On TV and Motherhood

Brooklynne and I went on a tv detox today. Well, Brooklynne did. I'm still going to watch tv, but only after she's in bed. I still like to numb my mind and let my shoulders sink back to their natural resting place after the day is done while watching Friends or Real Housewives of Wherever. I decided I needed to pull the plug so to speak on Birdie and her tv watching for several reasons. One, the shows are annoying. That's just a stand alone fact. If Dora stood their blinking at me for 82 seconds or if I had to hear Caillou's whine one more time, I was going to lose it. What are kids supposed to be learning from Caillou anyway? How to be the most obnoxious child in preschool, or maybe all of the world? The whining, the crying, the neediness, the gnashing of teeth- it's amazing to me they can still drum up characters to hang with this kid. I think they're really driving home the difficulties of being a 4 year old, but all it really does is make me hate an imaginary child. I saw a funny Pinterest post the other day, and it said "even on the worst of days, I think to myself, at least I'm not Caillou's mom." SO true. 

Also, it was completely sucking up our day, in the absolute worst of ways. We'd watch a few shows with breakfast, then maybe run a few errands, then home for lunch and a show or two before nap, then when she woke up, I'd use it extensively to get through the long afternoon and dinner prep, also known as the witching hours, right before Daddy got home. What is it about meal prep time that makes the metaphorical wheels fall off the day? Brooklynne in general is not a whiner, but for some reason around 4:30 until the second before Cooper gets home, her words are long and drawn out and are several decibels higher than need be. We'd eat dinner, then round out the day with a show before bed. When I really took a hard look at the amount of time she spent zoned out and zombied in front of the tv, I was blown away. It made me embarrassed and ashamed of how I was using this time God gave me to be with her, and teach her, and show her His love in big and little ways. I told myself, "well, if I had a car, it wouldn't be like this," or "if we had the money to spend, I'd certainly entertain her elsewhere." I'd completely let myself off the hook on this whole intentional Mom deal.

 I've read so many articles and blog posts and Facebook statuses about how difficult Motherhood is, and essentially, if you make it through the day and your kids are still breathing, then props to you, and drink up, because you deserve it! But, I don't want to live like that anymore. I don't want to just merely survive the day with her, patting myself on the back because she eats organically and takes a bath every night. I want more than that, for her and for me. Even though the days can feel like they are right around 93 hours long sometimes, I want to use the time we have wisely. I need to do a much better job of doing the hard things when it comes to intentional mothering. I don't need any more outs. I know those posts are written in the sprint of togetherness and "life in the trenches", but I don't need another "who can blame you," or "forgive yourself, the job is tough" schpeel. I need accountability, something to make me try harder and dig deeper. Not a way to back out because the task is hard. Motherhood IS hard, but you only get one shot to do it right.

 So, no more tv for Birdie. And already, it's kind of changing everything. I'll admit, I totally panicked when we'd done everything on the day's agenda and it was only 10:30. I couldn't believe how much we accomplished in so little time without the distraction of the television in the background. We played outside, did sidewalk chalk and followed ants on their busy paths. We replaced the noise of tv with praise and worship music. Brooklynne clapped along and did her weird, foot stomping, arm wiggling dance. With all this free time, I might dedicate an hour or two to teaching Brooklynne how to dance, or at least how to follow Hitch's guide to white people dancing. Lord forbid she go to her 6th grade school dance and end up looking like Elaine from Seinfeld. I embarrassed myself, in many many ways, in middle school, but none of them from lack of style and flair while dancing.  The good dancing probably distracted from my bright pink eyeshadow and frizzy bangs for a little bit, so I'm putting dancing in the plus category of life.

We built castles with Legos, and played with her babies. And we talked, really actually talked. Even though she's only two, Brooklynne is quite the conversationalist. She's been speaking in full sentences for months, and always surprises me with her vocabulary. She says words like "fantastic" and "lovely" on the regular, and always has really dramatic hand motions ( I don't know WHERE she would have picked that up.) I love her little heart and how lately she's had such a mind towards Jesus. I dropped something on the ground, and before I reached to grab it, she said "not worry, Mommy, Jesus will get it for you. He always helps and keeps you safe!" We might need to do a little revising on her concept, but the main points are good and true. 

We played until well past her bed time and she was so excited to tell Cooper every moment of her day. I told him about the tv deal, and he was pleased. To get any sort of reaction out of Cooper can be like pulling teeth, so a blatant show of approval is big. I told him I thought this was going to be a good thing for us, and I truly believe that. I'm sure in the future I'll be tempted to drown out the meal prep blues, or turn on the tv when I just want to sneak away and read People magazine in peace for 20 minutes. But overall, I needed this physical change to facilitate the heart change I needed to make. So hurrah to hard things, and intentional mothering. And to no more Caillou. 

Verite sans Peur

This past weekend was my birthday. It was also Brooklynne's birthday party, which made for a whirlwind week of frantic cleaning, and preparation, and really quality family time. My mom and my two youngest siblings rolled into town on Monday, and got right to work on my humble abode. I've been living in some state of construction for the past year. It's been a learning experience, to say the least, as well as absolutely crazy making. Jackie and Brooke live here, so they were the gophers for the countless DIY projects and Target runs. Jill arrived on Wednesday, and that's when the place got it's facelift. She has a way of just making everything that much more beautiful. My mother in law literally took off of work to hang curtains she made for my guest room, in preparation for two of my dearest friends to arrive on Friday.

Catherine, Sarah and I met when my family moved to Baltimore. We all attended a small boarding school called St. Timothy's. We were day students, so in our minds, the numerous rules and regulations just didn't really all the way apply to us. Well, to Catherine and I. Sarah's nickname is Nana, because she always was a rule follower to the letter, and would sort of "tisk-tisk" at our devil-may-care attitudes. We had this group of friends that sort of became this untouchable entity. We called ourselves The 3-6 (in the English school system, 3's are freshman and 6's are seniors,) and our group spanned the whole of those years. It was such a weird place, and such an odd time in our lives, but for some reason it all worked. Our personalities couldn't be more different, and really, I'm certain if it weren't for St. Tim's we wouldn't have even given each other a chance. Something about it being all girls just really took the pressure off and let us really see into each other. We let ourselves learn each others' idiosyncrasies, and fears, and dreams, and just really grew up and into each other. It was such a formative time for all of us, and I came to Baltimore so jaded and broken without even really knowing it. I thought I was just upset about leaving Chicago, the only home I'd ever known, but I was teetering on the edge of such overwhelming sadness, I didn't really know how I was going to get out. I didn't realize it happening then, but every time I did something out of my comfort zone, or shared something that hurt me, or laughed really really hard and meant it, I was being put back together. Those girls, and that time changed me and healed me in ways I can't even describe. A teeny piece of my heart will always be in Baltimore, more specifically, at St. Tim's.

As excited as I was to have them, I was worried about what they would think. Even though these girls know my deep, dark stuff, I was nervous about swinging open my doors and my unfinished bathrooms and saying "this is it, I hope it's enough." My mom said, in the very nicest way, "Kristen, no one cares! They're not going to judge you. Quit freaking out!" It hurt my feelings, but it also let me step back from the ledge of manic for a little bit. I whined and complained about what wouldn't be done in time, or what didn't look just right, and then I let those words seep into my soul in a truly life changing, heartbreaking way. I realized a life on hold, or a life removed, is not the life I want to be living anymore.

When the girls arrived, we were all squeals and giggles, and caught up over drinks. We went to aunt's house for what turned into my birthday party on Friday, and had a wonderful time. I was so happy to be with them, and I could feel my shoulders leaving my ears, and the worry starting to fade. Oddly enough, they hadn't met Cooper yet, and he and I happened to be in one of those cold war stand-offs, but by Saturday, they were joking and laughing, so even that didn't really matter. There was a point in the morning on Saturday right before the party, when Sarah was mopping my floor and Catherine was scrubbing my range. It really took my breath away. It said to me that these were my girls, these were my people. And it also said that I'm the only one that suffers when I withdraw and pull away because I'm not thrilled with what life looks like. After the party, which was a wonderful success just as my mom said it would be, the girls and I drank and cried and laughed hysterically, and Cooper joined in (strictly as a spectator.) We circled around deep wounds and the need for each other, and vowed over and over that we needed to do this MUCH more often. I think Cooper conked out around the group hug portion of the evening, and we followed soon after.

We gathered to celebrate Father's Day at Jackie's the next morning, and then we were off to the airport. We were sad to say good bye, but more energized by being together and having that time to be high school girls again. Driving away from the airport with a few tears, I told Cooper that I thought I was finally getting it. I'm finding people don't super love squeaky clean; they don't like getting to the heart of a person, and finding there's really nothing going on in there. Every every EVERYONE has things they'd like to keep concealed. But that's not doing life together. That's even more stressful than being alone- pretending Facebook life is your everyday normal is exhausting. Those girls loved on Brooklynne like I knew they would, and Catherine cut her leg on my unfinished bathroom knobs, and lived to tell the tale. It was perfect.

As a birthday gift to myself, I've decided this will be my year to let it go. I don't want to stress over what's not right, I don't want to stay away just because everything isn't just so, and I want to reach out to my friends and family and be okay with help. I've fought help every step of the way, which really means I've fought love and kept it at arms length for far too long. At St. Tim's, the school motto is "Verite sans Peur," which translates from the French to mean "Truth without Fear." I want that. I want to be vulnerable and at peace and content with the truth of my life, and to leave the fear and worry and self doubt behind. I'm leaving that in the rearview and looking forward to a new way of thinking and being.

I'm so grateful for this weekend- the laughs and the tears, the lessons learned and moments shared, and the family and friends I really can't be without.

Happy Birthday to me. I'm sure 27 will be my very best year yet.

Here goes nothing

There are about 82,435 reasons I didn't want to create a blog. The list is extensive, but I'll rattle off a few just for fun. Number one- I'm not cool. In a family of 9 awesome people, and 7 dynamic children, I've always kind of felt like the mother hen lame one. Matt and Jackie are big into music, exchanging songs and YouTube videos. They're creative, lively, and hilarious. Jill is wonderful with fashion. A true artist in every sense of the phrase. She knows good colors, shapes, and looks for most everyone. Lots of selfies and high glam shots. Becky and John are both smart, lithe athletes, and Brooke is the glue for everyone. Smart, funny, a great listener, and wise beyond her years. My parents are people every one looks up to and respects, rightfully so. I don't really have a discernible talent or skill, or "this is what I can bring to the table" trick. I listen to old school Whitney and Mariah and Lite FM, and not in an ironic way. I don't like The Beatles, U2, animals, or politics. So there's that.

Number two- I'm not tech savvy at all. Like AT ALL. I use both my laptop and iPad to look at Pinterest, check Facebook, and read magazines. I use my phone to text and let Brooklynne watch pbskids.org. Fun fact- I've never even created a PowerPoint presentation, isn't that crazy?! I always managed to delegate that role to someone else in a group project, and when I needed to make one in college, Cooper was so annoyed with how long it took me to mess around with the settings, he just did them for me. Lest you think I was a slacker or worked my then boyfriend to the bone, I proofread and edited all of his papers- he totally got the better end of the deal. When I asked if words could whirl in, or letters could drop from the top of the slide or sound effects could be added, and he simply said "Not a chance," without looking away from the screen, I think that was our line in the sand moment; if it had to do with computers, it was Cooper's job. I also don't take very many pictures. I mean, I have 1,417 of Brooklynne on my phone currently (that's the real number, and I'm guessing it's also the reason my phone dies twice a day) but as far as the real DSLR, twist the lens camera, notsomuch. I've since found out you can use said phone pictures in blog posts, so we're good.

Lastly, I kind of didn't want to invite people into my life, without it being invitation worthy. I kept thinking, "as soon as our house is finished, I'll start the blog." Or "as soon as I have something more to report than Brooklynne and Mommy at the park, Brooklynne and Mommy doing sidewalk chalk, Brooklynne and Mommy watching Fresh Beat Band, then I'll totally blog. Not one thing going on today is noteworthy." I don't want people to know what I'm feeling, or thinking deep down. I would rather just keep Facebook life up. Cute, quippy posts and a picture of my sweet Birdie girl, and no one is the wiser as to what's really happening with me. Full honest self is scary. I've been different people at different times, as all of us have. I wanted to keep my favorite self- my funny, witty, charming self at the forefront. Not "hard Mom days" self, or "searching for something unknown" self; those aren't fun or cute. So I kind of hid. And I'm just now realizing that's not fair- to myself or to those that love me. I want to write down and remember my feelings and thoughts as they are right now, as a gift to myself. Just because it's not perfect, doesn't mean it's not important.

I felt God tugging at me to do this, to step out and be vulnerable, but as usual, I gave him reasons why now just wasn't the perfect time. I rationalized and talked myself out of it for years. And because I'm the type of person that needs huge sweeping gestures and really obvious signs when I'm to do something out of my comfort zone, I had no less than 5 separate people tell me to start blogging.

So I'm blogging.

I don't know what this will be, or how often I'll post, but I'm excited to be doing it!

Then I got to worrying about a name. I know, mountains out of teeny tiny ant hills, right? And then it dawned on me- Hangin' with Mr. Cooper. One, because that's what I'm doing most of the time. And two, because I really loved that show as a kid. I thought Holly Robinson Peete was so beautiful and I wanted to have a little teeny waist when I grew up so I could wear super high waisted acid wash jeans, just like her. And Mark Cooper's suits were fly. I yelled out to Cooper "I'm naming my blog Hangin' with Mr. Cooperrrrrrrr," in the same way Kevin yelled out to Buzz that he was in his room and going through his stuff- he wasn't home, and I knew he wouldn't like it. Cooper is selfless and quiet. The ultimate introvert. He prefers watching and listening to being front and center any day. But I did it because he's my man, and I'm going to celebrate him. By the way, the Buzz and Kevin reference is from Home Alone. If you didn't know that, or appreciate it, you might be in the wrong place : )

To all that I say, here goes nothing.