Sometimes you wonder.

After the hard days.

When you were not at your best.

You wonder, in secret, where no one will hear.

 

Am I mother enough?

 

Because you see them around you. Those other mothers. In your town and on your screen.

Gentle.

Peaceful.

Patient.

Kind.

 

They parent with grace and with joy.

Always.

In the flow. Harmonious.

Children smiling and holding hands,

while your kids whine and fight.

And your baby cries.

Again.

 

And you question if you even know what you're doing.

Because if you did, the children wouldn't argue.

And the baby wouldn't cry.

Constantly.

 

So you must be doing it wrong.

Of course you're doing it wrong.

And so you wonder.

And you doubt.

 

Am I wearing her enough?

Am I breastfeeding enough?

Should we co-sleep more?

But sometimes you're all touched out.

 

Am I patient enough?

Present enough?

Nurturing enough?

But sometimes you just need a damn break from it all.

 

Am I good enough?

Am I strong enough?

Am I enough?

And then, probably, you decide that you are not.

 

Because sometimes you yell.

You say words you regret.

Because you didn't babywear or breastfeed or co-sleep at all.

Because sometimes dinner comes from the drive-thru.

And they watch too much TV.

Because sometimes the thoughts in your head are dark and shameful.

Because every day ends with regret.

 

And all around you are those mamas who make you feel inadequate without even trying.

Those mothers with stardust in their eyes.

And when you look at them you measure yourself and you know what you suspected all along.

You are not enough.

 

Sometimes you curse this life you made and all the smallness that surrounds you.

But mostly you curse yourself for your shortcomings.

And then the baby cries.

Again.

Or your children set to arguing.

Again.

 

And you know you're right.

Of course you're right.

You're not enough.

Oh, but sister. Hear me when I say:

You are.

You are good enough.

You are loving enough.

You are mother enough.

You are brilliantly, beautifully - yes! - the mama your children came here to find.

No, you aren't perfect.

But none of us are.

 

No one has it all dialed in.

We have all made mistakes.

Even the "Dali Mamas" around you.

Oh, yes. This I know is true.

 

And every day you are learning and growing and evolving.

You are becoming.

And you are their mama.

The one they came here for.

 

And for all of your flaws, they are sheltered by you.

They know love because your love is fierce.

And they learn to get up when they fall and try again by watching you.

 

And best of all, they know they don't have to be perfect to be enough.

What a gift that is.

 

And also know this:

As that mama who seems to have it together, I have never been more humbled in my mothering than when I see you keep your head just above water as the rapids around you churn.

Yes, mama. I see you.

And I'm humbled.

 

Now it's time to see yourself.

 

So are you enough?

Hell yeah you are.

 

: : :

More inpsiration...

There is no label for what you do.

Stop comparing.

What I need.

Ten ways to rock your parenting, where ever you are.

What I did not know: reflections on motherhood.

And you can find more of my reflections on motherhood and imperfection here.

: : :

I smiled on Sunday until my cheeks hurt.

Sunday. Which I referred to as "baaaaa-thers day" instead of Father's Day.

For obvious reasons.

Our small flock of sheep came home at last. They are nervous (as sheep are wont to be), but settling in beautifully.

From left to right I'd like you to meet Glynda (formerly nicknamed "the witch", for her passionate protection of her offspring) and her baby; Nutmeg (the black sheep of the family); Popcorn and her baby; and a bottle lamb we added at the last moment, named Catkin.

The children's passion and love is little Catkin. Being a bottle lamb Catkin is fairly imprinted on humans and seems more brave than her older comrades.

And so begins the taming, with the help of a handful of dry corn.

Oh my, yes. This is going to be fun!

 

 

In honor of Father's Day, I am sharing my first post over on Mothering.

My post is here. Enjoy. And happy Father's Day!

For the Dads

You woke with a tummy ache.

You knew you were going to throw up, so you asked for the pail. Then Papa brought you a remedy.

I drew you a warm bath and sat by your side until you vomited, rested and asked for salts in the bath. ("Somehow I just think after throwing up that salts in the bath are a good idea," you said.) Then you vomited again as we were drying you off.

The salts were a good idea. They help your body detox. I guess you knew that already, somehow. At six.

I often marvel at your wisdom and intuition, even at times like this.

I went and found your softest pajamas and you gratefully let me put them on you, then we headed to the family room to cuddle are read books.

It turned out you were too tired for books.

You fell asleep with the bucket propped beneath your chin in case you threw up again.

Oh, sweet baby. It's hard being sick.

So I held you.

And you slept.

In my arms all morning.

You never heard your papa bring me breakfast or the boys leave for the day in town. You never heard the soft click of my knitting needle or the keys on my laptop. Mostly I just sat. Quitely. By your side.

And as I kissed your hot forehead I realized that there was so very much I could have accomplished that morning. There were dishes to wash, floors to sweep, projects to finish, work to attend to. All of it would have otherwise would have called my attention.

But not today. Not with your silent request for me to simply be with you.

I remember reading a quote as a young first-time mother that said something like, "Everyday you have dozens of things to take care of. But only one of them has feelings." And I got that. I still get that. I guess that's part of why my house is usually such a disaster.

With your exhausted and aching little body in my arms my to-do list simply melted away. It was just us. Nothing else mattered.

And I counted my mama blessings in minutes spent squeezed close in that chair, kissing your head.

You didn't even realize you had fallen asleep when you woke hours later and announced brightly, "I feel completely better. Well, almost completely better," and then asked for lemon balm popsicles.

Again with your intuition. I'm humbled by you.

So still in our pajamas as the clock approached noon we headed into the garden to pick lemon balm to brew into tea. You also asked for nettles to dry and catnip for the cat so we added those to our bags as we came inside.

And then you sat at the table and colored while I made herbal tea and popsicles to soothe your little belly.

And it worked like magic.

And then I felt that familiar maternal relief that all mamas know. The one that only comes when your little one feels better once more.

And I can breathe deep and easy again.

Lemon Balm Tummy Soothing Tea or Popsicles

1 big handful of dry lemon balm or two hand-fulls of fresh

A few slices of fresh ginger root

2 tsp fennel seed

3 C water

1 1/2 Tb slippery elm bark powder (optional)

Honey to taste

Bring all ingredients (except slippery elm and honey) to a simmer over medium heat. Reduce to low and hold at a gentle simmer for 10 minutes. Cool slightly and strain. (You can make a second infusion by adding 1 C of water and simmering again for 10 minutes, then steeping for 10 more.)

Return infusion to pot with slippery elm powder an simmer again for 3-5 minutes. The slippery elm will become quite thick and gelatinous and is ever so soothing to a sore belly.

Sweeten with honey and serve warm or freeze into popsicles.

Lemon balm is great for calming the nervous system, soothing sore throat, and settling sore stomaches. And it's delicious!