Help?! Yes, please!

I was taught at an early age the importance of helping others. My mother showed me by example how rewarding it was to embrace somebody who needs a hug, feed someone who is hungry, or listen to a friend who needs a crying shoulder. It's a lesson I have written down in ink in my "book of life". I believe this knowledge has made me a better mother, a better wife, and friend. It never crossed my mind, however, that to be a better person I also needed to learn when it was "me" who needed the help. I thank motherhood for teaching me that one. It all started about two months after I brought my twin babies home. I was now a mother of four, ready to take the bull by the horns like a champ. Or so I thought … 

I knew something wasn’t right when the nights I spent smiling became fewer than the ones I spent crying. When during the day, I spent more time feeling guilty about the things I forgot to do or didn’t feel like doing, than enjoying the good moments that WERE happening. I was overwhelmed. I missed dentist appointments and fed my children frozen pizza for dinner; work was behind, and I didn't have a creative cell in my body to come up with a new product. I couldn't begin to remember the last time I had actually kissed my husband good night, much less the last time we made love. As I woke up in the middle of the night, for the 5th (or maybe it was the 6th) time trying to decipher whose turn it was to feed, I felt powerless and incompetent. I felt I was failing my children as a mother and my husband as a wife.  Most of all I was failing myself. I couldn’t keep up with anything while other moms seemed to be able to do it all and look put together while doing it. 

Everyone insisted I was overloaded and just needed to stop being so hard on myself and let people help. In my eyes, I wasn't being hard enough. I needed to get my act together! After all, I had four wonderful and healthy children. Not one sick child. My older children excelled in school. And, as far as newborns went, the twins were not that bad. I had an amazing husband who would come home from work and do whatever he could to help me. I was very blessed. Yet, when I looked around, all I could see was an unkept house, appointments I had missed, craft projects I never managed doing with the girls, and recipes of healthy meals I hadn't prepared for them. I felt sad and incredibly guilty. 

I went to bed every night saying the next day would be different; that I would pull myself together. I really felt I could. Until the next morning, when the sun would come up and I would realize I had slept less than 3 hours, AGAIN. That everything was there to be done and I just didn't have the desire or energy to do it. My husband told me I needed to breathe and let people help me. But how could I? That’s the reason I stayed home right? To take care of our children and our house. Not for somebody else to do it for me. I was supposed to be the helper; the one who saw to THEIR needs. I was the one not volunteering to the PTA, or calling my friends to check on them. I was the one who was failing in providing help. Guilt was this spiral staircase in which once I fell, I could not see where the first step had been nor where I was going to land. 

One day I woke up and realized I was missing life. I was missing my family. I was so busy feeling guilty and overwhelmed that I wasn't enjoying the little things. I was going through my days without feeling the joy of my babies' first smiles. I was listening to the voices in my head saying I wasn't good enough instead of listening to Maya reading her first words. I missed BEING body and mind with them. I knew they were missing me too. I needed help; not because I was weak but because I wanted us to be happy again. So I began to say yes.

I began to accept my father-in-law's offers to pick up the girls from school on occasion so that the twins could have a proper nap. I said yes when a friend offered to bring us some dinner. And when Josh asked if we could have somebody help with the house, I said yes. It had taken me months to accept the help and it took me several more to stop feeling guilty about getting it, but eventually I did. Funny thing is that my days were still full to the rim. I still had babies to nurse, diaper, bathe, play with, and read to. I still had children to drive from one place to the other, homework to help with, my store and business to take care of, food to prepare and "parenting" to do. I had meals to prepare and laundry in the hampers, but the help was definitely taking the edge off. And for that I was ever so thankful. 

Now I was able to enjoy playing games with the girls instead of laundry. As I nursed my babies, I didn't focus on the pile of dishes sitting on the sink, but instead on the expressions and details of their faces. I was able to sit with my husband and enjoy some tea after the children were in bed without worrying we should be mopping the floors instead. I went to bed feeling accomplished, not guilty. And when the midnight cry for nursing came, I was tired, but ready for it. And all because I said, "Yes, I do need help."

I learned that sometimes we are so busy trying to be and do it all that we forget we might be better people, better engaged, better focused if we DON'T do it all. If we just accept that sometimes we alone are NOT enough. I learned I need others just as much as others need me. I had long been schooled on being a good person and helping others in need. Life finally taught me that it is ok to be on the receiving end as well. 

Books: A Spark to Dialogue

When I first became a mother I began to imagine the kinds of situations I would eventually come across as my child became older. I thought about the times when I would have to answer all kinds of tough questions. I had no doubt that I would be the kind of mom who could talk about any sensitive subject whether it was sex, death, drugs, race conflicts, etc. with the same ease as I would talk about the weather. I was ready for my child’s curiosity and investigation of the world. Only later would I realize that things were not so simple, that I would need allies on this quest and I would find them on the shelves of my local library.
Reality sank in when I realized that my oldest child was not one to ask questions. She is observant, but quiet. She does not go on and on about her school day, opening the doors for a conversation about bullying or kindness or hurt feelings. Suddenly I realized that “answering” is not so simple when there are no voiced questions.

How am I to approach hot topics if I don’t really know whether she is ready for them? Will the time ever be right? And when the “right time” approaches, will I recognize it? Are there questions already swimming all over her head that are being left unanswered? My questions to her are most commonly met with one-word sentences. I search for clues of her doubts or fears, but I find that those too are sometimes hard to read.

Recently we were at our local library and I saw a book I thought she would enjoy. The book seemed intriguing enough that I myself was curious. I asked her what she thought of a mother-daughter book club. She liked the idea and we decided we would read it and when we were both done we would have our “meeting”. Each of us was to come up with four questions for the other so we would have a lead into the conversation. For me it was a great chance to strike a lengthier conversation with her, and for her it was an opportunity to have one-on-one time with me (a rare occasion when you have three sisters younger than you).

Our first book was So B. It by Sarah Weeks. A beautiful book in its message, and unknown to me, one that approached a series of difficult as well as morally challenging topics such as mental disability, perseverance, lies and truth, and finally the death of a loved one. We had our book club meeting, and although it still felt like most of the conversation came from me, I felt at ease approaching the hard subjects. The book gave me that “freedom to discuss” because I knew the topics we were talking about did not pop out of thin air. We were discussing them with a purpose and the best part is that I knew she had them in mind.

That first book was enlightening. I began to see our book-club choices as well as the books I read in general as great allies in my quest to approaching tough situations. Now when I come across certain topics in my books I think about relating them to my husband and girls at the dinner table and asking what they think about it. What would THEY do in that situation? Was the character right or wrong in doing so? I can actively search for books that touch on certain topics I would like to talk about, and start the conversation in a casual manner. The books can be my “prompts”, very much like I thought her questions would have been.

In other situations, the deterrent for conversations might not necessarily be a quiet child, but our own fears, embarrassment of, or hang-ups on a certain subject. Using a book plot and characters as the starting point for the conversation can help us distance ourselves just enough from the topic to make it more approachable, less frightening. The book might also show us sides of the topic we as parents had not thought about yet.

You might ask, if that is the case why not just hand the child a book on a specific topic? That is the key though, the books should be used as a vehicle to making the start of a conversation easier, not avoiding it. Nothing can substitute the actual dialogue between you and your children.

Parenting is not easy, and in the quest of doing the best we can to raise knowledgeable, caring and strong beings, an ally or two (or better yet, shelves full of them) can be a very welcomed asset.

Just a Reverse Blink

Being a mom has taught me a couple of things over the years. For example, I now know that warm food, showers and an alone visit to the restroom are luxuries and not to be taken for granted. I also came to understand that sometimes the wisest lessons in life come from some very unexpected places. 

Driving back from school the other day, I heard the following conversation between my two older daughters, Maya (6) and Alissa (9). 

M: I have 176 reading counting points.

A: I have 238.

M: I know somebody in my class that has only 6!

A: Some people in mine have none. Some people just don't like to read Maya.

M: WHAT???!!!! (with the biggest tone of disbelief ever!) Are they CRAZY?!

A: No… they just don't like it.

M (after a few seconds of thinking): Well, I can read with my eyes shut! 

(A few more seconds of thinking and she continues...) 

I guess if they don't like to read then they COULD read with their eyes shut so they wouldn't have to actually read. But then if they blinked then maybe they would HAVE TO read what was on the page and then they might like it. (Mind you that was all said in one single breath)

I looked at the two of them through the rearview mirror. Maya was staring out the window still in deep thought and Alissa was staring right back at me ready to burst out laughing. So we both did and Maya just looked up and said "What? It's true." Then she went on to start laughing herself. 

Later on, while relating the story to my husband, I started to think about Maya's "reverse blinking" logic. So simple, yet, so brilliant. Think about it, what does blinking when you have your eyes closed entail? Opening your eyes! And yes, sometimes all it takes is that one glimpse. That one reverse blink into a book that intrigues you, and your eyes are suddenly wide open. 

I do believe that there is a reader in each of us out there. And yes, I do think that not all readers were created equal. There are the ones who enjoy long historical novels with intricate details about each event, then those who want the quick entertaining comic strips. Some prefer magazines, others, like my crazy husband, math text books. 

When Maya started reading, she was obsessed with the Rainbow Magic fairy books. We came across them by accident while my older daughter was searching the shelves for some of her books. Now, those fairies drove me insane, the same story over and over with a slightly different character, and an oh-so-predictable ending. Yet at 5 she devoured those books, sometimes reading four or five of them in one day. Did it matter that I thought they were not the most mind engaging literacy out there? Not at all, because at the end of the day I had a child who was developing a immense love for reading. Today she reads pretty much anything that falls into her hands, she reads because she loves to, not because she has to. Today I could kiss Daisy Meadows for putting in writing the right words that kept my child engaged and fascinated.  

The point is, every child should be given the chance of a reverse blink into something that is enjoyable to them. The secret is to find out that one thing that really speaks to your child. Whether it is magic and wizardry, robot building or "Animal Grossology" you are sure to find that one writing style and topic that will reach their inner curiosity. Take them to a library, let them browse the aisles aimlessly in search of the one book calling their name. Browse magazine titles, keep an eye out for comic books of their favorite characters, and jump at the chance of finding a book on "the wildest things people eat around the world" next time they crack a joke about eating worms. Once that first spark ignites, keeping the flame going becomes a lot easier. 

One reverse blink at the right paper, that's all it takes. Simple and brilliant, as only a child could put it.