Category: motherhood

amelia · giveaways · motherhood

What She’s Taught Me In Four Sweet Years {and another birthday giveaway!}

Lindsey P. Brackett2 Comments

She’s four today.  It’s really hard to believe. She wasn’t sure after so many days of counting down if today was really it. But it is. Today she’s four and in four sweet years she’s taught me how to live better.

She’s taught me that it’s okay to wear whatever I want, or rather, to let her wear whatever she wants because in the grand scheme of motherhood, arguing about matching is not always worth my energy.

She’s taught me to use my attributes and work my assets the way she works her really great hair.

She’s taught me to love fiercely with no idea that a hug could ever be too tight.

She’s taught me to laugh all the time, to rediscover my imagination and to find silliness in everyday.

She’s taught me to color to my own beat even though, at four, she’s stopped humming while she draws.  It makes me sad.  I miss the nonsensical tunes that used to accompany the dramatic shading of Winnie the Pooh.

She’s taught me not to boss my friends because it’s not nice and they won’t want to play with you.

In four years time, she’s made me a better mother and she’s let me try and fail to parent her with what worked before when the sisters were passing through the same stages.  She’s let me learn over and over that every child is unique and perfect in their own quirky way.

She’s made me a writer.  It was in the days before and the many days after she came that I waded my way into the blogging world.  It’s often because of her, and the lessons I’m learning, that I stay.

 

 

 

 

 

faith · Friday Five · motherhood

Fall In Love with the World Next Door

Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I could tell you how I know what love looks like.  How it’s his hands in soapy dishwater when the cracks on my dry hands just can’t do that again.  How it’s rocking the baby boy we never dreamed we’d have back to sleep at 5:30 a.m. so I can write one more paragraph on the novel that he really believes I’ll finish. How it’s planning a garden to grow tomatoes and peppers so I can make tomato sauce for Friday night pizzas and it’s tending that garden with the same care he tends our marriage–even when things are a little wilty and the rains are just too much.

But this isn’t a love story about us today. It’s a love story about how he smiled when I told him I’d given my skinny jean money to fund clean laundry in Africa, and how he nodded when I said I want to help them build a garden.  It’s about how he’s letting me fall in love with halfway around the world because I’ve discovered that really, deep down, all moms look the same.

I lead MOPS every other Friday so how fitting that today is Valentine’s Friday and I’m talking about loving moms. We meet in the spacious, well-lit, fully equipped fellowship hall of my church, and we share breakfast and potty training and sleep deprivation in the way that only mothers of young children can.  We learn from and love on each other with fierce passion for our kids, our homes, our Jesus and so many moms tell me later it’s the best part of their week–this building of community with other mothers.

No comparison, just community.  It’s been a mantra of mine for months now, whether I’m welcoming new moms or writing for Five Minute Friday.  Because if we really want to get down to the nitty gritty, our comparisons amongst ourselves will only tear us down and diminish all the worth we could be putting into building community.

So  today, I’d like to invite you to be a part of just that–this physical building of community for moms in Maubane, South Africa.  Moms who are just like the mothers who fill that hall with me on Fridays; moms who are raising their own toddlers and maybe someone else’s; moms who scrub their laundry with clean water now because we believed that’s every mother’s right; moms who would love to tend a garden, cook in a kitchen, fellowship with other moms, send their children to a school, and have playdates on an actual playground.

Moms who deserve to be shown more love than any Valentine’s Day card could ever contain. Moms who by Mother’s Day, God willing, will know that love is more than a date on a calendar and every mom matters. I serve in MOPS because I believe better moms make a better world; I write here because I believe every mom needs to hear that motherhood is hard but grace is unlimited; I read Lisa Jo because she believes motherhood should come with a superhero cape and an open invitation to sit at the table of Christ.

And Christ’s table is long and wide and full of that good measure that’s been pressed down, shaken together, and poured out on us to give to others. It looks like vegetables ripened by the African sun, like clean water pouring out a new faucet, like slides and swings, and sharpened pencils in new classrooms.

It looks like love.

In October, my community of writing mamas funded the clean water project for this community by raising $5000 in less than twelve hours because there’s no limits on the love of Jesus and should be no limits on access to clean water.

Today I’m asking my community of readers, you moms and grandmothers and aunts and friends, you husbands and fathers and supporters of moms, to come alongside us and help raise thirty times that amount by Mother’s Day: $150,000 to build a community center for the families of Maubane, South Africa.

It’s a crazy big amount, but we have a crazy big God who loves with crazy big love and we get to be a part of that love by sharing it with others. 

So, for Valentine’s Day 2014, instead of giving heart shaped candy, let’s grow tomatoes the size of our hearts in a garden for a world that’s really just next door.

Linking up with Lisa Jo and everyone else who believes #scaredisthenewbrave for today’s flash mob love and garden edition of Five Minute (or longer) Friday.

https://www.purecharity.com/widget?aff=9jpa6&slug=veggies4africa&utm_source=9jpa6&utm_medium=widget&utm_campaign=veggies4africa

motherhood

The Snow Day Mother’s Creed {especially for Southern Mamas}

Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

 

 

Today when the rare sight of fluffy flakes begins to blow across my kitchen window,

I will choose delight and not despair.

I will choose to recognize, through the eyes of my children, what a treasure this day could be.

I will accept that weather knows no boundaries, respects no schedule, and has no concept of school calendars (or a freelance writer’s planner).

 

I will accept muddy floors because little boots and wet socks will come in and out all day long.

I will accept gloves stained orange with Georgia red clay because snowballs must be scraped together.

I will accept snow day dishes in great stacks of chili bowls and hot chocolate mugs.

I will accept that I cannot be everywhere and with everyone because the baby still needs a nap.

I will accept the fact that despite my best preparations, I will inevitably be short a vital ingredient for tonight’s dinner.

I will accept that if I make cookies, the only evidence will be the unwashed mixing bowl still sitting in my sink hours later.

I will accept that I will do little of the work that matters to me but I will do much of the work that matters to my children.

I will believe that I am not a terrible mother if I know I need a break, so I let them watch television.

I will believe that the exhausting process of walking a quarter mile with a toddler counts as my daily cardio and enables me to eat the last cookie.

I will believe that if a child eats the snowman’s carrot nose that counts as a daily serving of vegetables.

I will believe that eating snow is a rite of childhood and I shouldn’t taint it by telling them that snow is dirty and full of pollutants.

I will believe that they will remember this day better if I spend it with them, and there is no Facebook status or blog post or Instagram upload more important than the moment they ask me if I can build a snowman.

I will understand the laws of laundry as dictated by such events.

  • Mittens adhere to the same theory of disappearance as socks.
  • The dryer is the only cycle that will run today.  On repeat. Up to ten times.
  • Apparently, it is unacceptable to sit around in the clothes one had on under snow bibs.
  • Pajamas are acceptable at all hours of the day, but at bedtime none can be found.
  • Leggings are not to be confused with tights and for some reason the fleece lined ones will not be preferred over the oldest pair in the drawer, yet, somehow both will be in the hamper by nightfall.
  • Neighbors’ clothes will migrate into my laundry pile and some of mine will find its way to theirs.
  • Snow people will generate their own massive pile of dirty scarves, gloves, hats, and the occasional bathing suit.

I will, despite the laws of laundry, encourage the use of all things layers. Never less than two pairs of socks, double up the gloves, and sweatshirts belong under winter coats. Question me, and I’ll do like my mama did and cover your feet in Ziploc bags.

But mostly, I will embrace this day.  

I will embrace makeshift sleds and the kitty litter on the driveway.

I will embrace (and kiss!) chapped cheeks and lips.

I will embrace the laundry and the dishes and the inconvenience and the tantrums because despite it all,

there will be moments worth seeing.

And I want to be a mother who sees. 

Originally published February 12, 2014. Revised for The Northeast Georgian weekend edition, January 22, 2016.

 

 

 

 

 

linkups · motherhood

In Which We Hike Tallulah Gorge {Behind the Scenes}

Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

What I tweeted with this on Saturday.

It was one of those moments that made people call me a good mom.  I took my kids up the road a bit to Tallulah Gorge State Park and then we hiked all 1099 steps all the way down and back up with Gus and Amelia taking turns in the Ergo.

People told me it was heroic.  Not hardly.

Because truth is, in the four snow days prior I was anything but a great mom.  I was the mom who lost it in the self-checkout line when one of the kids kept leaning on the scale and messing up the computer. I was the mom who didn’t get everyone dressed to go outside to play in the snow when it started falling on Tuesday afternoon because it was just going to be too hard to dress them and then deal with the mess. I was the mom who had to take make her third trip to the emergency room in a month because someone fell off the sofa and busted her head open and needed stitches.

Notice I didn’t tweet or facebook about any of that.

So Saturday’s hike was less about me doing something exciting with them and so much more about me just surviving.  Joshua was working at the church all day and the four walls of our house were becoming claustrophobic, so off we went with a simple picnic and no plan other than maybe if we walked around the rim a bit they would take decent naps and I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about letting the big girls watch another episode on the Disney channel.

The stairs were not in my plan.  Annabelle always wants to do them all, but her sisters always flake out when we’re about a quarter of the way down and so we’re forced to come back up.  She’s always mad, I’m always frustrated, and Madelynne’s always crying. But for some reason on Saturday, the big girls had bonded together and decided we were going to do this.

That’s always the key, isn’t it? When something is their idea, they are so much more motivated.

So down we went.  All the way.  It was slow, tedious work with a toddler who wanted to walk and a preschooler who didn’t. But we made it, somehow, by the grace of God, I believe.

Because when we got to stand at the base of Hurricane Falls and look back up at how far we had come, Madelynne whispered, “It was worth it.”

It was worth it.  The hardest journeys–they’re always worth it.

Motherhood isn’t easy.  I have a lot of struggles with holding myself to unattainable standards that make me feel like a failure.  I’ve been learning a lot of ugly truths about myself in the past few years as I’ve really tried to embrace motherhood as a calling and not just a situation I landed in and now must muddle through.

There are really hard days, days we don’t want to talk about or share about or hear about, but those days pass and what we’re left with is the view of how far we’ve come.

We had to climb back out of that canyon, you know. Back up those stairs, and physically, it was far harder than going down. But emotionally?  It was so much easier because we knew now just how worthwhile the expedition was.

Warrior on, mama, as Lisa Jo would say.  It’s worth it.

Linking up today with the brave community who tells the truth behind the picture.

oh, and here’s some more pictures of our day….

The Tallulah River

Those arms around one another?  That never happens.

Can you spot the paci?  That’s right, he threw it into the canyon.

Proud of themselves.

This post contains an Amazon affiliate link which means if you make a purchase, I get a tiny bit to help fund this space.  Thanks!

Have you entered my giveaway for a 3-pack of natural lip balm from Andi Gould Designs?  It ends Friday! 

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Friday Five · gus · motherhood

See {Five Minute Friday}

Lindsey P. BrackettLeave a comment

I’ve been away from this community for far too long. While we all took December off, I feel like I’ve been out for so much more.  The beauty of Five Minute Friday, though, is that no matter how long I’m gone, this flash mob of writers–mamas and students and single ladies and the occasional brave man–always welcomes me back.

It’s a place to belong.  Community, not competition.

Today’s prompt?

See

He was afraid.  I could hear it in his shrieking cry and his pitiful wail for “dada” because he’s such a smart boy that he knew such a dilemma as locking himself in his sister’s room would be better solved by daddy than mommy.

Mommy, who didn’t come with a hurry at first because I thought the sisters were kidding and there are three of them after all, so surely one was in the room too?  But no, they were crowded in the narrow hall twisting the handle in vain and jumping on toes that are never still between 3:30 and 5:30 in the afternoon.  I had a friend over.  A sweet girl who has shared teaching with me and students and Bible studies and last Friday bid her grandfather goodbye in the hospice facility two rooms down from where I had watched mine draw his last breath only hours before. So we were bonded, but a meltdown in front of her?

I didn’t want her to see me lose it, to see me become unglued over such a simple task as twisting the lock on the bedroom door to free my stranded toddler.

But I couldn’t get it open.  I couldn’t jimmy the bent hanger in the hole just right like daddy does and I sure couldn’t break down that door with my bare hands.

Though I might have if she hadn’t been there to see.

I took the knob off finally and he stumbled out into my arms wiping snot and tears on my favorite sweatshirt and jerking his arm from the sisters who were trying to pet him back into submission.

I didn’t want her to see me lose it, but I did want her to see me be a good mom because I hate to think anyone thinks I’m less than. But maybe, maybe, I should have been thinking about what my kids see?

They see that mommy is willing to hold it in for others but not for them.

That may be a lesson worth talking about.