Silent Treatment by J.G. McGlothern

Why is it that we run away from what we need the most?

Even though I crave silence and need it sometimes more than sleep, I don’t always know how to achieve it, let alone know what to do with it when I get it. So then I fill up the silent moment with busyness, random senseless movement. I know for a fact, I need part of my day to include solitude, aloneness, a period of stillness. Quiet.

Does this happen consistently? Not exactly. Do I continue to strive toward this reality? You bet.

Today for example, I had the not so common occurrence of NO CHILDREN at home for more than six hours. You should have seen my list. Oh, the things I was going to accomplish. I started the morning with the kids sleeping in longer than usual. I seized the moment and meditated. I got in ten minutes of stillness, before the dog whined to be let in and the children woke up. 10 MINUTES IS HUGE. Ask any parent, right? That minuscule amount of time felt like manna from heaven. I was able to attend to the dog without bitterness and the children without bitchiness. Probably heaven for them as well.

Then later in the morning, with no one home but me, I had this gigantean amount of time. One would call it FREEDOM. I started to freak a bit. Do I start at the top of the list? In the middle? Close my eyes and point? Know what I did? I listened to the still small, oh so DIVINE voice within me and went outside to our deck. I faced the chair toward the sunshine and sat. Oh, the birds. Oh, the silence. Totally golden. Delicious. I still accomplished plenty on the list to be satisfied but I realized that the most important thing wasn’t even on the list.

Why did I surrender today? Perhaps my soul was tired of all the false starts and was finally ready to be still. All the attempts, all the fantasies about having more silence in my day came to fruition. As a result I was more present to everyone I encountered the rest of the day. I didn’t hit a down, depressed feeling. I didn’t feel guilty, confused, bitter. I felt like I hit that point I am always striving for, the point of balance.

Holding Hands by J.G. McGlothern

I’ve been warned by friends with sons that I have a 50-50 chance, so to speak, of my son remaining a hand holder.  At the age of 4, rapidly approaching 5, my son is the best hand holder.  Firm grip.  Never gets sweaty palms.  Doesn’t squeeze too tight.  Committing to the hand embrace with gentle love.  A solid, unyielding intertwining of our fingers.   He never drops my hand when other kids approach.  Unashamed to be caught holding hands with his mom.  At this same age, my daughter rarely would walk more than a block holding hands with me before releasing her grip from mine.  My son doesn’t let go for an itch or scratch.  But he will let go for a feather or rock in our path.  After gifting me with his found treasure he finds my hand again. 

Other moms have shared that their sons stopped showing public affection around the 4^th grade.  And other moms have shared how their 7^th grade sons still show public affection to their mamas.  Just depends on the boy.

Nearly two years ago, just days before my daughter started kindergarten, I wrote the following poem:

Big Girl

Standing in line to buy

Her first lunch box, pink of course

Tears well up

It hits me there at Safeway

Our little girl is starting

Kindergarten

Confident with her new haircut

Proud with her new purchase

We walk out of the store

Hand in hand

Soon she will only walk

By my side reluctant to

Hold hands

So tonight I grip tightly.

 

With another year before my son starts kindergarten, I will take his hand in my left and my daughter’s in my right and give thanks for every little touch, not hoping for more moments like this, but living in the one I am in. Even if it only lasts  ½ a block.

The Other Man by J.G. McGlothern

Don’t tell my husband

 I’m in love with another man.

Last night he climbed all over me

Touching me with the softest caress

Lips landing on my neck then

Taking me in with those eyes

Those big brown eyes.

When he smiles at me I melt

Like a stick of butter in a frying pan.

He can talk me in to anything.

I would go anywhere for him.

In my eyes he can do no wrong.

For those brown eyes of his are my eyes too.

But that smile of his, just like his daddy’s.

Mad Woman by J.G. McGlothern

A wise associate once told me that it’s okay to be angry – it’s what you do with that anger that counts.  As I unravel my frustrations with motherhood and examine my thoughts and feelings I am aware that I am not an angry person, I just get angry often.

My brief moments of madness are quick flare ups expressed through being short tempered with my husband, yelling at my kids, losing focus and getting sad.  These moments are triggered by not taking care of my needs, by not being attentive to my little inner voice.  This voice is always nudging me, urging me to STOP and smell the roses, but I ignore it because I think that it would be too self indulgent. HA. Get a clue woman, I must tell myself.  Being a mother doesn’t mean being a martyr.  We give up so much that we forget it’s okay to take and receive.

But if anger motivates me to see a spiritual healer, get a massage, make an appointment with a counselor, take a long walk with a friend, then everyone benefits. The husband, the kids and even the dog, but most of all ME.  And for that I say AMEN.

We are the only ones holding us back from moving forward.  Growing from the struggle.  Listening to that little voice.

Loving Silently by J.G. McGlothern

I’ve learned a great parenting trick. It’s just as good as the great party trick of how to not get a hangover…actually better.

When my son is in the middle of one of his hellacious tantrums and I want to hop on the next bus out of town, I change my inner dialogue.  You know that little voice? The one that says, “Parenting sucks, I want out NOW.”  I change the running dialogue to, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”  I think the words as I say nothing, grit my teeth and smile softly.

My other mode of operation is to yell back and start climbing the walls with him.  This only amplifies the situation.  Yes, this other calm way of dealing with his madness takes great patience, but the result is worth it.

I send my son love when he is coming unglued.  I remain calm as he climbs the walls higher and higher.  It works!  He shifts gears, catches his breath and falls into my arms.  “Sorry, mama,” he whispers.

I wonder if it would work on a hangover.  “I love you. I love you. I love you,” whispered softly into the mirror as you gaze into it all bleary eyed.

Downright Pissy by J.G. McGlothern

Sunday nights can be a downer. My husband starts to lose his upbeat, cheeriness thinking about the demands of his upcoming week. Our children don’t want to go to bed. I’m worn out from the weekend, all pissy about not getting enough time for me. As a child myself I would get very down in the dumps on Sunday evenings, even though I loved school. As a career woman I was downright depressed over the weekends not being long enough. They still aren’t.

Last night, Sunday, I was in the laundry room starting one wash load, sorting all the piles getting quite annoyed, noticing the time on my watch. Nearly 8:30 and I had lots to “get done” before I could think about reading my book. My husband came down to the laundry room and said, “Babe, stop. I’ll sort this – you go write or read or something.” Aware that he still had to pack for his business trip I hesitated about taking up his offer. “Go, you haven’t had time for you all day.” I dropped the dirty sweat pants onto the floor and marched up the stairs. I grabbed my journal and vented, filling the blank pages with my frustrations. After ten minutes I started to fill the pages with all that I was grateful for, starting with the husband who made me get out of the laundry room. The husband who made me go write.

It was amazing how my mood changed. The anger was replaced with love and gratitude.

On Sunday nights, before the whole routine stats all over again I need to do something for myself instead of going to my own little pity party place. The laundry room is not the place to replenish my soul, fill my empty cup. I know this, yet I continually need to be reminded of what happens when I don’t do something for myself. I turn angry. Bitter. Downright pissy. As in the case of last night, if I’m too stubborn to listen to myself thank goodness I listened to my husband. He doesn’t want to live with a pissy, hostile woman – secretly he knows he does laundry better than I do.

Movie Magic by J.G. McGlothern

When one has children the wonderful world of Disney is at your disposal. Curling up on the couch with a child and a good movie is one of my favorite times being a mom. I did this before motherhood too. I was an aunt, babysitter, god-mother, nanny all long before I was a mother. I loved it when they wanted to watch a movie. I watched movies with children for my enjoyment as much as for theirs. I could escape and find inspiration from the animated screen.

Mary Poppins reminds us of the importance of playing. She’s is all about using the imagination. Something so important in this media frenzy society. When was the last time you drew on the sidewalk with chalk? Ate a spoonful of sugar?

The Incredibles stress the importance of family, Toy Story the importance of friendship, Over The Hedge the importance of taking care of our planet. This movie time gives me escape, provides inspiration, nuggets of wisdom that carry me through another day of parenting.

The 2008 release of Jack Black as Po the overweight Dragon Warrior in Kung Fu Panda had me from the very start. You have his dad, the town’s noodle restaurant owner, determined his son would follow in his footsteps. When he believes his son is ready for the “secret ingredient” in his noodle soup, the audience learns the truth. There is no secret ingredient. A truth we can apply to our own lives. There is no secret. This is it. This is our lives. There is no secret ingredient to parenting. We all have what we need inside of us to be the best parent we can be. We hold the knowledge deep down inside of us. We let the stress cloud our wisdom. The sought after Dragon Scroll reveals the same truth, no magic tool necessary. We have what we need already.

Which movies have revealed a new truth for you? I mean let’s face it most kid movies today are really for adults. I am pretty sure a lot of the deep meanings are lost on my four year old. Which movies have provided you escape through humor, wisdom or inspiration? What lessons have these films taught you? Please share your movie experience with me by adding your comments below. Let’s spread the magic.

The Things Kids Say by J.G. McGlothern

Ever since my children were breathing inside my womb I have kept a journal.  One for each kid.  I am on my daughter’s third journal and my son’s second.  It is where I record their firsts, their struggles, their joys and my favorite…the things they say.  Those are the most precious words to me – not my words – but theirs.  If I didn’t write them down I would forget – in the moment I think that I’ll remember – then the moment is gone and so are the words.  So if their priceless wisdom or hysterical observation has just spilled out of their mouths, I grab the back of a chewing gum wrapper, grocery receipt and write it down, transferring later to their journals.

The difficult part is translating “how” they say it and not just “what” they say.  The expression, the enthusiasm, full of pure wonder, gentle grace, raw joy and unbridled passion, can never be repeated.  Those are the moments I want to capture…treasure…remember.

Leaving swim lessons last week my son was having difficulty with his new learned task of buckling his seat belt.  His sister wanted to help.  He didn’t want her to help.  She yelled at him in exactly the same way I have yelled at him in the past.  My heart broke a little more in that moment.  Our sweet daughter who is usually easy going is starting to “lose it” regularly with her brother.  It’s like there are two of us in the room.

A moment I compare to the time she said “Mom, _uck is a bad word, you shouldn’t say it.”  Actually worse, I would rather she says a swear word instead of swearing or yelling at another human being.  So even though not a proud moment, I want to remember it.  I will write it down in her journal.  I willl continue to talk to her about finding other ways of dealing with her frustrations as they relate to her brother.  I will listen.  Write it down.  Learn from my own instruction.

Running On Empty by J.G. McGlothern

I have been such a good mom today. I haven’t yelled or lost my cool once. In the face of opposition I have remained calm. It is because my cup is full from taking care of myself this past weekend. I got away from the husband, house, kids and dog and spent two nights with myself and my women’s group. We prayed, laughed, cried, walked, ate, drank wine and I even had a nap one day. I was listened to and the only person I had to be responsible for was myself. It doesn’t always necessitate an entire weekend away to refill my empty cup.

Often attending a yoga class, meeting a friend for a cup of tea, reading for twenty minutes, playing my online chess addiction, walking the dog around the block or just simply sitting quietly for a moment or two replenishes my used up supply of mothering.

The three things in my life that re-fuel my tank and fill my cup back up are exercise, reading and quiet.  I need time to connect with my body, mind and soul.  I need to feed it physically, mentally and spiritually. It is rare that all three will be honored in one day.  But if in one day, I attend my yoga class, go for a walk, write in my journal, meditate for twenty minutes and read for a half an hour that is the day I win the Mother of the Year award.  I am tuned in, present, grateful and calm. If all that can’t happen and it rarely does I’ll settle for a walk by myself or twenty minutes to pray, read and write. Hell a cup of hot tea, a book and sitting by myself makes me stronger for the rest of the day. This time is sacred, this time is mine.  Physically, mentally and spiritually I am filling my cup back up with every minute alone, every deep breath, every page read, word written, block walked and every moment connecting with myself. 

To refill your empty cup starts with being loving to yourself. You are so good at your job that your children depend more and more on you.  You give.  You give some more.  That’s when you can begin to unravel around the edges.  You become bitter. You are running on empty. 

What are your three things you need each day?  Do you notice the times you lose it? Is it safe to say those are the times you haven’t done anything for yourself?  You have been running around getting your kids ready for school, grocery shopping, cleaning up messes, making sure your kids are fed, watered, safe and oh yes, happy.  So take a moment to do the same for yourself.  What are you hungry for?  What will nurture your needs right now?  Is it a walk, a trashy magazine, an apple, a chocolate bar, a deep breath, a phone call, a long shower, a cup of tea sipped alone until the cup is empty and the liquid is still hot?  Scrubbing the toilet and throwing in a load of laundry are not going to fill up your cup?  WHAT CAN YOU DO JUST FOR YOU SINCE YOU HAVE BEEN DOING FOR OTHERS ALL DAY LONG?

Just Give Us The Day Off by J.G. McGlothern

Talking curbside yesterday with another mom, waiting for the school bell to ring we agreed that the structure of Mother’s Day was all wrong. The rules need to be re-written. This isn’t the only person I’ve shared this conversation with this week. My girlfriends are packing up and loading their kids off to visit mother-in-laws on Sunday when frankly they would rather…not. Don’t get me wrong they care for these women in their lives deeply they just don’t like the forced ritual of celebration.

As stated in a recent issue of The Network of Spiritual Progessives, written by Jonathan Klate, when Julia Ward Howe offered her Mother’s Day Proclamation to the world in 1870, her dream was far from gift baskets and long drawn out brunches of what Mother’s Day has become today. Her dream was for women to come together and dedicate themselves to the cause of nonviolent resolution of conflict and international solidarity among all women. President Woodrow Wilson put his spin on the holiday when he officially declared the day in 1914. Ms. Howe’s intention was far from “home and hearth” being the only focus. Klate explains that President Wilson ‘spurned the internationalist concern that was central to Howe’s consciousness, distorting this into American nationalism. Howe’s central concerns, the universality of motherhood and its natural expression in anti-war sentiment, was excised from the official meaning of the day.’

My focus doesn’t come close to Howe’s intended observance and awareness of the day, but there is a similar thread. If you want the mothers of this world to continue to spread non-violent ways of raising our children, if you don’t want us to get stressed out one more day, let’s honor the day by not forcing us to be somewhere or do something.….give us the frickin’ day off, I say. Save your money on the sweet smelling gifts.

I myself am packing my bags and going away for two nights with five other women. We are retreating from the real world and leaving the care of our children to our husbands. We are mothering ourselves. And when I return mid-Sunday I will welcome the small hugs of children and treasure their crayon made cards. I will have more energy to receive their love and come Monday have more energy to give all over again.