Parenting

Morning with a toddler

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Morning with a toddler:

9:30   Begin getting ready for our romp and stomp library class, for which we need to leave the house at 10:15. Put on three AND A HALF year old Maggie’s clothes.

9:45   Make packed lunch to take to the park after library class.

10:00 Mommy gets dressed.

10:10 Maggie decides going to the library is the worst idea ever.

10:14 Maggie, yelling her library protest, kicks off her shoes. She does not remember where they are.

10:20 Give up on finding shoes. Put on rainboots. It is a bright, sunny day.

10:30 Park near library. Convince Maggie to at least walk to library to return book. She is adamant that she does not want to go to library class.

10:33 Maggie wants to go to library class.

11:15 Library class is over. It was so much fun! Let’s go every day!

11:16 Mommy realizes that in the dash to find toddler shoes, she left her lunch on the counter. Fortunately she remembered Maggie’s. We split a PB&J sandwich. Maggie is against sharing her apple slices.

These days. These are the ones I want more of, the ones I’m working my schedule around because I don’t want to miss them, even when they involve missing shoes, and I have to put on a sweatshirt of questionable cleanliness because I’ve lost the battle with laundry, and I owe $100 in library fines (true story. I’m sorry, library ladies, you are very nice to us. I promise I am going to try to be more responsible).

But the wonder in Maggie’s eyes, and how she pronounces the words she’s learning, and those angel kisses across her nose. Oh those angel kisses. I want to look at them forever, but I know they won’t stay just that way, so for now, we’ll go to the library in our rainboots so I have enough memories tucked away to last.

angel-kisses

History

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Tonight, I locked myself in the bathroom for a few minutes so I could post on Facebook something my daughter said that made me smile and think and be thankful. It occurred to me that this, this moment sitting on the edge of the bathtub, was a revolution.

One of the reasons that women’s voices are largely absent from history is that we were busy cooking dinner and watching over the kids. And they don’t wait. The potatoes burn. The youngest child is about to dump a cup of milk on her head.

But having something in our hands that allows us to snatch one or two minutes here and there during dinner to record what it is like – to be a woman, a mother – means that in 100 years, our grandchildren will know how their grandmothers felt raising babies, something few generations have known. They’ll read our blogs and our Facebook posts. These aren’t silly. They aren’t inherently superficial. They are history. They are the history I have hungered to read, to know, to learn, but has been far too sparse in details.

It is true that the screens in our hands can take over in a way that prevents us from being present in the moments that we don’t really want to miss. But they are also empowering peoples who historically have not had public voices. Of course, not everyone can afford a smartphone. Not everyone has internet service at home. I want to work to help make sure everyone has a public voice. The smartphone is part of that revolution for many.

You also need a good bathroom lock. Those kids can find you anywhere.

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Thanks

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

For a friend who comes over at the end of a long day to sit with me while I cry and talk and cry some more, I give thanks.

For friends and family who don’t even vote the same way but still care for and hold my heart and grief with gentleness, I give thanks.

For a pastor and community of faith that is far away in geography but close in spirit, that is right now lighting candles for ALL the people in our country who are hurting, I give thanks.

For little girls who ask, “Why you eyes wed (red)?”, then put their small hand on my cheek and draw me in for butterfly kisses, I give thanks.

Future President

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

president-emmaYesterday the temp was going to be high, so after our Election Day photo op, my oldest daughter took off her long-sleeved Future President shirt and said she’d wear it the next day. It broke my heart to see her put it on this morning. I am so sorry we couldn’t get it done, couldn’t shatter that ceiling.

I don’t have any fight in me today. I am tired. So damn tired. I’m going to be ok with that. Tomorrow, or maybe in a few days, I’ll be ready to fight again. I’ll be ready to be, as Glennon Doyle Melton says, a Love Warrior. Today I’m a Love Puddle.

At least I am not alone. When I first identified as a feminist, I was the only feminist I knew. Now I have a wealth of soul sisters. Who have taught me grace and fierceness and compassion that knows no end. Love is forever tries, to again quote Melton. Give me a few days, and I’ll be ready to keep trying.

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

Some research suggests that being a parent doesn’t make people happier. Parenting is stressful. You have to stay up later and get up earlier and make food for people who don’t want to eat it and spend an inordinate amount of time trying to convince someone to put on socks.

I find meaning in parenting in two ways, though: first, I wanted parenting to be part of the meta of my life. It was always a filter through which I wanted to experience the world. (Not everyone wants to be a parent, and that is totally legitimate, too!) Second, there are some very specific moments of parenting that bring such joy. They are often the most random, simple moments. Like today when I came back home from dropping the kids at school and our van at the repair shop and my husband at work, and I walked through the door, turned to shut it behind me, and saw that little fingers had drawn a smiley face, complete with curled hair, on the screen door.

That’s why I’m a parent: I would not have wanted to miss that.

Smiley face

Guns in America: A Mother’s Terror

~ Christa ~ Leave a comment

The oldest runs back to give me a kiss, the youngest turns and waves. I watch them walk with their daddy, heading to the bus stop. Will that be it – the last time they turn to say good-bye? Will today be the day that someone fires into their school and preschool? If a gunman bursts into their classroom, will they be able to hide in time? Will a patient or visitor at the hospital where my husband works begin shooting in the cafeteria while he eats?

Yesterday morning, while I was groggily pouring cereal and packing lunch, less than two hours away other mothers’ children were gunned down. Mercilessly. I keep thinking of seeing the back of Alison Parker’s wedge heels as she tried to run away.

I bet Alison and Adam Ward’s mothers feel like I do, that their children are the very best of themselves and their fathers, mixed with their own star dust and bright sunshine, shining so brightly.

I live in terror of their light being snuffed out.

“The fact that 20 six year olds were gunned down in the most violent fashion possible, and [Washington, D.C.] couldn’t do anything about it, was stunning to me… A lot of people will say, well this is a mental health problem. It’s not a gun problem. The United States does not have a monopoly on crazy people. It’s not the only country that has psychosis. And yet we kill each other in these mass shootings at rates that are exponentially higher than any place else. What’s the difference? The difference is that these guys can stack up a bunch of ammunition in their houses and that’s par for the course. The country has to do some soul-searching about this. This is becoming the norm.”
– President Barack Obama, June 2014

Please support Mothers Demand Action for Gun Sense in America
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Everytown for Gun Safety
http://everytown.org/
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Americans for Responsible Solutions
http://americansforresponsiblesolutions.org/
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