ate while sitting on the older couch my parents had loaned us for the year. 

Surely, Joseph too, could just eat on the couch. Or so we thought.

Now, while some first-time moms read all the books and do all the things, I was just not one of those moms. I figured that, having grown up in a family of 6 (not to mention Dan coming from a family of 7), mothering would just come naturally. So, I did not read all the books. 

We assumed Joseph was ready for food at 6 months because every time we ate, he reached out to grab our food. And most babies just eat at 6 months or so, right?

So around that time, I grabbed a banana, sort of mashed it up with a fork, propped my 6-month-old up against a pillow with a white pillow case on my oldish couch, took out the camera, and commenced introducing solids. Rookie mom.

Joseph made all the faces that babies eating food for the first time make. He rolled the banana around in his mouth and nursed on the spoon. He tried to eat the side of the bowl. Eventually, he got some of the banana down. Then he didn't poop for 11 days straight!

Yes, you read that correctly. 11 days straight! Looking back at pictures and, I believe, video evidence, I'm not at all surprised. Bananas? As a first food? Barely mashed? Not watered down with anything at all? Yes, yes, yes, and yes.

After that, I read more and took more of a first-time mom approach: making special foods, freezing them in little ice cube trays, thawing them, warming them, and finally feeding Joseph. It was tedious, annoying, and he still didn't exactly eat that much.

With John Paul, I'm getting it a little better. I throw a squash in the oven with whatever I happen to be cooking, mash it up well, and he feeds himself. While sitting in a high chair. At 7-8 months old, not 6.