I was afraid to become a mom because I knew I would fail at it.  I didn’t grow up with the overwhelming urge to have babies. I’m a practical girl and I knew that my impatience and imperfections meant I wouldn’t be the best candidate. So God tricked me into it. Although I willingly entered into the endeavour of ‘baby making’ with eyes wide open, after about 6 months I decided that No, in fact, I did not want to be a Mother. I came to this conclusion sitting outside the lab waiting for the pregnancy results I knew would be negative. But they were positive.  So for 8 months I tried to wrap my mind around the idea of being somebody’s mom. And then my first daughter showed up, 4 weeks early and just a week shy of Mother’s Day. And I entered into a love like none I had ever known before, or since, with the exception of her younger sister who came exactly 4 years and 4 months later. Another practical joke on the part of God. In a struggling marriage at the time, the marriage counselor we were seeing asked “How can you be pregnant, you don’t even like each other?” Not particularly what I needed to hear, but I suppose a fair question in some ways. My second daughter arrived 7 weeks ahead of schedule and a week shy of us having to move. Never a dull moment around here.

Twelve years later, I am still a screw up. My premonitions about being a failure as a mother were true. But what I hadn’t bargained for was how wonderful it would be. How life changing. How much I would love them and miraculously, they would love me, in SPITE of my many failings. I guess God knew I needed to learn a little something about unconditional love. Being a mother doesn’t just mean we have unconditional love for our children, it means they give it back to us. We fail and fail and fail some more and these little people keep on loving us. I have learned to say I’m sorry, a LOT. Admit my failings, get up, dust myself off and keep going, even when I feel like I have no idea what I’m doing. Because, well, I don’t!

There are days I want a studio apartment. To live alone with no one else’s mess but mine to clean up. Some peace, solitude and a bathroom all to myself. But then the moment passes and I realize how boring that would be. How blessed I am to be surrounded by loving chaos.  How undeserving I am of this boundless love from these unique little beings who don’t always like me but who always always love me. My cup runneth over!

Twelve years ago today, on a Saturday afternoon, I became a Mom.  My first born was 4 weeks early and upside down. But come she did and she’s been making dramatic entrances ever since. I remember trying to savor each and every moment of those first months, watching them pass in a bittersweet combination of joy for what she’d accomplished and anticipation of who she had yet to become. Then I blinked and twelve years went by.

It sounds like such a long time on paper, but it has gone far too quickly. In 365 days I will be the mother of a teenager…and the past 41 some odd years of my life have NOT  prepared me for that–I’m not sure an eternity could.

The only thing I have managed to do consistently over the past twelve years is love her.  I have failed her in so many ways, fallen so short of the ideal I set for myself 12 years and 8 months ago. But I have never run short of my love for her. I guess that unconditional part works both ways. I love her no matter what, and she, miraculously, returns the favor, despite my unworthiness.

As I watch her grow into a young woman, still straddling the fence between childhood and teen-dom, I am amazed by her intelligence, talent, compassion and insight. Wise behind her years and gifted with a voice that amazes anyone who hears its strength and beauty coming out of that tiny girl. I look forward with anticipation to the woman she will become. But I’m in no hurry. It’s okay with me if the next 12 years crawl by.

My friend and I were talking about that verse in the bible about God’s yoke being easy and his burden light. She was telling me how she had never quite gotten past the yoke concept. All she could see was the restraint aspect. But recently God showed her that the yoke is only meant as a means to lead us. That it’s meant to make things easier, not harder. If we could just stop fighting long enough to let him lead us.

We were talking about teen (and tween) daughters. How sometimes they lose their minds and are totally unreasonable (this is sometimes true of  ’grown up’ women too). When we are being unreasonable it is impossible for us to hear anything, let alone be obedient enough to follow directions. I joked about the Laverne and Shirley type of  moment when someone just needs to slap some sense into you. Sometimes I feel that way about my tween…and I know God has surely felt that way about me. “Pull yourself together girl!” “Snap OUT of it!”

Then we came up with the wild horse analogy. A horse who, after much bucking and kicking,  finally submits to the bridle. I laughed because bridle and bridal sound the same, but mean different things. Yet if we are to be Christ’s  brides, then maybe there is a parallel that can be drawn. The bridle is not meant as a means to control us, but as a way for Him to lead us. That is, after all, the function of a bridle, or a yoke. His easy yoke, which is meant to help steer us in the right direction.

And the light burden. Not a wagon full of rocks, as I’ve always kind of envisioned it. I don’t know what’s in the wagon. I just know that whatever it is, it’s light. Left to our own devices we tend to pile on the baggage. Carry around things that aren’t necessary, even harmful.  But if we can submit to His yoke, then the direct result is a lightened load. Peace and rest. And who couldn’t use a little of those?

“Come to Me, all who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart; and you shall find rest for your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my load is light.” Matthew 11:28-29.

If you know me at all or have read very man of my blogs, you may have noticed a common theme. I don’t like to cook. In fact, I pretty much loathe all things domestic. Well, except the staying home with my kids part.  And after a day of trudging through the necessities of laundry, cleaning and cooking dinner, I never, I repeat, ever, have the desire to bake.

I do not make things from scratch for the sheer enjoyment of it. I don’t even like scratching open a box. The new rule that you have to bring store-bought baked goods for class parties (for safety reasons) was invented with me in mind. Someone had surely seen my kitchen and/or tasted something I’d attempted to bake. Out of that an amendment was born, it might even be named after me. BUT, I have a 7 year old who loves to bake. She loves all things cooking-related, in fact. I am at a bit of a loss as to where and how she got this inclination. And yet I hate to discourage a creative girl. So every once in a blue moon, when her Dad isn’t around to push it off on, I help her bake something. She likes to add the eggs, the oil, the water, to the box mix.  (Don’t judge)  She likes to hold the mixer and beat the ingredients. Then, of course, lick the beaters. Even I like that part of baking.

This afternoon, for fun, she was watching a show called D.C. Cupcakes. Then she started asking to bake something. I put her off as long as I could, but after dinner I was out of excuses. She really wanted to get a pastry bag (her words) and icing tips. So we went to the store and bought the can that looks like hair mousse and comes with 4 different tips. She tested each tip out on a paper plate and can’t wait until the cupcakes are cooled enough to ice.

It seems I have an artist on my hands. And art I understand.  But food-related art? That’s a foreign concept to me. Still, I muddle through, baking-challenged and impatient. Because I love her. And for love, even I will bake!

When we were kids, my Dad would challenge my sisters and me to walking races. He was fast, his legs were longer than ours and he would almost always win. But what I love best about the memory is how silly he looked doing it. If you’ve ever tried to walk fast, without running, you know it’s hard to not look like a goofball while doing so. And therein lies the fun.

Now I am the one who challenges my own girls to race walk with me and I am in such awesome shape that I am usually huffing and puffing in no time, but we are always laughing too, because it’s an absurd thing to do. And as a kid, you feel like you really can beat your parent. And in my case you probably will. But the best part is that you see that your Mom is okay with acting like a fool in order to have a little fun.

“Life’s too mysterious, don’t take it serious!”

I’m a self-proclaimed pack-rat. And while I know admission is the first step toward getting better, it will probably also be my last step. The thing is, I like stuff. I’m not a hoarder. I share, I give away and then I buy more! I like to consider myself very eco-minded. I don’t like to waste things.  So when my girls outgrow clothes I either give them to a friend or donate to charity. Same with old junk. Sometimes I try and earn a buck on eBay. But usually I just pay it forward. And then I go out and thrift and bring something else home. Still very recycle friendly, since I am re-using other people’s cast-off items, keeping things out of landfills and helping create jobs in my community.

I know it is possible to live with less, to live ‘simply’ and that really does appeal to me. I have gone long periods of time with little or no possessions. Well, at least not with me (they were in storage). And I know it is quite possible to get by with less. But it’s also a lot less fun.  I am a very visual person. Artistically speaking I can barely draw a stick figure. But my home is my canvas. I arrange things in a way that is pleasing to me and hopefully others.

I am also very sentimental, which is a double-edged sword. It makes it hard for me to part with certain things, but it also makes me a deeper person, I think. I value people and so I value the things that people give me or that remind me of those that matter most to me.

The older I get, the easier it is to part with certain things. But there are still things I cannot seem to let go. Like pictures my girls draw for me or cards people have written to me.

I would like to learn to strike a balance between self-expression and feeling overwhelmed by the amount of clutter in my house.  It is a work in progress.  So like any masterpiece, it will take a while to complete.

I’m at another crossroads. I’ve been at more than one of those in my lifetime, and always, I’ve asked myself what I should do. But I haven’t always chosen well. When I was in my early twenties, I was in a car accident while in a friend’s car. He later got a settlement and I received a little money as well. It was enough to pay off what little debt I had and have a small amount left over.  I should have stayed out of debt, but I didn’t. I should have bought my VW bus and followed my dream of traveling in it. But I didn’t.

A few years later, I met a guy, who had a VW bus and we eventually got married. The plan was to travel around in it…but it broke down and we rented an apartment and start accumulating stuff. Stuff makes it very hard to travel. It serves as anchors to wherever you are and it seems the only way to  break free of those anchors are to let go of that stuff. But I’m not so good at that. Still, what use is it? It sits on my shelves, aesthetically pleasing for awhile, but otherwise pointless. But I like to decorate, I like holidays and so the accumulation continues.

Then I had kids. And they come with their own collection of stuff and the anchor becomes weightier.  Not that it’s their fault.  Society assigns a list of things they must have. Most kids, if they’re parents have the means, enter the world already weighed down by the ‘stuff of life’  Every once in awhile I have an epiphany. To sell everything I own and go, Henry Thoreau or John Muir-esque into life and fly by the seat of my pants.

At 41 I keep reminding myself that I’ll never have my 20′s back, but I’ll also never be younger than I am right now. So what am I waiting for? A partner in crime? Well, yeah, sort of. I can’t very well throw off the ties that bind me when I’m married and have children. So I try, without much luck, to get them to jump on my band-wagon. I want to live life in a trailer or a log cabin, ala Travels with Charlie or Grizzly Adams.  And what am I waiting for? When will that happen? It won’t, unless I make it so. I want to take the road less traveled by, but I may have to drag my family kicking and screaming.

I’m living with a mermaid. She masquerades as a 7 year old, but really, she’s a fish out of water. She wants to spend most of her time in the water, watching mermaid videos on youtube or searching the internet for swimmable fins.

I’m not sure what started it all, although Ariel has always been her favorite princess, from a very early age. But then she discovered H2O. No, not the real deal–water. It’s a show. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/H2O:_Just_Add_Water  Leave it to my uber-computer literate kids to stumble onto a show filmed in Australia that, as far as I know, is no longer in production. And then to become obsessed.

She has relentlessly implored me to search for a mermaid tail for her. And believe it or not, they’re out there. But the ‘swimmable’ versions start at $80. Undeterred by a lack of funds and the far off date of Christmas, when Santa might come through, she has fashioned her own ‘tail’. She stuffed both of her legs into one ‘leg’ of a pair of pink tights and waddles around the house with a bikini top on. The bath tub is her ocean and she films herself with a little digital video camera, creating her own videos while playing a mermaid.

I happen to love it. I love her imagination and that she has the freedom to create a little alter-existence. After all, what else is childhood for, if not dreaming, making believe and spending part of your time, at least, under the sea?

How is it possible that another year has passed and my baby is now 7?  S-E-V-E-N! I have asked her each year not to grow up. She just laughs at me, as children are wont to do. But growing up is sooo over-rated, I reason. Still, they do it! Against my will, against my best advice! But the joy is in the journey and getting a front row seat to their inevitable growing up. Mikah started year 6 as a First Grade drop-out. We home-schooled through the year, by the seat of our pants, while I fought off the pain of a back injury and later recovered from surgery. We survived last year and that’s about it! But along the way, she brought me smiles, laughter and love.

In the past year, you gave up your binky (trading it for your thumb) lost your first teeth, the two on bottom not long after your 6th birthday, and the second one up top, just shy of your 7th! You traded dance class for gymnastics, became obsessed with Littlest Pet Shops and put on many a song and dance show with your sister on our living room ‘stage’.  You are laid back and mellow and would just as soon spend the day in your underwear.  But when you do finally get around to getting dressed, you still love your leopard print clothes best.

You have gotten taller and smarter and you get so proud of yourself for reading a book all on your own. You count each page you read and congratulate yourself along the way.  You have just about taught yourself to swim and would love to be a mermaid.  You are fearless and free and you love the ocean.  You fill my life with joy and I am blessed to get to be your Mama. Happy 7th birthday sweet Mikah Jean!

Today was the first day of school. But not for us. We went to the park and then the dentist and tomorrow, we will start our ‘school work’ at the kitchen table.  We didn’t get up at 6:30 a.m. like last year. We didn’t put on new outfits or take a First Day picture, and I have to say, that made me a little sad.  But having my girls home with me today made me anything BUT sad.  This is the first year that both my girls are schooling at home. I did K and 1st with my oldest.  And last year, 1st again, with my youngest, but I’ve never schooled both girls simultaneously.

I know some people don’t get it. Some people think I’m nuts (and I am, but that’s beside the point) But I am blessed to have a choice in the matter, and believe it or not, I CHOSE to home school both my girls. Or maybe it chose me. With my oldest, I couldn’t imagine ever sending her off alone. But after 2 years home with me, a crumbling marriage and a one-year-old along for the ride, I decided it was in everyone’s best interest to put her in public school.  She adjusted well, thanks to the gift of a wonderful 2nd grade teacher, and spent the next four years thriving in that environment.  So when it came time for daughter #2 to start school,  I enrolled her. She had already done a little pre-school here and there, so she was raring to go.  It took me a little longer to get used to the idea, but she took to it naturally, so I just went along for the ride. Until 1st grade rolled around last year. She went the first few days, and then she cried when it was time for me to drop her off. She told me she didn’t want to go. I asked her if something had happened to make her afraid, and she said “No”, she just missed me and felt safer at home. And I couldn’t leave her. She had never been afraid before. She didn’t bat an eye when I dropped her off for her first day of preschool at age 3 or when I walked out of her Kindergarten class room when she was not quite 5. So after talking to my husband, we decided to pull her out and home school her.

Some people would say I’m soft. That she would have gotten used to it after awhile and I’m sure that’s true. But I have never been a tough-love kind of Mom. Never a do-or-die kinda parent. And I remember being a scared 6 year old who just wanted to stay home with her Mom. The thing is, they are little for such a short time.  There is such a push from society to measure up, tow the line, blend in and adapt. But I am not in any hurry for that. Maybe it’s because I’m a non-conformist myself or because I never really wanted to grow up either. But I believe there are more important things to do than hurrying my girls through adolescence. It is fleeting enough. And try as I might to savor it, it still slips by me, a day at a time. But when I look back over these years, I want to be sure that I did right by them and the very best thing for them at the time.

I am lucky to have an amazing and supportive husband, who works hard so I can be home with our girls. And who agrees that this is best for them. And while I know that homeschool isn’t for everyone, and I would never suggest that it’s the only way, I am following my heart. And most days, that’s all I’ve got to gone on. ♥♥