Motherhood is a work of heart.
It’s diving into the unknown.
It’s following your gut, trusting your instincts.
It’s calling in your mother for help.

Motherhood is loving someone more than you ever knew possible.
It’s being afraid, but choosing to be brave.
It’s saying the right thing or saying nothing at all.
It’s choosing self-less-ness.

Motherhood is imperfect.
It’s shouting, it’s joy.
It’s heartbreak and joy.
It’s messing up, saying “I’m sorry.”

Motherhood is all-encompassing.
It’s a worried mind, a sleepless night.
It’s an answered phone.
It’s a conversation ended with “I love you.”

Motherhood is heart work.

© Kathie Z.

They’re the physical and metaphorical end zones guiding us in the direction of goals.

In sports, the goalposts are clearly defined, outlined in brightly colored paint. Athletes make their way down the field in bursts of energy, progressing towards the goal line. Sometimes they cross the line, sometimes their progress is deterred. All the while, time is ticking away and every moment counts. Because the game has a finite amount of minutes. There is little time to celebrate when players cross the goal line, score points for their team. Taking time to celebrate during the game is not an option. Game time is too precious, the stakes too high.

In so many of our real lives we, too set goals and get to work making our way down the field, mindful not to run down the clock. We achieve one goal and quickly set another, keep moving forward towards the next goalpost. Over and over again we repeat this process. Set goal. Work towards goal. Achieve goal. Repeat.

This week while so many are focused on football’s Super Bowl, I’m preparing for the primary grade big event, the 100^thday of school. In the primary grades, the 100^thday is a. Big. Deal. It is a major goalpost.

100 means so much to small children. It represents an understanding of math concepts. 100 equals 100 ones, 10 tens and 1 100! 100 days is also a big deal because it signifies such a huge chunk of time passed in the eyes of a young child.

Historically, the 100^thday has been a fun-filled day in my classroom, centered around the theme of the number 100. My students complete a number of 100 themed math and writing activities. Laughter fills the classroom as children ponder what life will be like in their far, far away future.

Year after year as the 100^thday came to a close, I struggled with remaining present. Rather than basking in the joy of the day, I couldn’t help but think about the looming June goal post. After 100^th day, time seems to magically speed up, the remaining days pass at an accelerated pace. Rather than marvel at all the good learning that had occurred, I thought about all that still  remained to be done!

This year I’m choosing to view the 100^thday through a different lens. This 100^thday, my students and I will take time to reflect and we will celebrate. Because they have invested a lot of effort into their learning. They’ve done hard work, pushed through challenges, made great progress.

And what a powerful lesson for all of us; parents, educators, children. To take time to reflect on our efforts, make note of progress we’ve made, and be proud of how far we’ve come.

There will always be goalposts. And time will always be precious. But there’s always enough time for acknowledging, appreciating and celebrating where we are now.

©Kathie Z.

For the past few years rather than craft New Year’s resolutions, my sister and I have chosen theme words. Inspired by the Rubin sisters, Gretchen the O.G. happiness expert and her younger sister Elizabeth, my sister and I have chosen our words and shared them with one another. The word is meant to serve multiple purposes: inspire, encourage and motivate. And in our case, provide accountability.

Most years, I choose a word hastily. There are so many words and in the panic of the January 1 deadline, I choose a good enough word, then forget it or replace it before January is even done.

On Christmas, my sister asked me if I had given my word for 2019 any thought. “Nope,” I said. She was excited. She had chosen hers. She was already practicing utilizing hers. My closest accountability partner, I knew she’d be checking up on me, encouraging me to make 2019 the year. So, I started thinking about the year and the different things I want to accomplish personally and professionally.

I had a week’s notice. And then our mother got sick. My siblings and I turned our focus to our mother. Standing in the coffee line in the hospital lobby café on New Year’s Day, my sister asked, “So what’s your word?”

“Dunno,” I said.

As the days passed, our mother was getting better. Bit by bit. She was making progress.

And then it hit me. Progress. That is my word of this year.

Embracing progress as my word of the year is a huge deal. It’s an acknowledgement of small, incremental forward movement. It is honoring the process, rather than putting all of the value on the finished product. Progress encourages acknowledgement which encourages perseverance which ultimately leads to accomplishment.

Which is what we primary educators do every day. We note the progress our students make daily. It’s why we collect work samples, portfolio assess. Then we provide verbal feedback, tailor instruction and encourage our students to keep going. Remind them, “you’ve got this.” Progress is at the root of the growth model we primary teachers know so well.

And when our students look at the work they did at the onset of the year and compare it to the work they are currently doing? Well, the joy in the room is contagious, the energy electric. Because our students are proud of how far they’ve come.

But we adults who tended towards perfectionism fail to recognize the progress we make in teeny, tiny incremental steps. Instead, we put an inflated value on the end product; dishonoring the effort, failure, and learning we’ve experienced. How ridiculous is that?

So I encourage you to choose your word for the year. And while you’re at it, encourage your kids to choose one, too.

©Kathie Z.

While I enjoy my second cup of coffee, I can’t help but reflect, count myself among the blessed. Both of my children are home. All are well in our house.

In a few hours, the four of us will be heading to my parents’ house for a day-long feast. We’ll join my parents, siblings, their spouses and children. We will assemble as a family (minus my brother and sister-in-law, my nieces and nephew) once again. It will be a long, noisy day, so for the moment I’m enjoying my solitude. Bathing in the quiet. Feeling grateful.

Grateful for the family I will see today. Grateful for the family who will be celebrating with others. Grateful for the friends near and far. Grateful for the love that connects us all.

If I were to continue listing all of the people and things to be grateful for this year, I’d stay in this space for who knows how long? And the mashed potatoes, my contribution to our family feast wouldn’t get made. Aside from my daughters’ amazing scratch made pies and pumpkin cheesecake, my mother (with great help from my sister) insists on making everything herself. Except for the mashed potatoes. My mashed potatoes. Which are actually smashed with garlic. Which have grown in quantity from three pounds to five.

This year there will be some empty chairs. And we’ll miss those absent. A lot. But we’ll still feel grateful. Grateful for each other. Grateful for the amazing food. Grateful for…

Because like garlic smashed potatoes, you can never have too much gratitude.

©Kathie Z.

In November, life seems to speed up for me. There’s so much to do in the 30 days that are already flying by. So much to accomplish.

Somehow November has shifted from a lull between back to school and winter holidays to an amped-up take the challenge month. The challenge to do, more be more. Now! In the past few days, I’ve received emails and messages encouraging me to jump in; amp up my gratitude practice, up my exercise routine, get that novel written. Instead of inspired, I’m feeling exhausted. Tempted to throw the blankets over my head and say, “wake me in January.”

November has always been a stress trigger for me. It starts with my husband’s birthday, the official start to the holiday season for our family. For as long as I’ve known him, November has been “birthday month.” From the first dinner served on the red birthday plate at his dad’s house to the annual attempt at recreating Grandma Ellie’s famous seven layer cake at his mom’s, the birthday expectation was set. And the pressure I’ve felt to deliver for his birthday hasn’t dissipated in the nearly three decades we’ve been together. Although, full disclosure: he’s always been happy with whatever or nothing at all, wrapped up prettily or handed over in the crinkly bag from the store.

This year is different, though. It’s the first he’ll be celebrating without either of his parents. Which is difficult.

The girls and I have decided to try to reinvent “birthday month” with small gestures to fill the void. And it’s been a challenge. And that got me thinking, reflecting. It has been one challenging year already. I simply have no more room on my plate.

So I’ve made the bold decision to say NO, declare this month NO-vember. Because I am choosing to say no, thank you. To each and every tempting challenge. I’d love to, but I simply can’t right now. Won’t.

Life has shown me that challenges will continue presenting themselves. Similarly, there will always be opportunities for improvement, invitations to do more, be more. But for now, I’m doing enough. I am enough. And I’m succeeding. (In a messy, imperfect, doing the best I can kind of way).

Because in spite of everything, I’m still acutely aware of the things that are good. And I’m grateful.

To all of you invested in November challenges, I wish you the best of luck. Sincerely. I’ll catch you next time. Maybe.

©Kathie Z.

Work-wise, it was conference week. Three days of meetings to discuss achievement, concerns, and set goals. Sandwiched around an abbreviated teaching day (in which we try to accomplish some serious learning).

I truly enjoy parent-teacher conferences. Each meeting is an opportunity to sit with the most invested stakeholders, the parents, and be reminded we’re in this together. All of us sitting at the table want the same thing; the best year for the child. As our 20 minute meeting progresses, the love parents feel for their children fills the room. I’m reminded of precisely why I’ve chosen this career.

During my last conference of day two, my cell phone rang. The parent asked if I needed to get the phone, her conference had run long. “No,” I said. It could wait. When I checked my phone, I saw my younger daughter had called. Needless to say, her calling mid-week is out of the ordinary. She’s our Friday night or Saturday morning caller. Nothing more than a texter mid-week.

I called my daughter back the moment the parent left. She was upset. She’d had an accident, was injured. The university doctor said a week away from school would be the best thing for her healing.

She’d been in a car accident in high school and suffered a horrible injury. I knew the importance of swift treatment. I shifted from teacher to parent, went into action mode. We needed to get our kid home as soon as possible, have her seen by her primary doctor. The following 24 hours were a whirlwind. After a jam-packed day of work, my husband and I made the 500 mile trip to fetch our daughter and bring her home to start the healing process.

Our doctor confirmed what the university doctor had said. She needed rest. And nothing else. No screens or media were permitted. No television watching, no book reading, no podcast or music listening. She needed quiet rest. While she napped and snuggled with the dog, I cleaned, did laundry and tried to stay quiet.

Outside our cozy little house, it was storming. I was beginning to feel dark, unsettled like the weather.

I tried to stay quietly busy. I roasted a chicken, filled the house with the comforting smells of home. We carved pumpkins to place on the stoop to welcome trick or treaters. But still, I felt less than great.

Sunday morning the sun rose and the yellow leaves swayed in the breeze. The outside was calling.

“We should forest bathe,” I said to my daughter.

“What?” she asked.

“Go for a walk in the woods,” I clarified. “Take a hike.”

“Definitely,” she agreed.

We loaded the dog into the car and headed for woods. It had been a few years since we’d hiked here, a favorite from days ago when the kids were small, the dog was a puppy. As we made our way onto the path, my daughter and I chatted, reminisced about time spent here with friends. We took in the beauty of the woods, noticed the loamy soil below our feet.

We made our way along the familiar path. Out of nowhere, an enormous Labrador came barreling towards us, barking, tail wagging. “He’s friendly,” a woman called, running to catch up. We introduced our dogs, chatted for a moment then continued on our walks.

With each step, my tension dissipated, was replaced with feelings of peace. And a true sense of gratitude. Gratitude for the beauty of nature, the opportunity to get away from it all minutes from my house, the gift of walking with my nearly grown daughter and just be. In the company of nature and other solace seekers.

As we made our way around the trail, a bright object caught my eye. Then another. Hand painted kindness rocks children had left beside the path. Pink and orange and purple reminders of goodness. Hope. Optimism. Healing.

The rocks decorated with fluorescent paint and children’s handwriting shifted our moods, buoyed us. We made our way back towards the road, met another dog walker. “Is he friendly?” the man called. “He is,” I shouted back. Once again, dog introductions were made, wishes for a good walk exchanged.

And just like that, the magic of the woods had shifted everything. I was reminded of the gifts of quiet, connection, and gratitude available to each of us.

©Kathie Z.

But lately, this quote has been bothering me. As a mother and educator of small children, I’ve been thinking, now wait a minute, Eleanor. Were you suggesting what I think you were? That each of us is solely responsible for our self-esteem? Maybe grown people, adults. What about the children?

I knew Eleanor was an advocate for children. Perhaps, I thought, I’d been reading the quote wrong, attributing meaning where there was none. So, I did what I so often do when something bugs me, I go in search of information. Which means I did a quick Google search. And I found a story tied to this quote on the website, quoteinvestigator.

Mrs. Roosevelt’s original quote, it seems, had been part of a longer response to a reporter’s question about a situation where snub may or may not have occurred to a government official. When Mrs. Roosevelt was asked to weigh in on the situation, she (in my opinion) answered quite diplomatically. First, she said (and I’m paraphrasing) the snub had to have been made intentionally in order for it to have even been perceived as a snub. Mrs. Roosevelt went on to say that when we, the ones on the receiving end of a confusing, possibly offensive interaction are feeling unsure of ourselves, it is easy to feel insulted, marginalized.

In essence, she was saying we have the power to let a comment or action grow, become “a thing,” which can make us feel poorly about ourselves. But when we feel confident, know where we stand, we can laugh at remarks, brush off slights, render them powerless. A few years later, the website said, her remarks were shortened in a Reader’s Digest story, distilled into the famous quote that’s been bugging me so much lately. Hmm.

After mulling it over, I think Eleanor demonstrated kindness and empowerment. How can we ever know the intent of another without asking? But so often we jump to conclusions. Create narratives to explain our feelings away. And in the process, we choose to give our power away, we choose to feel offended.

Going further, I think what Eleanor was essentially saying was that sometimes people do or say things intentionally that make us feel bad. Other times, though, the things people say or do that make us feel crummy are completely unintended. Thoughtless comments, brain-cramps, social whoops.

And it’s up to us, completely in our control, to determine the motivation of the other. Choose how we’re going to respond. Or not respond. We can deem the other person offensive and reestablish a boundary line, disengage or we can recognize their misstep as nothing more than a mistake, choose to meet them with compassion.  It’s completely up to us. We can choose to be offended or just to let it go. Wowsa. That’s some serious empowerment! And such a great lesson to teach our kids.

Because think about it; when our kids hurt, we feel their pain just as acutely, sometimes even more. The birthday party our child wasn’t invited to, the recess when there was “nobody” to play with, the playdate our child heard happened without them. All of these things happen. None of them are pleasant. But we adults have the choice to interpret as the incident as a slight or a non-event. And teach our children that they, too, have the power to reflect, feel and choose to feel good about themselves anyway.

In the age of technology and social media, where every moment is shared, it’s so incredibly easy to feel snubbed, question ourselves. And when the icky feelings get stirred up, we need to remind our kids and ourselves of Eleanor’s impactful words. Remember each of us has the power to choose how to feel.

©Kathie Z.

It just so happens today is my daughter’s birthday. It’s her 22^nd, but in a way, it’s another first.

It’s the first birthday she’s celebrating far away from us.

Coming to the realization we wouldn’t be spending this birthday with her was another reminder that she’s grown, on a journey that’s leading her to places unknown. Although I’m incredibly excited for her and the infinite possibilities that exist, I can’t help but reflect on the days gone too soon.

Remembering the bright, sunny day when she’d turned one brings a smile to my face. Dressed in black leggings, a white fleece sweater and a pair of Stride-Rite walking shoes, she’d taken her first steps. She was so proud of herself. I remember feeling a twinge sad then at how fast my baby was growing up. That memory led to the memory of her eleventh birthday. She’d been so confused when we met her at the bus, told her there was a surprise waiting at the house. When she got inside, she found a puppy; small and brown, unnamed, a bow attached to his collar. She sat on the floor, snuggled him. She was so excited, she promised, “I will never ever in my whole life ask you guys for anything else again.” We laughed, knowing her earnest promise was impossible to keep. And last year when she’d turned 21…it had been parent’s weekend at her college. The last we’d attend.

Knowing we’ll be together as a family to celebrate her birthday in a few weeks, my husband and I still wanted her to have a gift from us on her actual birthday. But what? We went back and forth discussing options. There were things every young person needs when they leave home. Things like furniture and rugs. Stuff everyone needs when they’re just starting out. But those were just “things.” Things that she’d collect piece by piece, accumulate over time. Replace when they were no longer useful.

We decided to choose the option that would bring her the most happiness.

And then it occurred to me. It didn’t matter what we sent her. Not really. Because over the course of the last 22 years, she’d received the most tremendous gift of all. From a whole bunch of us; her family, teachers, professors, mentors, and friends. Each one of us had made small contributions in the forms of encouragement, empathy, and love that had accumulated, grown-amounted to most valuable gift of all; worthiness.

Making deposits, increasing a child’s self-worth can be done quickly, simply. By sharing a kind word, a smile. Being an engaged listener; keeping quiet, nodding in understanding. Clearly communicating expectations while tolerating mistakes, turning them into learning opportunities…

In a million small ways, day after day, we adults can affect positive change by helping our kids to grow their own sense of worthiness. Because in the end, isn’t that what we all want? To know we’ve given the kids the tools to live their lives with confidence, creativity and compassion?

I can’t think of a better gift.

©Kathie Z.

The clearly defined, non-negotiable set of rights and wrongs: work hard, tell the truth, don’t take what’s not yours, use your manners were handed to me by my parents and their friends. This set of acceptable and unacceptable behaviors were communicated well, passed to me and my peers as a set of expectations, a code of conduct.

Although we were taught to play fair, do what’s right, I don’t ever recall being taught explicitly how to either define my personal boundaries or protect them. That’s why it takes so many of us years, decades even to define our own boundary lines, protect them when others trespass.

I find it odd that the boundaries around time, space, and self-image are mentioned, hinted at, but not explicitly taught to children as self-care. I believe boundary setting is essential for all of our children and it can be taught like brushing teeth, tying shoes, and reading; bit by bit with lots of opportunities for practice provided.

So how can we do this? Well, in primary classes, we teach children to define their space bubbles and stay in them. Some of us, myself most certainly, need larger space bubbles. But defining our space bubbles, our safe amount of personal space isn’t enough. Our children need to be taught how to verbalize in an assertive, respectful way when others get too close, make them feel uncomfortable. A strategy I utilize is one I was taught decades ago during a conflict-resolution training; the I Statement. I Statements are easy for little kids and they work wonders. They empower the child delivering the message to use their voice, claiming their boundaries while maintaining the dignity of the child who has over-stepped. The structure of an I Statement is as follows: (child’s name) I feel when you (state the action) and I’d like you to (name a replacement behavior). Kinda easy, right? And incredibly empowering.

We parents can help our kids build their confidence to speak up when we reinforce this strategy at home. It separates the behavior from the person, minimizing shouting and shame while reminding our children that mistakes are expected and accepted. And although consequences will likely be given, forgiveness will be, too. Self-images are protected.

But sometimes things happen, things we have no control over and boundaries are crossed without permission, our kids are hurt by others. Their hurt becomes our hurt. And as hard as it is, we need to remember it is our job as parents to lead by example: encourage our children to use their voices, share their experience with us while we listen calmly, non-judgmentally. Console with love and acknowledge the bravery exhibited to speak rather than remaining silent. And then we help jumpstart the healing process by guiding our children to reestablish their boundaries and strengthen them.

We need to model boundary setting, too. Engage in the essential self-care of setting limits, maintaining them, especially when doing so feels “selfish.” Because our kids are watching, listening. Learning.

©Kathie Z.

Without a doubt, educating and empowering kids is my calling, my life’s work for my own two children and the students I’ve taught and continue to teach. Over the years, I’ve honed my craft, curated a well-stocked tool box, and refined my practice. That said, the process doesn’t get any easier, the task remains challenging. I’ve learned, though, we get better over time with lots of practice. And continuous learning.

That’s why I read so much. Books to build growth mindset, books about resilience, books about taking action and living your best life, fulfilling your purpose. I gravitate to work that is presented with a blend of personal anecdotes and research based-evidence.

These past few weeks, I’ve been rereading Mel Robbins’ the 5 Second Rule. In her book, Ms. Robbins explores the trap of over-thinking and creating a negative, fear-based narrative that pushes so many of us into inaction and becoming stuck. Having become stuck herself, Ms. Robbins developed a simple five second strategy for action. Backed by neuroscience, her process for acting on good ideas has been transformative for lots of over-thinkers.

The fact that I was reading the 5 Second Rule while my daughter was simultaneously preparing for her first art show post-college and interviewing for a job in higher education was pure serendipity. As an educator, I know the research on parents being their child’s primary source of influence. And here she was, living under our roof again for the first time in four years. Navigating an incredibly stressful time with her parents in the next room, keeping tabs on the progress of both her show and job search. Yikes!

My husband and I tried our best to be supportive, but I’m pretty sure we hovered. As a writer, I know that putting yourself and your creative work out into the world can be dauntingly scary. The same can be said for working in a more traditional field, as well. The fear of judgment can become a terrible deterrent. The imagined scenarios of failure and the uncertainty of what if are confidence-eroders. We tried to support her in the best way; making ourselves available to answer her questions, offer advice only when solicited and keep the fridge stocked with good food.

A few days before the show I arrived home from work. Her best high school friend was visiting, offering moral support. She, too, was in the process of finding her first post-college job. She, too, was navigating the stressful process of interviewing and waiting. My daughter had had a phone interview for an amazing job a few days earlier. She’d been told the process would move quickly, but she’d been playing phone tag with the college for the past 24 hours. She’d made the last call so it was her turn to receive a call back. But her phone hadn’t rung, cell service in our house undependable. The end of the business day was drawing near and her time was at a premium. The art show was going up in two days. Would she need to make the four hour drive for an in-person interview? The timing was terrible. But all signs pointed to this being an amazing opportunity. So, I butted in.

“You need to Mel Robbins this thing.”

“What?” she said.

“Five second rule it. You call back,” I said.

“Yeah,” my husband chimed in.

“You really should,’ her friend joined in.

“Pick up your phone,” I said. “If you get voice mail, you get voice mail. You’ll leave a message. Then it’s up to them.”

Then I counted down. “Five, four, three, two, one, go!” I pointed to the door.

She headed out to the back porch with her phone. She made the call. And arranged an interview!

“Aren’t you glad you five seconded it?” I said when she shared her news.

“I guess so,” she said.

In the whirlwind of three days, she traveled 500 miles, interviewed for a great job and exhibited in a juried art show. She faced her fears, worked through discomfort and experienced success.

A few days after the interview, she was offered the job. She packed up her car and made the four hour drive to a small college town to start the new phase of her life. As she pulled away, she smiled her broad smile. She looked like a young Mary Tyler Moore, heading into the world on her own. I thought of the theme song to the show, “Love is All Around.” Like Mary, she was headed off into the unknown. I knew there’d be an adjustment but I know in my heart she is going to not only make it, she is going to thrive.

This morning I stood at the kitchen counter, reflecting on the whirlwind of the past week, how our daughter’s life had jettisoned in just a few days. My husband and I have been empty nesters for two years and we’ve embraced it. Realizing that our oldest was actually an adult who was living far away hit me. I was so happy for her, but a twinge sad.

I reached for the tomato I’d placed on the windowsill the night before. It was still a little yellow so I figured I’d save it for my lunch, give it another day to ripen. But overnight it had developed a bunch of black spots that radiated from the center. I’d waited too long and it had gone bad. Then it occurred to me. Opportunities are like tomatoes on the vine. They take time to ripen, but they need to be picked at just the right time. Enjoyed. If we wait too long, don’t act, then the opportunity will pass. So will the joy. I planted these tomatoes from seed in April. Finally, in September, they are ready to be picked and enjoyed. Right then and there. Foolishly, I had waited, let the opportunity pass.

I smiled at the irony. Had my daughter waited for the call back, didn’t act, let the call go to voicemail due to unpredictable phone service; who knows what would have happened? Perhaps her opportunity would have withered on the vine, maybe been picked by someone else who was waiting, ready. But she’d acted, made the call, “picked the tomato.” Chosen to enjoy it. Without over-thinking.

May this be the first of many tomatoes she picks at their peak.

©Kathie Z.