We have now experienced three Christmas celebrations, taken a couple long car rides, hosted a few shindigs, and done all of the shopping, eating, drinking and making merry that goes along with our holiday season.
Throughout our travels, the packing and unpacking, the laundry, the grocery lists, the gift exchange spreadsheet, and the gazillion details (that always work themselves out one way or another), I have been overcome by emotions a few times as I tried to put into words what Christmas means to me. Here goes:
Life. Full to the brim with kids, spouses and grandparents, games, meals, and outdoor adventures. Family. Love, shared history, old jokes that are laughed at because they are so ridiculous. Connecting. Reminiscing.
Traditions. Passed on and shared from our individual families mixed with new traditions of our own. Celebrating.
A time of reflection. Of thankfulness for all that we have. Of the beauty and richness of our life. Of the losses we’ve endured over the years yet despite these losses our loved ones who have passed still feel so present. Remembering.
Aware. That life can turn on a dime and that every snapshot of happiness is so precious. Sending love to friends who are struggling through the holidays.
Joy. In the grandparents’ faces as they watch our children explore and grow. In our kids’ eyes as they see their cousins or decorate a gingerbread house or spy round the corner to see if Santa has come. In my husband’s eyes as we share a quiet moment of pride in our two beautiful children.
Peace. At the end of the day, when the kids are asleep, and my husband and I can sip a glass of wine and enjoy each other’s company. Computers turned off, cellphones silent.
Heart. I love this season.
Happy holidays to all. I wish you peace and happiness for the new year.
It was a simple sentence uttered on the playground by a neighbourhood mom. As we watched our boys playing, our talk turned to how hard it has been to get my kids out the door in the mornings. Recently, my five year-old son has decided that every step of the morning routine is unnecessary. The chart that was so effective at keeping us on track no longer holds any weight. And that particular morning had been, let’s just say, plain difficult. I know it’s a phase, I know this too shall pass, but there are still many days in this parenting gig that I wonder if I’m doing any of it right. This was one of those days. And then the mom put her hand on my shoulder and said, “You are not alone.”
Those four words were exactly what I needed to hear. Because sometimes in the day-to-day routine it's easy to slip into the feeling that I’m the only one whose kids resist bedtime, the only one who struggles to get out the door peacefully in the morning, the only one whose kids fight over inconsequential matters. The list goes on. But by talking openly and sharing our parenting experiences—not just the joys but the challenges—we can gain insight into the difficulties that other moms experience and often learn that what we go through is not unique.
The words resonated with me long after we left the playground. I thought of all the times in the last eight years of parenting that I could have benefited from hearing the words, "You are not alone." And I am certain that there are many moms out there who could appreciate the phrase right now.
So…
To the mom at the coffee shop trying to breastfeed in public for the first time, feeling hormonal, hot and flustered: You are not alone.
To the mom whose toddler has just pulled the cashier’s display over at the grocer store: You are not alone.
To the mom whose son is tantruming and blocking the doorway of the hockey arena: You are not alone.
To the mom who can’t buckle her child into the carseat because her daughter is tensing her entire body like a plank: You are not alone.
To the mom staring out the window of her kid’s nursery in the dark at 3 AM, feeling exhausted and weepy: You are not alone.
To the mom whose kindergartener screams and wails at every drop-off and pick-up: You are not alone.
To the mom whose school-ager hasn’t found his place in his class yet: You are not alone.
To the mom whose teenaged daughter won’t talk to her: You are not alone.
To the mom whose son drew in permanent marker all over the walls: You are not alone.
To the mom whose kids will only eat carbs: You are not alone.
To the mom whose kid stands on the side of the soccer field picking dandelions: You are not alone.
To the mom whose kid plows over the other kids on the soccer field: You are not alone.
To the mom whose six-year-old still wakes up two or three times a night: You are not alone.
To the mom whose child just shouted, “I hate you!” for the first time: You are not alone.
To the mom whose tween is struggling with his identity: You are not alone.
To the mom whose kids have lice: You are not alone.
To the mom who doesn’t recognize her post-baby body, and is finding motherhood far harder than she imagined: You are not alone.
To the mom who feels like she is hanging on by a thread. You are not alone.
Whether you’re a first-time mom or you have four kids in high school, you are not alone. We are all here trying to navigate this parenting world and we are all going through something. Let’s share openly and continue to support each other in our experiences. There are times that we may need to lean a little harder on our friends, family and our community, or even seek help from a professional.
But rest assured that—no matter what your circumstances—this fact is true: You are not alone.
In the quest to find the Zen in motherhood, I encounter obstacles every day. They range from the mind-numbing monotony of tidying up toys, to unfinished to-do lists, to managing the household and my own business. And then there’s temper tantrums, being woken up numerous times a night, unexpected trips to the garage to get the car fixed, and my husband having to stay late at the office when we have a family dinner planned.
Whenever I begin to feel my equilibrium start to tip, when my “Zen” starts to go out the window, I repeat to myself: “There will always be laundry.”
This mantra comes from a realization I had years ago when my daughter was a few months old. At the time, we were living in a funky walk-up apartment in Ottawa but we didn’t have laundry facilities. Luckily, there was a great laundromat across the street. One day, I had finished what felt like a hundred loads of laundry. Everything was neatly folded and put in its drawer or closet and I remember relishing the feeling of “getting it all done.” I felt a sense of balance, of order, and thought that perhaps this is how I’d feel if I accomplished my to-do lists every day.
I went about my day puffed up with this feeling. There was music class with my daughter, some freelance work, a workout, a walk to meet my husband, dinner, bath time. But that night, as I was putting my daughter to bed, I looked at her laundry bag – half-full. I looked at the laundry hamper my husband and I share – a quarter full. Anxiety filled me as I realized that after doing all the laundry that morning I was going to have to do it all over again – if not tomorrow, then next day or the day after.
Then it hit me: there will always be laundry.
Rather than get upset, this is something to celebrate. It means I’m living. We’re living.
Every load of dirty clothes, towels, sheets, burp cloths and baby blankets represents another day or week that we have lived. So instead of waiting until everything on my to-do list is done to feel balanced, I only needed to find my balance amidst the laundry.
With two kids, the laundry seems to have quadrupled, but even though it feels like there’s constantly a full hamper somewhere in our house, I’ve got my mantra to keep me sane.
There are always going to be things that get in the way of me staying centered. The best I can do is try to maintain my Zen despite these obstacles. Someone once said to me, “If you died today, your life inbox would still be full tomorrow.”
And, of course, there will always be laundry.
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