Tag Archives: parenting

I’m a superhero mom

I’m a superhero mom.

I don’t wear a cape or unitard, have a mask, or knee-high leather boots.
Most days it’s jeans and sweaters, often with holes. It’s yoga pants stretched past their prime, stained t-shirts, and comfy shoes — always comfy shoes. But these clothes allow me to get dressed quickly so I can respond to your needs. They allow me to bend and reach and cradle, and snuggle without worrying about wrinkles. They allow me to climb and chase, to walk grocery aisles and pace hallways.

Because I’m a superhero mom.

I don’t own an invisible jet or Bat-mobile, nor can I fly, or leap tall buildings in a single bound.
Instead I drive a van or a station wagon, definitely something with four doors and lots of storage. I transport book bags, diaper bags, sports bags, and grocery bags. I transport you – my most precious cargo. I map out my route each day, plan outings and errands around nap times, school days, and dance classes. I drive countless miles without leaving our home town.

Because I’m a superhero mom.

I don’t have super-human strength and my body doesn’t regenerate or instantly heal from cuts and bruises.
But I feel everything you feel. When that boy broke your heart, mine shattered into a million pieces. When you made that basket after sitting on the sidelines all season I felt your joy overflowing out of me and running down my cheeks. When you were scared about the first day of school and worried no one would like you, your fear and uncertainty ran through my veins and tightened my lungs.

Because I’m a superhero mom.

I can’t climb walls, spin webs or stay young forever.
Instead I climb mountains and obstacles fighting for you, advocating for you, making sure you get a fair shot, and every chance to be your best self. I spin tales of imaginary adventures and silly, made-up songs to help you sleep, to help you laugh, to help you heal. And while my body ages, my heart grows larger each day.

Because I’m a superhero mom.

I can’t travel in time, see the future, or make time stand still.
But I can live in the moment, enjoying each day with you, seeking joy and contentment instead of perfection and affluence. I can see glimpses of the adult you are growing into and I can help prepare you for tomorrow by recognizing your gifts and talents. I can be present, be available, be encouraging and forgiving, and always, always tell you how much you are loved.

Because I’m a superhero mom.

I don’t always win the battle, defeat the villain, or claim victory.
Instead I arm myself with the armor of God, battle hate with love, and claim victory in my inheritance as a child of God. Each day I try to show you how to do the same, by speaking truth and love into your life, and leading by example.

Because I’m a superhero mom.

I'm a superhero mom

Image Copyright: wavebreakmediamicro / 123RF Stock Photo

What makes a good parent?

What makes a great parent? Or even a good one? It’s a question that I have asked myself many times over.

I used to know the answer…before I had kids.

Oh yeah, it was so clear to me back then. Good parents set boundaries, loved fiercely, read nightly, kept to a routine, played lots of classical music, prayed with their kids, helped with homework, disciplined, modeled values, and showed up. And in return they had well-behaved, polite, kind-hearted, honest, hard-working children who loved the Lord.

I’m now in my 15th year of parenting. I have honestly done all of those things on the “good parent” list more than not (well except maybe the classical music part). Sometimes some of my kids exhibit some of those qualities I thought would come in return, but never do all of my kids exhibit all of the qualities at once. And so I have also yelled, cried, pleaded, threatened, hidden in my room, bent the rules, changed the rules, and completely checked-out.

The end of the school year is both a relief and a bit of a regret. Another year down, another year closer to when these chickies leave the nest and there are glaring reminders all over of how imperfect my kids are — the awards ceremonies, the report cards, the standardized tests, the calls home from teachers and administrators, etc. And the thing is, it’s not the fact that my kids are imperfect that bothers me — I expect that and know that — it’s that it all feels like a recrimination of my parenting skills and choices.

Surely the mother who beamed proudly as all of her children received one academic award after another knows something I don’t. Surely the father whose son not only received the Christ-like behavior award, but prompted an impassioned speech from his teacher about this wonderful young man’s character, has done something I haven’t. Surely the friend who gets phone calls from the teacher just to tell her what a joy it is to have her children in his/her class has this parenting thing down to a science.

I tell myself this and I really want to believe it. I need to believe it. Because if it’s true, then it means that I have the ability to raise “good kids” and to be a “good parent”. I just have to figure out the right formula.

Of course the flip side is that it also means that in 15 years of trying I haven’t found it yet and I’m running out of time. My kids are closer to the age of leaving home than not and they are still making really bad choices. Choices that break my heart and scare me. They seem hell-bent on learning lessons the hard way, and not always learning the lesson the first, or second time around. Sometimes I feel like we are living in one bad after-school special after another and walking on the fringes of that one mistake that will change their lives forever.

So here I sit with this question: what makes a good parent? Because I really, really want to be one. More than I’ve wanted to be anything else in my life I want to be a good parent. This is the most important job I have and God has entrusted these three lives to me. There are no do-overs, and I desperately want to get it right.

But you know what I want almost as much? I want a friend to say, “You are not the only one. I know exactly how you feel.” I want a friend who comes alongside and says, “my kids did all of those same things and they made it, they turned out great.” I want a listening ear without judgement, and advice without recrimination. Because the hardest part of being a mom who feels like she isn’t getting it right is having the rest of the world agree with you.

Every well-meaning friend who has offered unsolicited advice or lectured one of my children in front of me, is a confirmation of “you don’t know what you’re doing, so let me take it from here.”

Every teacher or church-leader who has said, “why don’t you have your kid do xyz, it will be a good influence on them,” is recrimination that I haven’t provided enough good influence and my kids really need some more.

Every person who has come up and said, “let me tell you this funny story of this thing your kid did yesterday,” and then proceeded to tell me a highly unhumorous story of what my kid did wrong, is a reminder that I’m raising kids that make poor choices, not in a vacuum or in the privacy of their home, but front and center with the rest of the world watching and judging.

So yeah, I really want to know what it takes to be a good parent — and if you have figured it out, please tell me. But until then, I desperately just want someone to love me and love my kids in all of our imperfection, without judgement.

photo credit: Darren Johnson / iDJ Photography Mother and Son via photopin (license)

Why are you so afraid of my child with special needs?

Several weeks ago, my son came home devastated because one of his close friends told him that his parents didn’t want him to be friends with my son anymore. To the little boy’s credit, he told my son he didn’t care what his parents said, he still wanted to be friends. But the damage was done. My son, who has been diagnosed with OCD and anxiety disorders, could not get it out of his mind that there was an adult out there who thought he was not worthy of friendship with their son. That he was so terrible to be around they preferred their child end a two-year friendship. And he kept saying, “But I don’t understand why.”

Honestly, I don’t either, although I have guesses. My son has had a very rough school year as we have processed new diagnoses, struggled to find the right medication, gone through testing and therapy, and experienced all the joy of pre-teen hormones that seem to throw out any predictability of the aforementioned treatments and wreak total havoc on his emotions. He has had multiple incidents at school which resulted in total meltdowns and fits as he struggled with obsessive worry and anxiety. His poor impulse control has resulted in unacceptable displays of disrespect with teachers and conflict with peers.

While I don’t know of any incidents that personally involve this boy (and I’m pretty certain I would since my son’s school is very good at communicating these things), I can only imagine this friend has gone home and relayed stories of my son’s outbursts and meltdowns to his parents and that was enough for them to decide he was not the kind of kid they wanted their son to associate with.

And that certainly is their choice. While my initial reaction when my son told me was heartache mixed with a healthy dose of anger, time has softened my heart and I am left with just sadness. Sadness that my son has so much he is struggling to overcome and how aware he is that he is different from the other kids. Sadness that he feels ashamed of his differences and worries what other people think of him. Gut-wrenching sadness that in the hardest moments he has cried out to us and to God saying he wished he was no longer here on this earth. It’s really more than a mother’s heart can bear some days.

The full article is posted at Her View From Home. Click here to read the rest.

The 52 days that gave me strength and hope

“God is within her, she will not fall; God will help her at break of day.” – Psalm 46:4

Recently I was looking at Facebook and a collection of my “September memories” popped up. At first glance, I smiled thinking about all the joy and special times that had come in September. But the reality is there were also a lot of not-so-great moments, struggles that left me feeling very depleted and scared.

In late-August my son was diagnosed with Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) and an Anxiety disorder. It came as a shock to us. We had started seeing a new doctor in May to help with medication management for ADHD, which he’d been diagnosed with when he was six. We never expected that the new psychiatrist would tell us he actually did not have ADHD, but instead had OCD and Anxiety.

The last week of August he came off his ADHD medication and began to take medication for OCD and Anxiety. The first week he didn’t sleep for five days straight. It was awful.

By day six he started to sleep and we thought the worse was over. But then he began having these fits of rage and complete loss of self-control. He’s always struggled with controlling his emotions, something that we thought was part of the ADHD and now know is due to his anxiety — but this was different. The first time it happened we were at a playground and he was fighting with his sister so I made him sit down and lose play time. He got so angry he tried to flip over the picnic table and I thought for a moment he might strike me. It really took me by surprise.

Then the next week he had a similar incident at school where he couldn’t gain self-control and ended up screaming at a teacher and kicking over a chair. When I got the call from the school I cried the entire 30 minute drive to pick him up.

It’s a terrible thing to see your child struggling and feel completely incapable of helping him.

But I do believe that God always equips us with exactly what we need to survive the trials and hardships we go through. And it just so happens that the same week we received the formal diagnosis of OCD and Anxiety I had decided to do a 90 day thanks and giving challenge, in the 90 days leading up to Thanksgiving. In fact, it was literally the day before my son started on the new medication that I began this challenge. Two seemingly unrelated things. But I can tell you now, 53 days later, this was not an accident.

Yes, September was hard. I had a lot of fear – fear of not being capable of helping my son, fear of not finding the right medicine, fear of having made the wrong choice to allow him to be medicated, fear we didn’t have the right physician to help us, fear that I was completely unequipped to help a son with OCD and anxiety, fear of how others were watching and judging my son for his behavior, fear we would have to pull him out of school.

Many days I felt completely drained by the time evening came. And in those moments I think it would be easy to stay consumed by that fear, to feel hopeless, and empty. But because I had this need to find something to be grateful for each day or to do something for someone else, I wasn’t able to be consumed by my own fear and hopelessness.

I believe when we actively seek out the beauty, the joy, the blessings in our lives, we are reminded that we not only have a good Father, but we have a God who follows through on His promises.

Yesterday was Day 52 of this journey. We were in church singing about miracles when I felt my son’s hand on my arm. I looked down and saw he was trying to tell me something. This is not unusual, my kids are always trying to ask me something right in the middle of worship. Usually something really important like, “Can I get another donut?” or “Can I go sit with Kaley’s family?” But as I leaned down close to his face to hear what he was saying over the worship music, his words caught be by surprise: “I love you.” Those were the words he had to tell me right in that moment we were singing about God’s miracles, the words that were so important they couldn’t wait till later.

I know our journey with OCD and anxiety, with medication and doctors, with fights over homework and stress about chores is not over. But as I stood there feeling the warmth of my son’s hand on my arm and absorbed the urgency of his words, I felt hope rise up. And as I look at the photos and posts from the last 52 days that Facebook put together, I can see some of the fear, worry, and fatigue that was there, but I mostly see the joy and gratitude I sought after each day.

It’s been impossible for me to lose hope or forget just how much God loves me and loves my son because every day for the last 52 days I have looked for something to be thankful for and every day for the last 52 days I have been able to find multiple things. I have seen how God provides for and protects my family. And I am reassured that His ways are better than mine and that He has a plan for my son, even if I can’t understand what it is.

By living in intentional gratitude, I have been able to lean into God and find hope and strength in Him; I’ve felt the warmth and urgency of His “I love you”.

Psalm 46:4

If you are interested in beginning the practice of intentional gratitude, download this free Bold, Brave & Blessed journal. It can be saved to your computer, or printed to help you recognize your fears, live in gratitude, and put your trust in God.

photo credit: Stuck in Customs LA Photowalk Kid via photopin (license)

The surprising truth about parenting a teenager

You don’t have to be a parent to know that the general consensus around raising teenagers is “oh boy, hold on to your hat, it’s going to get bumpy” or perhaps something a little more blunt than that. There is this universal understanding that the teen years are the hardest to navigate as a parent, with perhaps the exception of the toddler years. I see it every time someone learns that I have a 14 year old daughter and they respond with a loud whistle or raised brows and big grin and say, “oh boy, you’re in the teen years!” or “phew! I remember those years, hang in there!” or even, “God bless you, teen girls are so hard!”

I’ve heard it all, and I’ve even said these things. I’ve joked with other parents about needing prayers to get through the teen years, or about the extra grey hairs growing on my head, and they’ve laughed or nodded knowingly. Because everyone seems to agree, parenting a teenager is challenging, trying, and even painful.

But here’s the thing I’ve learned  since we entered this phase of life nearly 2 years ago, the surprising truth about raising a teenager: It’s actually the most extraordinary stage of parenting I’ve experienced.

Here’s why.

The relationship is starting to shift. Her needs have changed. My daughter doesn’t call me mommy anymore and she certainly doesn’t need me to hold her hand when crossing the street, pick out her clothes, or even pack her lunches. She is becoming increasingly more independent each year, and while that may sound sad at first, the reality is it has created space and allowed for a new dynamic that I don’t have yet with my younger two.

Beautiful Hannah

She doesn’t need me in the same ways, but she still needs me. Often for something really important like someone to listen to her (just listen) when she’s struggling with a particular friendship or obstacle.

She needs me to set boundaries and then step back and give her the freedom to try new things, even fail, within those boundaries, while remaining close enough to help her up when she falls.

She needs me to know that sometimes a good cry, for no particular reason, is cathartic and part of life. But a hug and chocolate can make it all seem better.

She needs me to speak truth into her life, about how I need and rely on God every day so she may learn to do the same.

She needs my advice about decisions that will shape the rest of her life — big decisions and character defining moments — but only when she asks for it.

She needs me to recognize that she is not a little girl anymore, but also that sometimes she still needs her mom and be ready and available for those moments, without hovering or complaining when they pass.

Mom and daughter

I’m not saying this is always easy, this shift in how she needs me and the ways we relate to each other. And I most definitely get it wrong! I criticize, nag, and yell. I have a tendency to be sarcastic when I should be gentle. I ask too many questions when she doesn’t want to talk, and sometimes offer advice before it’s solicited. I’m still learning.

And for her part, sometimes I am the best mom ever and she will thank me 100 times for something little, and other times I am the enemy or invisible woman who she takes for granted. She’s still learning.

But even with the parts we get wrong; even on the days it’s really hard and one or both of us feels angry, scared, or disappointed in the other, this new relationship is nothing short of phenomenal.

Parenting a teenager is like getting an exclusive preview of the adult this child is going to be. It’s like reading a book about your favorite character and actually getting to play a role in influencing some of their story.

Because you know them more intimately than anyone else. You know where they’ve come from. You know what they’re afraid of, and what they hope for. You get to see all the good in them and the potential that is yet to be realized, but also know there are real struggles and mistakes to be made, which make the victories all the more sweet.

I’m still fairly new to this parenting a teen stage. And maybe it will get more challenging in the coming years, or with my other children. But what I want to say to every other parent who is approaching this stage: Take heart! Because while it might come with some really difficult moments, it’s also so much better than anyone ever tells you!

mom and teenage daughter