I Don't Do It All

Today I'm over at my friend Bethany's blog, Baking Humble Pie, dispelling the myth that we moms "do it all." I was so honored when she asked me to contribute to this series. It's so important for our society to see a realistic picture of motherhood.

You can read about what I do and don't do as a mom here. And while you're there, check out Bethany's thoughtful collection of posts. She is an amazing writer and homeschooling mom of five, with lots of wisdom to share.

Join the conversation! What do you do, and what don't you do in your current state of life?

Avoid the Comparison Trap

So you've discovered your tendency. Now what? Well, if you're an Obliger, like me, you might be tempted to compare yourself with people from other tendencies. For example, I oftentimes wish that I could be more like my Upholder husband Andy. Disciplined. Motivated. Awesome.

But that's the comparison trap, and it's hard to climb out of its darkness. I can wish all I want that I was different. But that's not honoring who God created me to be. As an Obliger, I am motivated by others' needs and expectations. I love to be helpful, and I'm good at it. However, I will never feel compelled to get my to-do list done (at least not without someone else's happiness on the line). If it's just for me, I can rationalize the lamest excuses. I haven't exercised for the past year. What's one more day? 

I used to get really frustrated with how easy accomplishing tasks was for Andy. He would shake his head, wondering what was keeping me from making the changes that I so obviously wanted. "You just do it," he'd respond with a sigh. Now that we both understand each other's tendencies, we can both give each other more grace.

So, don't waste your time wishing away your God-given tendency. Instead, work on mitigating its weaknesses, and harnessing its strengths. Because each tendency has both, and nobody (yes, not even Upholders) is perfect. 

Does you struggle with the comparison trap? How do you avoid it?

**If you haven't taken the quiz yet, what are you waiting for? And check out Gretchen Rubin's weekly podcast Happier for more helpful tips.

An Obliger's Need For Structure: My Stay-at-home Mom Dilemma

It's been awhile (almost two months) since I've last written. I know that you all haven't been exactly holding your breath since then, but it still saddens me that I haven't kept up with regular writing/blogging.

While I haven't been writing, I've been doing a lot of thinking. I am on the other side of my first postpartum year, and have had time to look about me, and take stock of my current situation. And, honestly, I don't like what I see. It's hard to admit that even when my depression has lifted, Mr. D is sleeping through the night, and even taking a consistent nap, I still struggle to accomplish much during the day. I clean. I make meals. I go for walks with Andy and Mr. D. We visit friends. Then naptime or nighttime rolls around and all I want to do is veg: Facebook, TV, anything that involves me sitting around and eating ice cream or chocolate. Blergh. 

I want to grow in discipline, and be able to exercise virtues readily. And I have realized that the missing piece for me is structure and the accountability that comes from it. You see, I'm an Obliger. Gretchen Rubin came up with this term (along with 3 other tendencies: Upholder, Questioner, and Rebel) to describe people who easily meet outer expectations (like a deadline), but really struggle meeting inner expectations (like exercising regularly). You can take the quiz here.

As a stay-at-home mom, I set the schedule and the pace for the day. I wake up at different times every day, based on a variable bedtime. Grocery shopping is usually done on Fridays, but doesn't have to be. No one is demanding that I dust or vacuum once a week. I can attend play group at our church (and I usually do), but the world won't end if we decide to sleep in and have a lazy morning instead. Part of me enjoys the flexibility of this life. Another part of me craves more structure and routine. I have tried numerous times in my adult life to impose structure onto my life. I've created daily schedules, where each hour is accounted for. I have a recurring calendar appointment to "blog/read/write" on my free evenings. But the siren song of Amazon Prime TV and movies drowns out my more noble aspirations. This would all be fine, if I was still in survival mode. But I'm not. And, as creative person, I need to be creating. I need something I can point to, and say, this is what I made. Otherwise, I languish. I mope.

So what is an Obliger to do? Create outer accountability. This is the brilliant answer that Gretchen Rubin discovered is necessary to ensure that Obligers are able to meet those pesky inner expectations. Once moved outwards, the expectation can be more easily met. Since I need to be creating, I will need to write on this blog, once a week. And I am asking you, dear readers, to hold me accountable. If you know me in real life, you can give me a nudge through text or phone. Or, to make it even more public, you can comment on my last blog post (I receive notifications when someone comments).

To ensure that I have the energy to foster healthy habits, I am going to sign up for an fitness pass at our local community center. Yes, I could easily do a workout at home. But I don't.  One of the classes that will be available to me is Zumba. Oh, how I love dancing! I know now that dancing is one of my happiness boosters. So on the same front, Andy and I are going to resume monthly contra dancing. Now that we have reliable childcare for Mr. D, we can go on more date nights like this.

But what about during the day? What sort of outer accountability can I add when I'm at home, by myself? It's about boundaries. One of the things that has enabled me to languish as an Obliger, is that I have so much time to do things during the day. So, I actually need to fill up some of that time with activities, so I can make better use of the remaining time. Sounds counter-intuitive, but it has worked for me in the past. I am going to set up regular play dates with local friends, attend the weekly church play group, and resume teaching Catechesis of the Good Shepherd at our church. I would also like to start exploring around the area for fun activities to do with Mr. D. Now that summer is here, that should be a lot easier.

Nap time is almost over, so I need to wrap this up. So I'll turn it over to you: how do you make the best use of your time? What strategies work for you?

Rising with Him this Easter

Today is Holy Thursday, and the beginning of the Triduum. Tonight, at our church, and at churches across the world, we will celebrate the Last Supper (and the institution of the Eucharist), and then walk with Jesus through the rest of His Passion. Good Friday is tomorrow, the day we commemorate Jesus' suffering and death on the Cross. Then comes Holy Saturday, while we wait beside the tomb. Unlike Jesus's first disciples, we wait in hopeful expectation. We know that Easter Sunday is coming. Jesus rises from the dead, and we believe we also will rise with Him. And then Lent will be over for another year, and we will celebrate Easter for 50 more days (Yep, it's not just a one-day celebration, like St. Patrick's Day or St. Valentine's Day. Jesus is way more important.) :)

So in light of Lent coming to a close, I want to reflect on what I hope to carry forward with me this year. This Lent, I prayed a Rosary (nearly) every day. I hope to continue this practice, even after Lent ends. It puts me in a more positive frame of mind, and guides my day. 

I also started wearing a Scapular, a practice I used to follow when I was still in school, but had unconsciously left behind as an adult. The Scapular, which you can read more about here, reminds me that I am not alone in my day-to-day struggles. I have Jesus to guide me, and I also have his mother, Mary. She has come back into my life through these two devotions. Quietly. Patiently. She hasn't reproached me for my absence. Just welcomed me with open arms, once again. I am glad to have her example, as I strive to be the best mother I can to Mr. D. It's also so comforting to feel her mother's love. I hope to carry my connection with Mary, and her son Jesus, as I rise with Jesus on Easter.

If you recall, I mentioned that my word or theme for this year is refuge. Honestly, I haven't been as mindful of my theme as I would like to admit. But, God has been (again) quietly working on my heart, and showing me his Father's love. What a gift this is! He loves us. I am loved! In all my wavering and imperfection, he still reaches out, and calls my name. I only have to turn to him, and run into his arms.

So as I rise with Jesus on Easter, I hope to hold on to the connection and closeness I have felt to my mother Mary, and to my Father in Heaven.

How do you hope to rise with Jesus this Easter? 

Remember, You Are Dust

Welcome to the Merry Dreamer! If you're new, hop on over to the "About the Merry Dreamer" tab above to see where I've been. I'm glad to have you here with me. 

Ash Wednesday morning. Mr. D sleeps in to about 8:30, which means that if I want to make it to 9am Mass, we will need to leave immediately. I sigh, realizing that it's not going to happen. Oh, well.

As I sit down with Mr. D over applesauce and cheerios (his breakfast, not mine!), I realize that maybe this is what God wants from me right now. He wants me to be right here with my spirited toddler. He wants me to die a little to myself, my wishes, my desires. Because, honestly, I would have loved to have gone to the 9am Mass. To start the Lenten season off properly, with ashes on my forehead as if to say, oh yeah, I'm serious about this. But no. I am sitting beside my little guy who has decided that being spoonfed is for babies, and he wants to hold the spoon and chew on it.

I think I'm being clever, and I get another baby spoon, so we can continue the process of eating applesauce. He manages to get that one too. Now he has a spoon in each hand, eyeing me, as if to say, any better ideas, Mom?  I start to wonder how long this power struggle will last: twenty minutes? twenty years? I head for the refrigerator and grab a stick of string cheese. Ah. Mr. D's kryptonite. He lowers one spoon so he can grasp a piece of the cheese. In a few minutes, I have both spoons, and decide he has lost interest in the applesauce.

We head to play group at the church. Lots of little ones this time. One of the moms (and a close friend) asks if we're planning on going to the Ash word service after. I wasn't, since Mr. D is now only taking one nap after lunch. But he seems to be in good spirits as we get closer to noon. We go, along with several other moms with their children in toe. It seems like this was the popular choice for young families--they make up at least half of the congregants. The service is fairly bare bones: a little singing, several readings, a short reflection, and then the distribution of ashes.

Pixaby

We didn't go to church for Ash Wednesday last year, so this was the first time I've gone since Mr. D was born. As I received the ashes, a bold, black cross on my forehead, the following words were spoken: "Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shall return." Yes, I am dust. 

And then, the same smudgy cross on my son's head, the same words: "Remember, you are dust, and to dust you shall return." This little baby. He is dust, too? The words, which I so easily accepted in relation to myself, seemed to echo in my ears. I slowly walked back to my seat, and, for the first time, understood the implications of this practice. We are all, whether marked with ashes or not, going to die someday. And while it seems jarring to place ashes on babies and little children, it is true for them as well. The elderly lady who smiled at me, as I shushed and held Mr. D? She is dust. The five children fidgeting behind us, ranging in age from ten to two? They are dust. And my little boy, the one who I would give anything to protect from harm? He is dust. 

We are all dust. And to dust, we shall all return. 

We may live many long years, and die at a "ripe old age," as our marriage vows say. But we will die. It is a sobering thought. And it would be a terrible one, if death was the end. But I am realizing (slowly, and sometimes painfully) that in giving up my semblance of control, I am handing it over to a most gracious Father. A Father who deeply cares for me, who loves my Mr. D more than I ever could (thank you, Carrie, for this reminder). By letting go, I am falling back into His arms. He knows when our time here is done. May we all be ready to let go when the time comes.

Pixaby

It Will Take as Long as It Takes: Reflections on the Past Year

I want to start off this post with gratitude for the overwhelming support and encouragement I received from all of you in response to my last post. As I'm sure you detected, I was feeling incredibly discouraged upon publishing the post. I actually hesitated being so vulnerable on the blog, but when I asked Andy what he thought, he simply said, "Yep, that's where we are" and gave the go ahead to hit "publish." So, again, thank you for lifting our spirits and surrounding us with solidarity. It was much needed.

Now onto tonight's post...

Today we celebrate Mr. D's first birthday. The milestone is bittersweet for me, as I reflect on the past year, and all the joy and pain that has filled it. I wish I could say that I am looking back with rose-colored glasses, that I can laugh now at those first days, weeks, and months. But I can't. Don't get me wrong, I love Mr. D with all my heart, and am so thankful for his presence in our lives. Yet, the fact remains that I had a difficult birth and postpartum period, and continue to face challenges related to my experience.

After hearing my birth story, a friend asked me if, a year later, I felt any better about my birth experience. I responded a bit too emphatically, "No!" How long will it take before I feel at peace about this time in my life? The lesson from this year seems to be: It will take as long as it takes. 

I have not posted a birth story for Mr. D (which seems to be almost a requirement if you have a mommy blog) because I don't like being negative, and I don't want to seem like "woe is me" all the time. (Otherwise, I might have to change the name of the blog to Moody Dreamer...haha). While I will save the nitty gritty details of my labor and birth for another post (which you can totally skip if you're not into reading about that sort of thing), I do want to share how it has shaped my motherhood so far.

Labor was long, and much harder than I ever thought possible. We took a Bradley-method birth preparation class, during which we saw a video of a water birth at home. The look on the woman's face as she met her baby stirred something deep inside me. I wanted that. That look of love, connection, strength, and peace. I hoped that those things would be the natural results (rewards) of going through labor and delivery sans drugs. I was wrong.

Most of the time, even with Andy or one of the midwives there beside me, I felt alone. No one else was experiencing my pain, and no one could relieve it. The room was dark, because I couldn't stand the light, but my soul also felt dark. I felt small, alone, and scared. I've never felt more scared in my life. The pain was too much. Maybe I would just die from the pain. But I didn't die. The pain continued. I kept asking how much longer. If only I knew how much longer before it would be over, I could make it through. It was the prospect of labor continuing another day that terrified me. Every time, I got the same answer, It will take as long as it takes.

All in all, from start to finish, my labor was two days, and three nights long. I want to clarify that Mr. D was being monitored regularly, and was never in any danger during my extended birth process. In fact, he seemed to be completely oblivious to what was going on. The little stinker. ;) 

Fear, anxiety, and distress continued even after Mr. D was delivered from my body, and placed into my exhausted arms. I was glad that labor was over, but the joy and peace that I had expected were missing. Now I know that this was the start of what would be a year of postpartum depression and anxiety. 

I alluded to it in my posts, and several of you connected the dots without me telling you outright. Some days and weeks are better than others, and there have been periods of time, when I thought it was gone. But, I have grown to accept that this may stick around for awhile, and I have determined to be very proactive about my care and recovery. This means medication, counseling, self-care, and prayer, among other things. I am reminded of my midwife's words as I was in labor, desperate to know how much longer before it was over: It will take as long as it takes. 

Isn't that true, though, for all of us? We are constantly in a state of becoming, and oftentimes grow impatient as we wait to reach proficiency and comfort in each new role. How long before I am healed of postpartum depression? It will take as long as it takes. How long before I feel adept as a mom? It will take as long as it takes. 

So, I am trying to be patient with myself, and with the timetable of my healing. And in the meantime, I am soaking in the soft, baby fresh skin, the chuckles, the scampering, clapping, and games of peekaboo--all the little joys of motherhood. Because I don't want to wait until I am fully healed to treasure these moments. Because if I wait, I might miss them completely. 

I love you so much, Mr. D.

Wounded Bodies, Wounded Hearts

What do you do when everything seems to be falling apart around you? What do you do when you have no idea what to do, yet you are the one who is supposed to have all the answers? What do you do when there is much too much, and you feel like you're drowning? 

So far this year has been full of sickness, worry, and pain. Before you say it, let me tell you I know things could be worse. I know that people are suffering everywhere. I know that people have lost their homes, their livelihoods, their loved ones. Just last week, my hometown experienced a major flood, that devastated its business district and damaged homes. So, here I am, in my home, with food to eat, heat to warm, and clean water to drink. So, who am I to complain? Good question.

I am weak. From a year of depression, anxiety, and heartache.

I am scared. That all that I cling to will be torn away from me, too. Family that I love, friends that I count on, a place to call home.

I am tired. Of nights spent awake, worrying about being a good mother, a good wife, a good person. Nights with a sick child, watching the monitor, in case his poor body would gag and choke yet again on the contents of his stomach.

In the past handful of days, Mr. D has been sick with a stomach bug, I am sick with a cold, and then Andy got the stomach bug, followed by my cold. To make matters much, much worse, yesterday Mr. D pulled my just-poured hot tea onto himself, and suffered a pretty bad burn. I had to wake Andy up from a nap, so he could help me attend to a screaming child, a soaked floor, and my broken heart. We ended up going to Urgent Care, at my insistence, and were given an ointment to help soothe his burned skin, and help prevent infection.

Mr. D is doing much better today, but I keep replaying the episode in my head. What could I have done differently? Why did I have to put the cup of tea on my place mat? Why did I use that big of a cup? Why?? I know that it's not my fault. Yes, I will not put anything on place mats when we're not sitting at the table. Yes, I will try to keep dangerous things out of reach. But, you know what? I am human. I forget. I make mistakes. And, even if I did everything perfect, just right, Mr. D, and anyone I love for that matter, can still get hurt.

I don't have control. I never will. God has been giving both Andy and I that lesson, over and over again this year. Becoming a parent has taken away that last bit of control that I thought I had. In The Four Loves, C.S. Lewis said it best:

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

Today, my heart is broken. It has been broken before, and it will be broken again. I can only hope that I can learn how to let the Divine Healer mend not only our bodies, but our hearts, too.