Summa..Summa..Summa..Time

Why, hello!  I’ve missed you!  BILLY accidentally took a break.

During said accidental break, I actually did quite a bit of writing in my head.  Turns out, it doesn’t really count when it's only in your head.  I’m pretty sure it’s just called “thinking”.  Let’s blame the accidental break on the summer phenomenon whereby you find yourself driving your children to all the crap they have to do even when you tried super hard not to sign them up for too much crap.

Each summer, I set the intention to experience an easy, breezy, fun “let the children be bored and unscheduled and unlock their creativity, old school” kind of summer.  I picture myself in the yard smiling merrily as my young ones cleverly construct forts and play kick the can with the neighbors.  In this dream sequence I also don’t have any tanner streaks and my blush/bronzer ratio is just right.  Maybe a bird even lands on my shoulder and sings.  Then, I picture the five of us gliding effortlessly inside to work on our math packets and summer reading as the kids ask me meaningful questions. I marvel at their intelligence and skill while snacking on a vegetable medley.  I consider making clothes out of the drapes and taking up guitar as I wait for my fresh husband to return home from work.  Wait, is that my son asking to walk the dogs?  Yes, summer, I see you and I can’t wait!  Making lunches and doing homework is O-V-E-R!

Instead, each summer, typically mid-July, I find a haggard version of myself staring into the mirror like Stuart Smally from the old days of Saturday Night Live chanting some kind of pep talk about how I’m good enough, strong enough and will make it through this day because I am so grateful to have these children and this beautiful life.  I look myself in the eye and convince myself that my UTI (no doubt a result of stress manifesting in my body) will easily go away with antibiotics and that I’m not compromising my gut health by taking said antibiotics so long as I also take probiotics like the Facebook article said.  

I continue to look deep into my eyes and chant that I am grateful for spending the bulk of my days in my automobile because it ensures plenty of time to listen to satellite radio and hear one child plead with the other to get their foot off "my side".  In addition, I’m guessing 9 year-old baseball is going to be amazing to watch…any minute now.  I’m ready!  I am so close to seeing the beauty in having to be in Mundelein at 5:30 on a Tuesday.  The joy is there if I am open to seeing it, right?  

As I continue to chant into that mirror, Stuart Smally style, it’s fine the kid’s “half hour of screen time” has somehow turned into “one to two and a half hours of screen time and also TV doesn’t count and, um, can I have some ice-cream, please?”  Breathe and release.  Breathe and release.  And you know what, mirror?  Lake Geneva doesn’t have to feel like I’m quadrupling my work load cooking and cleaning for extended family members, no sir!  It’s easy and fun to meld with your relative's daily rhythms and dynamics.  You don’t have to feel like you have post-traumatic stress when you come home!  You can do this!  You are lucky and grateful!

I really do feel grateful.  I swear.  There is a fine balance between truly being grateful for what you have and acknowledging that it occasionally sucks.  In general, I am a positive person.  Possibly even annoyingly optimistic.  Silver linings are everywhere and when a door closes a window opens, etc.  I am also human.  But that’s the trick isn’t it?  To conduct our lives in an overall manner that is grateful for our children, spouses, family, friends; grateful for what we have as it is while not feeling as though we are completely jinxing ourselves if we get to the point where we lose our minds when we find hot glue on the dining room table after an unauthorized craft time.   

If anyone figures out the perfect balance of activity and free time that allows sustained mental health in the summer months, please let me know.  I have not given up hope!  And, as if by magic, the school year is upon us.  Like most, I have an excitement level on par with finding the perfect foundation match now that the kids are starting another year of school.  I am optimistic as I find myself with plenty of time to brainstorm ways to nail next summer.  We can do this!

Go get 'em!

Keely

It Doesn't Just Happen

Maybe it’s a mean thing someone said to you when you were nine.  Maybe it’s a sweet thing someone whispered in your ear when you were twenty-two.  Maybe it’s a line from a movie or a quote from your Facebook feed. Most of us have at least a few random phrases bouncing around in our heads, repeated back to us at sporadic intervals.  I am fascinated by why some words or experiences stay in our heads and wind up informing who we are while others are simply forgotten.  What is about that phrase?  That time?  I’m even more fascinated when the phrase doesn’t seem that profound. When it’s not a quote from Mother Teresa, the Dalai Lama or Dr. Martin Luther King, for example.

For me, one such phrase was seared into my brain (well, soul) about seven years ago.  

The scene: Lake Geneva, WI.  Sunny, warm summer day.  My husband and I were snuggling on a golf cart with our four partially towel dried, swim-diapered children laughing at something one of them said or did.  Easy, fun, quintessential “summer” moment.  An older woman with whom we occasionally exchanged pleasantries walked by our cart.  We had the usual brief, surface-level conversation.   This time, right before she walked away, she looked me square in the eye and pointedly said, “it doesn’t just happen,” winked and walked away. 

Whoa.  Hot eyeballs.  Dry throat. Tiny pre-cry convulsion.

“It doesn’t just happen.”  

Why the emotion surge?  It wasn’t new to have our sideshow acknowledged by near-strangers.  Having four kids ages 4 and under made us a bit of a spectacle wherever we went.  “Oh, you’re busy” and “I bet you’re tired” and “are any of them twins?” were all a part of our daily experience.  Most comments were a mixture of “they are so cute” and “wow, that must suck” and both statements were accurate some of the time.  In general, I knew people were just trying to be nice so I’d cop to being fatigued, smile and finish getting my groceries or whatever.  

“It doesn't just happen.”

I felt that phrase down to my core.  In that moment, I felt completely seen.   As though her older-mama soul was staring right into my younger-mama soul. In that one phrase, I felt like she knew this fun, carefree moment was only possible because I was militant in my resolve to have well-rested children, even if it meant a 4:30 dinner.  She acknowledged the assembly line-style sunscreen application that may have been easier to administer to a group of squirrels.  She validated cutting up every edible item into non-choke sized pieces and scrubbing each sippy stopper clean.  She saw me packing and repacking and making sure the most critical toys and beloved pacifiers were included in our piles of bags.  She saw me trying to breast feed my youngest while reading a book to the other three so we would have a clear two hours at the beach.  She saw in one look, one four-word phrase, the day after day, moment by moment work that got us to that golf cart on one sunny day in Lake Geneva.  With one phrase she validated each of the things we all do as parents while we simultaneously wonder if any of it really matters in the end.

“It doesn’t just happen.”  She was totally right.  It doesn't.

My kids are in the soccer/basketball/dance/cute performance stage now, but I still think of that phrase all the time.  It’s shifted from being a validating phrase to being a motivating phrase.  When I’m wondering if kale smoothies, workouts, conversations with my kids at bedtime when I’m ready to watch Vanderpump Rules, or intentionally touching my husband when he walks in the door after work are doing anything, I remind myself that “it doesn’t just happen.” 

It's a reminder that the stuff we do day in and day out contribute heavily to the happiness and fulfillment we desire in our overall lives.  It is the often tedious choices we're making in the moment (when we could easily blow them off) that make the difference.  The life we want is not something that’s going to suddenly appear in a couple months while we wait it out on the couch.  Every day is a new grab bag of choices that move us in the direction of the things we want and value (gently, of course).

Sometimes I wonder if that woman has any idea her words have been rattling around in my head for all these years.  My guess is no.  For some reason her not knowing makes it even cooler to me.  It’s a beautiful example of how much our lives are constantly affecting the lives around us, even when we just feel like we’re going to Trader Joe’s or work or talking to some random person on the street.  We never know if we’re saying something or doing something that is going to affect someone else for the rest of their lives.  That's cool. 

Thank you Lake Geneva woman!  

Keely

A New Conversation

For a while now, a significant portion of the grown-up conversation has revolved around how we are so busy with our kid’s schedules.  Having been around this “busy” block a few times, when I sense that conversation starting I begin to telepathically plead with the other parent NOT to provide a detailed journey through their Saturday.  Whoa, 11 soccer games, 8 baseball games and a dance recital in one day?  That early?  That late?  Taking place in Palatine, St. Charles and Northbrook concurrently?  That blows.  Realistically, if given the choice between having a conversation about your child’s schedule and being covered by nonpoisonous, biting spiders, I may give the spiders a go.  

That is not to say that I haven’t been the perpetrator of the “busy” talk.  I remember when my family’s Saturdays started to look like an air traffic controller’s monitor.  As someone who values lots of downtime, I was so surprised at how much it sucked that I victimized any sympathetic listener I could find by mumbling our schedule at them in a haze of disbelief.  The truth is, for better or, most likely, worse, we are busy.  Even if, like me, you would rather have your children crawl all over you on the couch for an entire Saturday instead.  Whether you have 2 kids or 6, once the second one starts engaging in the world via organized events, you can throw your hat in the “I’m so busy” ring.

Generally, immediately following the “I’m so busy” conversation comes the time-honored rant that things were better when we were kids.  You’ve heard it.  It’s based on the idea that our parents were really on to something when they only gave a warm hello in the morning and a quick kiss goodnight 13 hours later with limited interaction in between, save a healthy, homemade family dinner.  And the bikes.  Allllll that great bike riding.  When I encounter this conversation, I often consider choosing biting spiders again.  Don’t get me wrong, the “we were tough and had to learn things the hard way” argument has its merits, but it seems about as productive as the “busy” contest when it comes to raising good grown-ups, which is ultimately the goal, right? 

As I see it, there are two inherent flaws in the “life was better when we were kids and subsequently we are the most awesomest adults ever” argument:

1)  Every generation since the beginning of time thinks they are the best grown-ups and the new generation of children is softer and weaker and will certainly spark the end of days.   

I remember my Dad highlighting the ways in which his childhood better prepared him for the rigors of adult life.  Walking 11 miles to school and back in one of his 3 brother’s old shoes.  Being hit by nuns in math class.  You know, the experiential seeds of champions.  His primary argument against a VCR was that it would be the final nail in the coffin for “books.”  I should mention this was a man who thought being forced to wear a seatbelt was the end of private choice in the US and ultimately just for wimps.  I’m sure his father thought my Dad’s generation would never make it because they had the luxury of refridgeration. 

Just as we are now glorifying our 70’s/80’s childhoods, our kids will look back and undoubtedly think that they were better prepared for adulthood than their kids.  Perhaps the argument will go something like this:  Listen here, Jimmy, my parents had to drive me to play dates, not jump in a molecular transporter in the basement and be at Derek’s in under 30 seconds.  Now get in your sleep pod!

And perhaps the best argument for not buying into the belief that our parents had the perfect parenting recipe?  Count how many perfect grown-ups you know.  I don’t know about you, but my number is pretty low. 

2)“Now” only exists because we subconsciously or consciously wanted to improve upon “then”.  

Have you ever met a parent who didn’t want the best for their child?  It’s in our DNA.  We all want the best for our children.  It has been every generation’s wish since the beginning of time that their children have it better, easier and more abundant than they did.  I remember my mom saying that she made it her mission to get us brand new school shoes and school clothes at the beginning of every year because her mom made her wear old ones.  Is she to blame because I really like new clothes every fall?  Maybe.  Overall, we don’t want to screw up our children.  That happens by accident. Our intention is to make our children’s lives better.  Where we get it wrong is when we forsake their development as humans in order to fulfill our need to parent better than our parents did. Or our neighbors do.  

There is value in taking inventory of our childhoods and looking for what worked and what didn’t.  Without taking inventory and the learning that comes with it, we are doomed to repeat it.  Each generation has to figure everything out as they go because each generation is parenting in a different world than their parents did.  For example, we are the parenting pioneers when it comes to technology.  Our parents didn't have to manage screen time and decide if doing homework on a Chrome Book should somehow count against it.  But they also didn't have the same awareness that smoking in your car with the windows closed might not be great.  Just like every generation before us, we are charged with adapting to the world as it is while simultaneously creating a better one.  There are bumps, there are hiccups, there is learning.  Learning can be ugly. Ever teach your child to ride a bike?

Back to the “busy-ness.”  We have unwittingly created a culture where we think there’s an 80% chance our child will be abducted if we leave them in the yard alone.  Let’s blame Dateline and 20/20.  So we drive them everywhere and schedule everything.  But that’s not the only way we make parenting decisions based out of fear.  I think we sign our kids up for everything in sight because we are so afraid that they are going to fall behind our neighbor’s kid if we don’t.  We feel like we are smart, productive grown-ups, but maybe if our parents had only signed us up for violin we would have gotten that scholarship to Brown and we'd really be killing it.  So many of us have crossed the line from making sure our kids have opportunities to signing them up for stuff based in the fear that they won’t measure up if we don't.  We all know that decisions made out of fear are never good ones.  

I’d love to change the conversation a bit and stop glorifying our childhoods as the “right” way to produce the perfect grown-up.  And, for the love of all that is good in the world, let's stop glorifying all this busy-ness. 

Let’s keep the conversation about how we create good humans, because that recipe doesn’t change from generation to generation. Humans need to feel a sense of purpose.  Humans need to feel some connection to that which is greater than themselves.  Humans need to connect with nature and people.  Humans need to feel they are an important part of a group/tribe/team/family.  Humans need to feel like they are good at something.  Humans need to feel that their contribution is valued.  Humans need room to make mistakes and get themselves out of said mistakes so they know they can.   Humans need to have role models and examples of people living fulfilling lives to know they can live their own.  Little humans need to know someone is in charge and it is NOT them.  Humans don't necessarily need to ride their bikes in the neighborhood for 10 hours being fed by whichever random mom just went to Jewel to have a meaningful contribution to the world as an adult.  They definitely don't need 7 soccer games in a weekend. 

If we measure our parenting choices based on what will make them good humans and not necessarily what we think the Ivy League or world of professional sports is looking for (although those things may coincide), then we are on the right track.  You may still find that your Saturdays are “super busy”, but at least you will know that it is something that you chose for the right reasons.

Who's with me!  Although, if you really need to vent about your kid's schedule, I get it.  It's stressful.  I'll listen politely while thinking about spiders.  

Keely

What Color is Your Lipstick?

I remember sitting around with my girlfriends discussing what we were going to do with our lives.  I think I remember it so well because it was last Thursday.

Who would have guessed that the What-Color-is-Your-Parachute? style of wondering, wandering and discomfort prevalent in our early 20’s shows up again just when you thought you’d put that kid to bed.  We may be less hungover, more accepting of our bodies, less interested in what other people think of us and more able to identify which fashion trends to sit out (high waisted jeans, gray matte lip), but the searching has the same feel.  What the hell?  Weren’t we promised cruise-controlled joy once we found the job, the man (or woman or singleness or whatever it was for you), the career and the babies or no babies or whatever fantastic thing it was we pictured?  Could it be that all this itchiness we’re feeling is just a good old-fashioned mid-life crisis dressed up as a Google search for yoga retreats in India and a cooking class downtown?

“Mid-life crisis” seems like an unacceptable exaggeration but, barf, could that be what it is?  Instead of mid-life crisis, I am choosing to call it the “What Color is Your Lipstick?” phase.  One key difference from the 20 year-old parachute version is that we are no longer looking for what we will become when we grow up.  We are grown-ups.  We’re wondering what we can contribute in a meaningful way that will satisfy us for for the rest of our (hopefully long) lives.  And maybe earn us some extra dough in the process.  Also, can it be quick and easy, please?  

Over the last few weeks, I have taken the liberty of channeling my inner Barbara Walters and interviewed all sorts of women on this topic.   Based on my "woman-on-the-street” data collection, I have come to the conclusion that most women in the “What Color is Your Lipstick” phase fall into one of two buckets.   Many even have a foot in planted squarely in both buckets:

Bucket one:  We realize for real, real that the hands-on Mom phase is flying by at warp speed.  Many of us are at a point where the kids need us, but not all the time.  We’ve woken up from the sleepiness of having little ones and have been struck with the keen awareness that our time with the humans we created is as fleeting as it is constantly transforming.  Maybe it’s all this constant transforming that is turning up the heat.  We’ve been through enough cycles of change to finally understand that there isn’t going to be a concrete point in the future where we get to experience cruise-controlled joy and ride off into the sunset.  We have to create it.  Sigh.  That sounds hard.  All the cliches about time flying by is starting to be something we say, not just something we hear from old ladies at the grocery store.
 
For example, I wanted to be a stay-at-home-aunt, so a satisfying life for me never looked like anything other than having a family and some laughs.  Don’t get me wrong, I have listened to all the warnings about losing myself in my children and have cultivated interests outside of my children.  That said, if I could freeze time right here, I’d consider it.  I have talked to many moms who have kids heading off to college and, barring super bad behavior, I think they would freeze time, too.

Stopping time is not yet possible, so we are forced to explore the questions:  “What’s next?”, “Am I going to like this new thing as much as I like this old thing?”, and, the very scary, “What if I don’t?”  So many of us have this feeling like we’re supposed to be contributing more than we do, but we don’t know what to tackle first.

Bucket two:  We find ourselves in circumstances that we never pictured and are wondering if this is it.  As in, this is it?  Maybe we have a job that pays well but we don’t like it.  Or a job we like but it doesn’t pay well.  Or we don’t even want a job but our lives are getting more expensive.  Maybe we are in a relationship that needs to be shed but we never pictured ourselves divorced.  Whatever it is, while we are more secure in who we are as women, we are still experiencing a low-grade freak out that we may never be able to achieve the cruise-controlled joy we felt promised during our youthful struggles.  Where’s this comfort we assumed would come when we worked through What Color is Your Parachute the first time?

What do both buckets have in common?  Both contain the realization that we have to create the life we want for ourselves, and that we should probably start pretty soon.  Many of us are not sure where to start.  Most of us have solidified our suspicions that we can’t buy, drink, eat or "busy-life" our way to fulfillment, although we have at least tried that approach to make sure it didn't work.   We’re left with having to shed the bad relationship, explore the new career, and finally figure out how to lose that 10 lbs. in order to achieve the fulfillment and joy we desire.   Again, can finding it be quick and easy, please?

So what do we do?  I am not an expert, but I can share my plan with you.  I’m going be quiet and listen.  To everything.  I am going to trust that famous quote, “Your life isn’t happening to you, it’s happening for you” and listen some more.  I am going to surrender to the truth that I have no idea what’s coming next and trust that if I listen to my life and follow my internal guidance system, I am going to wind up in a good place.  I’m going to live gently.  I am going to continue to live with the intention that I want to have fun and enjoy my life and that the search and change doesn’t have to be a complete grind.  I’m going to sign up for the cooking class downtown.  Or whatever.  

At my core, I believe that our lives have the potential to always be getting better.  Change is part of the package.  I am going to be grateful for what I have and say yes to opportunities that come my way.  Even if I have no idea what the hell is coming next.  In a lot of ways it’s why this blog exists.  My body kept telling me to write while I kept telling it to please be quiet.  Eventually, the message became so loud that I listened.  And now each of you have Egyptian Magic in the house, right?

Most of all, my plan is to laugh and cry about this with the women in my life.  We’re all going through some version of it, so the more we can be there for each other, the easier it’s going to be.  The women in our lives are SO IMPORTANT if for no other reason than we demonstrate to each other we are not alone.  And we tell each other about the lipsticks we like. 

We’re all going to be fine.  You know that already, but sometimes it’s nice to hear it!

Go get ‘em!

Keely