Spring is almost here and with it, new beginnings.  This is the first spring in 8 years that I’m not pregnant or nursing incessantly to meet the demands of an infant (still nursing but now that she’s nearing 2, the relationship is much different…not nearly so demanding).  It feels good.  And I want to feel good because it’s been awhile since I’ve felt good…between fluctuating weight from having babies, dealing with anxiety and panic and an overwhelmed state of mind, suffering from a lack of spiritual life as I deal with the daily demands of my vocation, and the universal lack of sleep that plagues all parents, I’m ready to feel good again.

So my focus this spring?  Exactly that…do things that make me feel good.  I’m not talking about pleasurable things…like taking a vacation without the kids or spending the day at the spa or lounging about eating Godiva and reading romance novels (although all of those things would be lovely!).  I’m talking about the things that just make me feel good….things that make getting up each day less of a chore and more of a joy…the things that fortify my body and mind.  You know the things that might not be easy, but are completely worth it.  Things like cleaning up my diet, making my workout a routine again and feeding my soul and brain.  I’m going to fill my spring with things that nourish me because this mothering thing…well, it’s not a sprint, it’s a marathon.  And I need to fuel up if I’m going to keep going.

I love that the end of Lent coincides so beautifully with the beginning of spring…it just seems natural to begin to reshape myself at the beginning of Lent so that by Easter, I am reaping the benefits of this “new” me.

Physical:  Physically, my goals are to do the Whole30 and to make working out a REGULAR part of my routine again.  My goals for the Whole30 are first, and foremost, to break the sugar addiction and to finally be free of the sugar demon.  However, I have some fun, little goals too…I want to learn to make my own bone broths and curry.  I want to try meat 3 new ways (or maybe 3 new meats…bison, maybe? lamb?) and incorporate veggies that I rarely ever use (rutabagas, bok choy, brussel sprouts, just to name a few).  I also want to visit the farmer’s market a little more often and find a good source for our meat (yep, you guessed it…I finally watched Food, Inc.).  As for working out, I’m going to reincorporate weight training (I am finally thankful that Daxson has lugged that Bowflex with us all these years) and stay consistent with some form of cardio (walking, running, chasing my kids).

Mental:  I’ve always read to my kids.  Always.  But in the last few years, I’ve only read for myself late at night after the house is quiet and all those little interruptions are limited.  I thought that seemed logical until the other day.  I realized that here I am, trying my best to making reading (and reading-aloud) a culture and a way of life over here, yet I’m cheating my kids of one of the greatest examples…me as a reader.  Reading isn’t just something we do only as kids…it should be a habit that follows us into adulthood.  And for me, it is, yet my kids aren’t seeing that…all they’re seeing is me reading to them.  So I spent the last week with a book in my hand during every spare moment (the moments that weren’t spent in the kitchen or folding laundry) and you know what I noticed?  They started picking up their books and toting them around JUST LIKE ME…we were reading everywhere and much more often…outside, at the beach, first thing in the morning, after lunch, all together in bed at night.  So my goal?  Read.  Read.  Read.  I’m always reminding the kids that every moment is a choice.  When you choose to do one thing (for example, when I check Facebook or email), you’re choosing not to do something else (like read).  Hmm.  Wisdom noted.  Advice taken.

Spiritual:  It’s time to reread the Bible.  It’s been awhile since I’ve read it cover to cover (I think maybe the last time I did that was when William was a tiny baby and life seemed considerably less busy).  So it’s definitely time.   This time I’m going to journey through the Bible with C.S. Lewis using this Bible.

Emotional:  Time for myself.  Seriously, that’s my goal.  I’m not talking about carving out days or weekends here.  Minutes will do.  An hour would be extraordinary.  Whatever it is, I need it.  And I’m not talking about minutes after they’re in bed at night and I’m exhausted.  Whether it’s Daxson offering to take over for a bit of time or while Katie takes her nap (and the boys have some quiet time), I’m taking it.  And I’m not paying bills or preparing dinner.  I’m breathing.  I’m relaxing.  I’m rejuvenating.  Not because I deserve it.  Because I NEED it.

That covers the basics.  I could continue with a list of goals in all the other areas of my life from my marriage to my relationships to housekeeping, but I won’t.  I have a million lists of books I want to read, things I want to do with the kids, conversations I want to have with Daxson, but listing it all would be overwhelming and it would begin to feel like a bit of a burden when this whole idea is meant to lessen my burden (because making yourself FEEL GOOD makes life much easier).  That’s why I only focused on the four areas I listed.  My final thought to share is this:  I just have to keep in mind that as long as I stay focused on the moment and make those four areas my goals, I’m bound to reap the benefits in ALL areas of my life.  Sometimes life just needs a little re-prioritizing.  When I make a conscious effort to be present in each moment, all the other areas of my life flourish.

Nothing here is earth shattering, but all of it is life altering.  Nothing here requires you to add more hours into your day to do (maybe re-prioritize a few things, but add extra hours?  Nope).  You can do this and you’ll thank me (and so will everyone else in your life!)  Care to join me?

Dear Daddy,

I know you say that I’m not going to grow up and get married, but you and I both know, that I just might. And I want you to know that I’m going to pick a man just like you. A man who will treat me exactly the way you treat Mommy.

I’m watching everything you do and say. When you kiss Mommy, I’m watching. When you tell her you love her, either in words or actions, I’m watching. When you laugh with her and back her up, I’m taking notes. I listen as you praise her, tease her, support her. I’m watching, too, and learning how a man should respect his wife. When I see you treat her with kindness, I’m watching. When she is sick and you tend to her, I am watching. When she is sad and you wrap your arms around her and just hold her, I am watching. When she is anxious and afraid, while you may not be able to empathize, you try your best to imagine the dark clouds that consume her and I see that.  When you are her knight in shining armor and her greatest advocate, I see that.  I see all those things and they subconsciously build up my expectations.  This is what I will look for in a man.

But always please remember that I’m watching and taking it all in. So for all the good I see, I also see the rough times. When I see you keep your temper at bay, I learn self-control. When I see you rise above the circumstances, I learn fortitude. When you are humble and apologize, when you let go of a long-held grudge, I learn humility.  When you do lose your temper or when you say something impulsively, I see the pain in your eyes and I learn what it is to regret.  When you give up a dream vacation or a game of golf or even the last strawberry, I learn sacrificial love.  When you lend a helping hand, I learn kindness.  When you accept a helping hand, I learn humility again. When I see you frustrated or disappointed and I see you reach out to those who love and support you, I learn peace.  When I see you, home early from work, present fully in the moment, I learn joy.

The boys are watching all of this, too. They’re learning how to treat women. We are all learning how to show love. We’re learning how to receive love. We are learning how to apologize and to forgive. We’re all watching, not just learning how to treat Mommy, but how to treat each person we encounter. We’re learning what we should expect in a relationship. So, please, please remember this, above all…I am watching. I am learning. I see you and Mommy as you love one another and I see you and Mommy fall. But I see you get up and I watch to see how gracefully you do it. I am learning what it is to be human from you, Daddy. Please teach me well.

Love, Katie

Sometimes I find it hard to believe how important I am.

In fact, sometimes I can hardly wrap my mind around the idea that I am the center of someone’s universe.

My boys fight over who gets to sit next to me during story time.

Baby girl cries when I leave the room.

My kids can’t let me walk out the door without a kissing hand.  They aren’t awake for even 5 minutes before they absolutely must tell me some great thing they’ve discovered.  They fight for space snuggled right next to me when the light goes out each night.

There’s always a story to tell me.  A question to ask me.  A smile to share.

It amazes me that there is someone who wants me to sing to them (I mean, really, have you heard me sing?).

It amazes me that there is someone who, regardless of our rough moments during the day, wants to share his pillow with me each night.

It amazes me that there is someone who always laughs at my jokes.

It amazes me that there is someone who always wants to play with me.

It amazes me that there is so much joy in their faces when they see me…their eyes literally light up.

It amazes me that there is someone who always wants to share each of moment of their day with me…the good, the bad, and the ugly.

It amazes me that there is someone so thankful for such little things…a kiss, a hug, a helping hand, a high five, a simple, “good job sweetie.”

There is always someone who wants to hold my hand.  Someone who wants to kiss my cheek.  Someone who wants to snuggle and read together.  Someone who wants just a little more mommy time.

Really, it’s hard to believe that me, little ol’ me, could possibly be so incredibly popular and wanted and loved.  But the proof is here.  It’s in their eyes.  It’s in their hugs and kisses.  It’s in their snuggles and hand holding and “I love yous”.  And if I just stop long enough to see that, then I can clearly see that I am important.  I am loved.

And I am so thankful to be a mommy.  It defines me.

Whoever once said, “Sticks and stones will break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” must not have had a 6 year old because “I hate you, Mommy,” hurts…regardless of whether or not he actually means it.

Some days my bright eyed little 6 year old is full of praise.  “You’re the best mommy!”  “Mommy, you make the most delicious meals.”  “Mommy, I love you.”  “Mommy, I want to live near you always, so we can always snuggle…I can even build my house right next door so we’re never far from each other.”   Other days my little boy is not so kind.  Sometimes I am shouted at.  Sometimes the words pass by, muttered under his breath.  I am verbally kicked.  Sometimes repeatedly.  “I hate you, Mommy.”  “I’m running away.”  “You’re the worst mommy.”  Ouch.  My heart sighs heavily.

When Daxson is the target, he just brushes it off.  He advises me to do the same, “He’s just a kid.  He doesn’t really mean it.”  I realize that’s probably true.  Most ugly things are said in the heat of the moment, whether we’re a kid or not.  We get angry, we blow up, we say things we often later regret.  But that’s no excuse, because we leave, in our wake, a hurting heart.  Beneath that person we’ve just verbally pummeled, there’s a vulnerable soul, craving affection and acceptance.  Our words, in all their mighty power, have the ability to completely break a person down.

Yesterday my feet had barely hit the floor before the first attack began.  “I HATE you, Mommy.  Really.  I do.  I HATE you.  I am running away.  Far, far away.  Away from you.”  Please don’t misunderstand.  My child doesn’t just spout off verbal attacks for the fun of it.  There’s always a trigger.  Yesterday morning it was because he forgot a chore so he didn’t earn his sticker.  But a lost sticker isn’t worth beating someone into the ground.  It’s just not.  Not when you’re 6.  Not when you’re 26.  Not when you’re 56.  My whole day felt off kilter from that point on.  I just couldn’t shake his words.  I got grumpier and grumpier.  How could I possibly let the words of a little six year old dictate my entire day?  I felt like it was completely out of control.  But I was hurting.  Because words hurt.

Words are powerful.  They are, most likely, the most powerful weapon we possess.  They reach deep into our souls where they are  remembered and reflected upon.  Words can build us up, but they can just as quickly knock us down.  Words bring us joy and gratitude.  Words bring sadness and despair.  They mark beginnings, they end wars.  They create.  They inspire.  They can destroy.

I spent last night thinking about the power of words.  I thought about the words that I use when I am frustrated.  I thought about the outbursts I have sometimes when I am angry.  I am not taking the blame, completely, for my son’s words, but I do realize that I am a shareholder in his reactions.  I know that my children mimic me…for better, for worse.  And while it’s easy to want to change my children, it’s harder to change myself.  But it looks like perhaps Joseph and I both need to remember the power of words.

I know I could employ Daxson’s philosophy and just blow it off, but if I blow off his hurtful words today, what will he say tomorrow to try to get a better reaction?  What will he begin saying to his friends, his brothers, the homeless man on the side of the road?  It is my job to teach empathy.  To teach kindness.  To teach him that when we possess such a powerful tool, we are called to use it wisely and appropriately.

Today I sat down with my little six year old.  And I told him how hurtful his words were.  Maybe he didn’t realize that he possessed that kind of power.  I told him how it’s so easy to just spout off when we’re angry, without really thinking about what we’re saying or who we might be hurting.  I reemphasized how much his words had hurt me.  He listened.  He absorbed each of my carefully thought out words.  He didn’t respond.  But I could tell I had planted a seed.

This afternoon I saw the seed begin to grow.  I saw him get angry and ready to explode.  But he bit his tongue.  Not one single hurtful word escaped his lips.  And I thought that maybe, just maybe he’s learning to control the power of his words.

You’re probably reading this with the great expectation of finding out all I am capable of doing.  No, I meant that title quite literally.  I’m going to tell you why, despite Daxson’s insistence that I’ve lost all sanity when I do it, I can.  I mean good, old-fashioned canning.  You know, the kind with the water bath canner, the glass mason jars, the old screw top lids.  Canning.  The art of preserving food.

I only usually do it once a year.  Sometimes twice.  It’s a big production.  It takes up a good part of the day (okay, it takes up the whole day if you consider the number of times I stop to nurse the baby or change a diaper or attend to another need around the house or as was the case this year, to run to the grocery store to pick up any missing ingredients) and it takes over the kitchen completely (maybe next year, despite the chaos, I’ll remember to snap a few pictures during the process so you can see how much I am not kidding).  It’s actually a little daunting.  I wake up on the morning I’ve planned to can and I ask myself again if I’m sure I’m up for it.  Usually I dread it a little.  Now for those of you that don’t can, don’t get me wrong.  There is absolutely nothing difficult about canning.  It’s just time consuming.  Especially if you’re making something besides jam because usually there’s some prep work involved.

This year my dear father-in-law sent over tons of cucumbers (strangely, he didn’t even plan to plant cucumbers…the seed packet was marked zucchini, but these are most definitely cucumbers).  First, I decided to make a recipe called Cucumber Relish (which I now know is really another name for sweet pickle relish…good to know…I’m not really sure what I thought I was making but I didn’t think it was going to be sweet pickle relish since it was called cucumber relish).  “Cucumber relish” requires lots of finely dicing and chopping ingredients.  So here’s what my day looked like:  Dice and chop.  Dice and chop.  Change a diaper.  Dice and chop.  Feed the baby.  Dice and chop.  Time for lunch.  Dice and chop.  Let it set for four hours.  Four hours?  That’s plenty of time to prepare some more things to can.  Plus that only used four of the monster cucumbers (I still had ten left!)  So I scrounged up some blackberries and made jam (yeah, I know, what does that have to do with all those cucumbers?  Absolutely nothing.  I just thought blackberry jam sounded delicious).  Then I had to decide what to make with the leftover cucumbers.  Dill relish.  Quick trip to the grocery store for the missing ingredients only to return home and realize that it was going to take forever to prepare the ingredients since I have a teeny, tiny food processor.  Decided to try making refrigerator dill pickles…much faster (although now I have another grocery trip in my future to return all the items for making dill relish).  Pickles in the refrigerator.  Time to can jam.  Jam canned.  Finish making cucumber relish.  Can the relish.  Done.

By this point, my children had now been left to play on their own for the better part of the day, dinner was no where to be seen, and I was exhausted.  Daxson wandered out into the kitchen, saw the mess, made a face, and asked me for the third time that day, “And tell me again, why do you can?  You do realize you can buy all this same stuff at the store, right?  Save yourself all the time and effort.”  Usually I respond with a quick, “yeah, but homemade tastes better.”  This time I was silent.  In my exhausted state of being, I was wondering why do I can?

Now 24 hours after the final top sealed and I’ve had time to think about it, I know why I can.  Because there is a final product.  Something to show for my hard work.  Most things I do on a daily basis don’t have a final product.  If I cook, it’s quickly consumed.  If I make the beds, no one notices and within 12 hours, the beds are unmade once again.  I do pile after pile of laundry and at the end of the day, there are more clothes in the hamper.  Even my children are works in progress.  Like the great cathedrals, I do not see a finished product.  But canning?  Well, canning gives me pretty jars to hold.  Canning gives me a homemade gift to give to dear friends and family.  The jars sit on the counter top (until we’re tired of staring at them) for all to see the great accomplishment of the day.  In a world of unfinished products, canning just feels good.

It is bedtime.  Our family no longer all fits together in the family bed…little boys are growing big, so Joseph and William now sleep together in their own room.  We have read our stories and said sweet prayers, so I tuck both big boys in, turn off the lamp, and then…I climb in, too.  Andrew, already sleeping, lies between his two brothers.  I’ll take him into our bed after Joseph and William fall asleep, but for now, we are all together.  I lie on my side, nursing Andrew.  Joseph lies on the other side of Andrew.  His hand reaches over Andrew and finds mine.  He wraps his little hand in mine and squeezes tight.  William is on the other side of me, snuggled close to my back, his leg thrown over my side carelessly.  It is quiet.  Completely and totally quiet.  The quiet is a rarity for me; me who lives in a world surrounded by three boisturous little boys.  I revel in the stillness.  I breathe deeply, inhaling the scent of just bathed little boys and I listen to the rhythmic sound of each one’s breathing, slowing and steadying, preparing to drift off.  This time is so brief.  Soon these little boys will be big boys.  Soon these little boys won’t compete with one another for snuggling space with me.  Soon these little boys won’t need me close by to help them drift off into dreamland.  Daxson can’t understand why I continue to lay with them until they are asleep.  How can I not?  These might just be a few of the best moments of my day.