the cold never bothered me anyway....

Winter has a way of slapping the good mood out of a girl.  And this girl has really never had too volatile of a relationship with winter.  Sure, I don't like the freezing temperatures and the slippery road conditions....but I love a warm sweater and cozy scarf!

In fact, I would consider myself a fairly strong supporter of the joys of winter.  I take my kids on winter walks at the State Park.  I embrace the snow and face my fear of death to go skiing at least once or twice a winter.  I delight in serving hot soups on a chilly winter's night.  I get giddy when school is called late or off completely.  And don't even ask how I feel about sledding----my kids and all of their friends have to fight me for the super-saucer!  I'm the first mom to the bottom of the hill and usually the last one wanting to leave.  I sing at the top of my lungs, "Let it go...." along with Elsa, proudly thinking...."the cold never bothered me anyway."

See.  I embrace Winter's Wonderland.

At least I did until this winter.  And even this winter I started with my usual enthusiasm and general good mood of all things cold and frosty.  (I like beer too, for pretty much that same reason.)

But now I'm just plain old grumpy.

I'm tired of fingernails cracking because of cold temperatures.

I'm tired of snow that can't be manipulated into a snowman because it's frozen solid.

I'm tired of trekking across campus to my office only to feel my nostrils freeze shut.

I'm tired of wearing a winter coat on top of my big woolly sweater and still feeling cold.

I'm tired of my car's whiny noises as it groans under the extreme temperatures.

I'm tired of my dog pacing the house because she can't spend more than 2 1/2 minutes outside.

I'm tired of the kids' snow-clothes laying unused because it's too cold to play outside.

I'm tired of people who get to take tropical vacations.

I'm tired of being tired from the extra fat I'm consuming to stay warm.

I'm tired of the extra fat.

Winter, I've tried to be a good sport.  I have tried to be the hearty Dakotan that makes others look like wimps.  

But I have had enough.  Do you hear me?  ENOUGH.  Good thing it's January and there is only 3 more months of this.  One day more and I might lose my mind.  Or at least my fingertips to frostbite.  

on my island

Parenting has a way of making me feel like I am on an island.  Alone.  And within a reasonable amount of distance is the mainland, where I can see all of the other parents laughing and celebrating their awesomeness at this role.

At each stage of being a mom, I have experienced this phenomena.  I remember when I had four kids, five and under.  I would be surrounded by people, but felt totally alone.  As they talked about a date night with their husband, I was trying to remember if I had brushed my teeth yet that day.  My brain was mush, and at every turn I was reminded--sometimes kindly--by others, that I was making one major mistake after another.  "Sleeping in your bed?  Are you crazy?  We NEVER allowed that!"  "They need to get rid of the pacifier by 6 months or it will ruin their teeth!"  Blah, blah, blady-blady-blah.

But good news!  I survived those years.  (But by the grace of God.)  It was like my birthday/Christmas/and winning the lottery combined when I no longer had to purchase diapers.

With smirk on my face and shoulders held high, I was ready to move onto the easy years of parenting.

Yeah, don't ask me how that's going.

It isn't as though I am 'fighting to survive' anymore.  I don't feel like I'm outnumbered by grubby cheeked, stinky-butted children.  Well....we do still have some rather smelly occupants in this house.  But, like their cherub-like cheeks many of the exhausting tasks that filled early motherhood have vanished.

Now here I am in the 'next' stage of being a mom, and so many days I feel like I am doing absolutely everything wrong, again.  Many nights when my tired head hits the pillow I feel like the only thing that I did right was love them.

Love them, even though I lost my temper and let their selfishness get under my skin as though it was a personal attack on me.  Love them, even though I couldn't bite my tongue from mumbling complaints about being under-appreciated while cleaning up a dinner that no one liked.  Love them, even though I holler down the stairs in response to their tantrum at being sent to their room.

So here I am on my island.  Some days it's the Island of Self-Pity, I'll admit.  But the good news about my children growing up, is so am I.  I am perhaps a tad wiser than I once was...I hope.  And I realize that even though I feel isolated in this role, not far from me is another mom, on her island, feeling the same.  She probably drinks more margaritas than I do, and therefore doesn't really care that she's messing everything up.

To all of you parents who are gracefully, or not so, fumbling your way through parenthood along with me, remember that you are not alone.  In fact, you are right where your parents hoped you would be.  Struggling just as much as they did with you.

And you know....an island isn't such a bad place to be.  There are a lot of crazies on the mainland.

the head and the heart

So many of the decisions that I make as a mom are reactionary.  Like, 'I-never-saw-that-one-coming-so-now-how-do-I-deal-with-it?'  Because, well, as a mom you just never know what is around the next turn.

Which is the exact opposite of how my husband makes decisions as a parent.

I guess that is what makes me the heart and him the head.

When I first heard the 'head/heart' analogy about marriage and family, I smirked at the simplicity of it.  As if the complicated relationship of marriage, and even more complicated relationship of parenting, could be reduced to something as simple as 'one is the head and one is the heart'.

However, the longer I am married---and the longer that I am a mother---I see the truth of the simplicity.

Now don't misunderstand.  My 'heart' role does not mean that I am not a 'thinker'.  Moms are always thinking.  And planning.  And 'what-if-ing'.  And worrying.  All that, while balancing a baby on hip, loading a washing machine, and cradling a telephone between shoulder and cheek.  Because you see, we are women FIRST.  We can multi-task.  And it doesn't mean that my husband is emotionally challenged.  It simply explains the difference in how and when we respond.

I think about how my son will feel if he's the only one without the cool basketball socks.  My husband thinks about how his son's feet will feel in white Hanes socks.  Any different?  Nope?  Okay then-white Hanes, it is.

My role as mom is so deeply grounded in the emotional well-being of my kids, while meeting their physical needs.  While dads role is so deeply grounded in their physical well-being, while fostering healthy emotions.  And somewhere in the middle is the beautiful coming together and mingling of the two, where we both seek to nurture the spiritual needs of our children.  I would never presume to say that I love my children more than my husband.  I love them differently, perhaps.

Very often as a mom, I play different mantras in my head.  Some days, they are not the holy and uplifting kind.  Sometimes I say things while sorting smelly laundry, like:  "Sure dad has a good job and works hard, but he has no idea what I do all day here!  He wouldn't last 10 minutes.  These kids are emotionally exhausting!  Seriously, do they even know how many times I've washed these CLEAN jeans?  Don't they KNOW how I feel?"  You know, the kind of internal dialogue that is loaded in self-centeredness and completely unhealthy.

But my God is so good.  He is so patient and forgiving.  Kind of like my Prince Charming.  Which makes God even better for having given me a man so near to His heart.

In those hectic moments and self-pity filled laundry-room tirades, He speaks to my heart.  Because, after all, that is my role in this marriage.

My daughter, fret not.  The body cannot function without its heart.  You- are that heart.  This home, these kids, this family rely on the steady heartbeat of their mama.  But let not pride fill your heart.  For even though a body needs its heartbeat, a heart alone is not enough.  The head is also needed.  The head balances the heart's reactions.  The head thinks and then feels.  One alone is not enough.  Be the heart.  And love deeply.  Feel deeply.  And pray for the other parts of this body, this family.  And let not discouragement and self-pity burden the heart.

My marriage is not a cookie-cutter example of any one behavioral study on relationships, anymore than yours.  We fit into some categories quite plainly, and others are somewhat reversed or less obvious.  But I have come to understand, and continue to pray to understand, just what my role as a mother and wife is.  Not as defined by popular culture and trends, but through the eyes of my Creator.  The one who created me, woman, and created my husband, man.  And gave us this amazing sacrament of marriage...where we get to be co-creators with Him.

For my faithful ONE.

Someone asked me recently if I was going to start blogging again.  Maybe they said, "writing"....which is more of how I like to look at it anyway.  I didn't really have an answer, because to be honest, I haven't thought about this blog and/or writing on it in a LONG time.  Obviously!  But it made me stop and think about why I haven't.

Life, I guess.  The same life that keeps me from any other 'hobby' that seems superfluous.  I don't mean that in some negative, poor me, kind of way.  Life is good.  Life is GREAT, actually.  But it sometimes takes the starch out of a girl.  Like instead of making time to sit down and write a clever recount of my holidays, I just sit down.

And in all honesty, I don't remember the last time I did that very successfully either.  Not because I'm some super-busy mom, but I have some serious relaxation issues.  Usually I ready myself at about 8:30 pm to indulge in sitting time.  In slippered feet and jammy-pants, I get my book, iPad, or newspaper, grab a warm blanket and my jug of water, and make my way to the coveted chair in the living room.  (It's at this time of night that my Prince Charming is praying and reading to our 5 kids in the basement--go ahead, be jealous.)  

On a good night, I sit for about 10 minutes before I realize I have a dishwasher to unload, or someone is hollering for a pair of gym shorts still in the washer, and needed for school tomorrow.  You know, the same thing that happens in every house on the block.  Nothing new here.  My point is, I guess I use my time a tad differently now, than when I blogged regularly.  

But I miss it.  And apparently one.other.person does too.  

I am not resolving to write daily, because that would just equal = failure.  But I do want to write again.  It was something I enjoyed a great deal and can/should find time to do more.

Happy New Year!