Motherhood and Mistakes

It’s mother’s day. I am lounging in my bed waiting for my breakfast and coffee. I worked a nine hour shift yesterday in a store crawling with folks spending obscene amounts of money on greeting cards to commemorate mothers of all types. It was heartwarming and grotesque all at once. Consumerism at it’s finest… But this isn’t about that. I’m trying to paint you a picture of a woman relaxing.

I awoke this morning to Leo struggling to squeeze onto the edge of the bed next to me. It was about 6:45, but since most 5-year-olds have no concept of time or sleeping in, I welcomed it. Jason asked him if he would like to go over to the other side of the bed, but then we realized Maggie was already there. I lifted up the blanket and carefully edged back so he could play little spoon to my big one. He placed his sweet little arm around my neck and told me he dreamed about me. Then Adaline came in and said in her almost adult voice, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mommy!!! We got you a present!” At this point, I am wide awake and enjoying seeing my kids after being at work for an entire Saturday. But, a present? I am not big on presents and I would have much rather saved the money for a nice dinner out or some new leggings… But, presents… ok… here we go.

Jason ushered the kids downstairs for a bit so I could wake up slow. A little while later they all come back up with the same gift bag I had sold at least 25 of yesterday at work! It’s funny to think that while I was scanning away Mother’s Day finds yesterday at Target, my family was patronizing a different Target doing the same thing… I held my breath. I don’t like gifts and my family is not great at picking stuff for me. The one thing I asked Jason to do this year is to let the kids take the lead on Mother’s Day – to not do it for them. They are old enough to express their feelings, be it gratitude or indifference, so as parents we need to be willing to give them opportunity to act on them accordingly. I was  pensively expecting some combination of candy, jewelry that I won’t wear, and a coffee cup or water bottle.

As I untie the bag, glitter sprinkled all over my pillow, and Leo let me know it’s a candle. Which is meaningful and not just a cop-out - I will explain in a minute. There is also a pop-socket decorated with an image of a daisy, my favorite gum that I don’t buy because they take it, and three of the sweetest homemade cards I have ever seen. Construction paper folded in half with colored pencil hearts and misspelled words of love. Leo drew stick figures holding hands, Maggie said hers was mommy pushing stroller (because right now, that is all she wants to do when she plays “mommy” with her baby doll), and Adaline’s was carefully decorated with colorful hearts and stick figures with beautiful matching hair.

I cried. There was so much thought of and for me in that glitter bag that I feel wholly unworthy. Add the Facebook post acknowledging all the things I feel can go completely unnoticed by Jason, and you have a woman so overcome with emotions of gratitude she wants nothing more than to make her family breakfast on Mother’s Day. For what it’s worth, Jason rolled his eyes at the suggestion I make my own breakfast and is currently downstairs making biscuits from scratch while my coffee brews.

Our morning was a freaking Hallmark commercial in every way. Which is in such contrast to our regular life it is absolutely laughable!

On holidays like Mother’s Day, it is so easy to get caught up in the magical parts of motherhood. And that magic is real. I don't want to downplay it. To see the ways that loving another human so deeply can make one seem to have superhuman capabilities - it is truly magical! We celebrate the people who make our worlds go round. We buy and make gifts of all sorts. We feed them and let them take naps. The well-to-do folks may even get a trip out of the deal! But for me, the simplicity of this year’s celebration in our house is perfect. Mostly because the idea of being put too high on a pedestal leaves me feeling guilty, unworthy, and like I am living a lie (cue the sound of a record scratching to an abrupt stop!) Why? How can a woman dedicating her life to her kids on all accounts not want the recognition of that?!?!? It's hard work, but I am going to tell you why...

Like my mother and her mother before her, I make a lot of mistakes. Big ones. Ones my kids may need therapy to recover from. Ones that would give my spouse all the ammunition in the world to leave and never look back. I make mistakes born out of exhaustion and the unrealistic societal expectations of women. I make mistakes that other women judge me for. I make mistakes because I sometimes am selfish or use bad judgment.

The truth is, I fuck up on the regular. Most humans do.

The candle in my mother’s day bag is significant because I had a “more frequent than I care to admit” meltdown on Friday. Just two days ago, I was in my tiny kitchen that desperately needs a renovation. I have very little counter space and I was trying to put away groceries, do dishes, feed kids, and get ready for work at the same time. This is what closer to what our mornings are usually like! I was trying to shift stuff around on the less than 2.5 feet of counter space I have to make PB&J for the kids without having to put stuff on the floor. I moved a bowl a fraction of an inch, which moved my candle a fraction of an inch, which sent it crashing to the ground. Glass and children and grocery bags and random wet spots from God-knows-what were all over the floor. 

I burst into tears. I made a mistake.

Not of knocking off the glass candle. A bigger one that the shattering of the candle brought to the surface. I regret leaving Tallahassee. Being in my tiny kitchen, and the accidents that happen because of that remind me daily that I miss my former home.

You may be saying, “WHAT? She JUST got there…” Trust me, I KNOW!!! And all I can say is, “Me, too, folks. I think I am crazy, too.”

As I swept up glass I found myself thinking “this wouldn’t have happened in Tallahassee!” Truthfully, it probably would have, but let me have my moment, please. I hear Baby from my favorite movie Dirty Dancing pacing back and forth angrily saying, “I HURT MY FAMILY! YOU LOST YOUR JOB ANYWAYS! I DID IT FOR NOTHING!”

Because our move was a choice born out of desperation, it was hard to rationalize possible negative repercussions. Jason hadn’t worked. We needed the equity in our house. My relationship with my mom was complex, so asking her for support when Jason ended up traveling for work was not ideal. My sister in Knoxville, who is by all measures my best friend, was eager for us to be closer… So I did it. Without really thinking it through.

Please note that Knoxville has been good to us. For those reading this that have befriended us and helped us acclimate, this is nothing against this place or your lovely friendships. It is just not the home we thought it would be. If I may quote another cheesy movie, I think of Reese Witherspoon in Sweet Home Alabama when she is telling the amazing suiter waiting at the alter that, “I gave my heart away a long time ago.” I already have a hometown, and it’s not Knoxville.

So, back to how I mess up… as evidenced by the public admission that I miss Tallahassee so much that I can’t even think about it without crying, I make big mistakes. Huge ones (now I am thinking about Pretty Woman... maybe I just need to watch some movies...) In addition to the big ones, I yell. I am lazy at times. I give in more than I care to admit. And I do all those things because I am in fact, not the superhuman Mother’s Day memorializes me as.

I am a human. A regular one. And as such, I am allowed to make mistakes. Especially if I learn from them. I am allowed to have a temper, especially if I recognize my error and work to fix it. I am allowed to be more than an image of a goddess, drowning in patience, lightly smelling a baby head and driving kids to soccer practice in a perfectly selected outfit with pristine hair in a clean van.

This Mother’s Day, my family showed me that they hear and see my REAL feelings and THEY LOVE ME ANYWAYS. They have a mother that yells, cusses, and comes up short so many times in a week that it is unbelievable. And THEY LOVE ME ANYWAYS. They have a mother that tries, really hard, to be present and functioning, but sometimes gets caught up in Facebook. AND THEY LOVE ME ANYWAYS. They have a woman who has a short temper, too little sleep, a “to do” list impossibly long, with the weight of life’s choices on her mind and body… AND THEY LOVE ME ANYWAYS.

I hate cut flowers – they make me think of death (both the death of the flowers and because I cannot smell them without my mind rushing back to the funeral home full of flowers when my dad died.) But I do love daisies. They are the flower I drew so many times growing up; so simple and sweet! So my family got me something I needed – a popsocket for my new phone with a daisy on it.

They replaced my shattered candle that brought my humanity to the surface.

They got me gum that I don’t have to share – because I am insanely selfish.

And they made me cards that show me how they feel. Undeniably, these children love me. The real me. Not the one you may envision writing this. Not the one who takes 47 pictures before finding the one that looks the least like me to post on Instagram. The actual real me – who is usually braless, disheveled, looking for a Coke or coffee, trying not to lose her shit about the amount of dishes in the sink and clothes on the floor. The mom who drives them with windows down and loud music. The mom who loves the slow morning snuggles and making a big weekend breakfast. The one who says no, but let's them know they don't have to give up just because I said so. 

I am here to tell you that motherhood is not magical friends. It is making mistakes with impressionable people and hoping you are teaching them enough kindness in your better moments that they forgive you. It is taking advantage of the good times and powering through the hard ones. It is recognizing your mistakes for what they are – nothing more and nothing less. Because, despite what so many cards, commercials, and social pressures would have us think, we are not superhuman. 

And we don’t have to be. Because they will, and do, love us anyways.

This mother’s day, I hope we can grant the influential women in our lives enough grace to be human. To give them the gift of being heard and acknowledged. To simply return the love she gives you.

And… if she is tired or hungry, go ahead and meet those needs, too. But please, keep her off the guilt ridden pedestal. Let her be a regular human and still loved. Because that is what she does for you.

Sunday Donuts

Donuts.


A few Sundays ago, we woke up to sunshine for the first time in several days. I really enjoy rainy days, but a few rainy weeks left me feeling isolated and longing for the weather we left in Florida. I don’t know if many of you keep up with the weather patterns of East Tennessee (because that sounds like a fun hobby, right?) but we have had some pretty dangerous flooding in February. There was nearly double the annual rainfall here since January 1^st (usually about 7.5 inches at that point in the year and we had 11+).


But when we saw the sunshine and felt the early signs of spring that morning, and we decided it was going to be a great day. Which starts with donuts. We haven’t gotten donuts in months because we haven’t had the money, so this was an exciting treat!


I haven’t been terribly open about it, but last year our family had another 6-month round of unemployment. I was very vocal before our move to Knoxville about Jason’s job status. He hadn’t worked in a few months, and that is hard for any family. We were fortunate and he found a job that took him away from us right before we left Tallahassee, yada yada yada. “Is this lady a broken record or what?” Well, what I haven’t been as vocal about is that that contract ended in August of 2018 and Jason only went back to work at the end of January of this year. We both felt confused and angry. Embarrassed. Misguided. Stupid… any negative feeling you can have about yourself– we felt it. You may be asking yourself -


HOW COULD IT HAPPEN AGAIN?!?!?


Honestly, I just don’t know. As a woman who rarely has a shortage for words, it is hard to summarize all of the complex feelings and thoughts about only working 10/18 months. The old “bad things happen to good people” line seems fitting. I could also now write a pretty accurate novel about nepotism and old money in Knoxville. Sure, sometimes you blow an interview, but we have also learned that sometimes a company interviews people as a formality, never really intending to hire from outside the company. The truth is, I don’t know why it happened again! Jason is a hardworking, reliable, well-educated man… we started looking for new work months before his contract ended… I just don’t know why it took so long. But what I do know is that my husband now has a great job that doesn’t take him away from us. He likes what is doing, where he get to go, and who he is spending his days with. Please thank whoever you pray to for me, I’m not sure I have them all covered at this point.


Back to the matter at hand… Donuts… Because we had $20 to spare… We loaded up the kids and took them the donut shop when found last summer. We let them each pick two. I like seeing them get excited and debate over what they want. Adaline is adventurous and loves to try new ones – but will always settle for a Boston cream filled. Maggie doesn’t care what she gets, as long as she leaves with more sprinkles than she came in with. And Leo is the kind of guy who wants the same thing every time – vanilla frosted, preferably with sprinkles but he can handle without; much like Jason who only ever wants a fresh apple fritter. Me? I don’t really care as long as there is no jelly in my donut. I am quite the fan of blueberry cake, though…


Leave it to a fat woman to write an emotional post about donuts, right?


But there are all these feelings about them. When I was a little kid, donuts were a big deal. My dad worked nights my entire life, usually getting home just as we were getting out the door to go to school. But, on a lot of Saturdays, when we heard his keys jingle in the door, we knew there was a box of donuts in his hand. He would take the time to go to Frank’s IGA on his way home and pick out six chocolate and six plain donuts for us. They came in a long white box with a crinkly plastic window – the chocolate would get on the plastic as my dad would try to juggle his stuff from work, a gallon of milk, and this long sleeve of donuts. That was coveted chocolate – the goal was to get the donut with the most chocolate AND scrape the window chocolate off before anyone else could. There were smiles, jokes, and Saturday morning cartoons.


I don’t have a lot of super happy memories of childhood; don’t get me wrong, they are there and the ones that I have are precious. But donut Saturdays are a very happy memory.


When I was in high school, I would buy the yearbook staff donuts every few weeks when I was editor. We would have “donut meetings” so we could get up to date on deadlines and section progress – but mostly it was a way for me to feel connected to my friends before school.

In college, I found Malasadas – Hawaii’s heavenly and superior answer to donuts. I always had at least one roommate willing to track down the Leonard’s truck with me if either of us were heartbroken or overly stressed.  


The first Sunday Jason and I found ourselves opting out of, and ultimately leaving, the LDS Church, we got several boxes of donuts and delivered them to our neighbors. We explained that we wanted to be better neighbors, and what better way to start that than with a box of donuts.


Are you seeing a pattern here? As I have become a mother, I love taking my kids to donut shops every few weeks and letting them pick out a donut because it represents such a simple joy – and it is a joy that is so easy to share. I mean, have you EVER met someone who doesn’t like some form of a donut? Can you think of anyone who would turn down the offer of such a delicacy? I truly think the reason we don’t have a higher minimum wage in this country is because employers appease us all with donuts on occasion… “I know 8.25/hour isn’t enough to sustain you AND you will only get enough hours to not need health insurance, but here is a DOOOONNNNNUUUUTTT!!!!” And we happily take the donut. Every time.


I digress, as I so often do…


But man, this second round of unemployment taught us what we are really capable of. It also taught us where our limits are. Our hustle game got stronger. We got creative with entertainment. We were blessed, yet again, by family and friends that saw our needs before we did. We asked for help when it was needed. I got a job at Target through the holidays and kept it because I actually like it. Jason Ubered. Did we survive? Did we come out stronger? Wholeheartedly, YES.


But we couldn’t get donuts.


And donuts are special to my babies. That connection and security I felt when I would hear my dad come in on Saturdays has been passed on to my kids. It’s not even about the donut shop or the money needed to buy them – it was about doing something special that makes them feel secure and loved. The comfort of a routine. Sure, I would make a big breakfast just about every other morning while Jason was home – pancakes, biscuits, kouign-amann from scratch, and the like. But it wasn’t our tradition. And when they would ask for that experience of going to the donut shop to look and pick, we had to say “no.”


It broke me every time. To see their faces sink to our response of “maybe next week” was the hardest part of unemployment.


Joblessness really opened my eyes to what other folks may be living through all the time. It has furthered my commitment to political views. Which are simple - if you are working 40+ hours a week, you shouldn’t have to worry about going to the doctor or being able to pay your bills. I am by no means comparing my inability to get my kids donuts to someone’s inability to pay rent or see a doctor. What I am equating is seeing that look of trust, connection, and security dim in the eyes of your children. It’s a hard thing to watch, and frankly anyone working 40 hours a week shouldn’t have to watch it.


But that Sunday morning, riding to the donut shop with the windows down reminded me that we somehow made it through. Our ends were stretched and met. And as my kids touched the display case, practically drooling, with me actively reminding them people work to keep the glass clean and to stop, my heart was full. They were excited. They felt the security we had been working so hard to provide. My grateful heart began leaking from my eyes. All the worry. All the fear. All the anger… it all melted away when they said, “can we get donut holes, too?” and I could simply say, “yes.”

I could go on for days about the freedom in that “yes.”

I could also probably stop blogging and write a bestselling collection of short stories called “Target Entitlement: A re-tale of rich people behaving badly.” I could write at least a few more paragraphs about how EVERYONE should be able to get their kids a donut every now and then… But I won’t. I just want to paint the picture of a BEAUTIFUL Sunday morning, complete with chirping birds and a sun so bright you had to squint. Of a mom and dad holding hands in a car. Of excited children speculating what the display case would be full of… And a family that felt hope for the first time in a while.


There are a lot of things in this life that I may never understand. A lot of things I’m not smart enough to grasp. But the simplicity of donut shop hope will never be lost on me. As I am emerging from the dark gloom of not knowing what was going to happen to our family, I am reminded that the wisdom gained from job insecurity and financial hardship is shareable. And this is what I want to share with you:

May we all be nice. Be patient. Be kind. To others, because we don’t know when the last time they had a donut was. And to yourself, because you probably deserve one more than you think.