Learned from my Mom

My mom once told me, "I know you better than you know yourself, Katie. Remember, I knew you before you knew you!" Good point. And I now understand what she meant--I doubt there will be much Ellie will share with me about herself that will be surprising. I know her.

And, she tried to explain, "You can never love me like I love you. You think you do because you love me a lot. But you don't. You won't understand until you are a mother." And, again. Good point. She was right. So I know my "lessons" from my mom won't nearly come close to describing her influence and importance in my life and on my self, but in honor's of Mother's Day, I wanted to reflect on why my mom is not necessarily "the best," or "the funniest," or "the coolest," or "the nicest," (for how can we really know any of that?), but why she is MY mom. And that is all that matters.

 

So, as a mom, when I encourage my kids with these "suggestions," I often preface them with, "Wow. Mamalise would SO say this if she were here!"

1. Join a club. 

It's good for you. You meet people that way. You'll enjoy yourself. If ever in my life I felt listless or lonely, this was the second thing she'd say, with the first thing being:

2. Put a little lipstick, you'll feel better. 

Enough said. Always true.

3. Pray.

Always, about everything, for whatever. Never stop asking, never stop hoping. Go to Mary and beg.

4. Know their name. 

Anyone and everyone. The plumber, the janitor, the kid in the hallway, the professor, the friend's mom, the lady who serves you coffee everyday, the sacker, the produce manager at your grocery store. . .right. Everyone. She told me once, "Everyone's favorite word in the English language is their own name. Use it. Look them in the eye when you say 'hello' and say their name. It will matter."

5. Try it (except for illegal substances and bad ideas). . . you never know.

6. Take lemonade out to the man mowing your grass--even if it's your brother.

7. Be a good sport, but. . .

8. Stand up for what and who you believe in.

This is really important (and sometimes hard). This is called integrity, and you are nothing without it. Figure out what it is you'd fight for, and for goodness' sakes, fight. And when someone needs or deserves your defense, defend them. Always. It will make you unpopular (which makes #1 kind of hard :)), it might mean your are misunderstood or left out, but that idea or that person is more important. 

9. Keep your elbows off the table.

I can't think of one exception. Not even BBQ or oysters.

10. Stand up straight.

Again, no exceptions. Often, I've heard her say, "Bless her heart. She'd be so pretty if she'd stand up straight and hold those shoulders back." Something about a ballet posture that makes you feel better, leaner, prettier and lovelier. Hold your tummy in, cross your ankles, and put an iron rod up your spine at all times. 

Thicker than Blood

Blood is thicker than water

Oh, but love is thicker than blood.

So, big news flash. Nick and Jacob are not my biological children. They are from Steve's first marriage. Falling in love with Steve and realizing I was called to love him and be his partner began that whole "coloring outside the lines" thing when that man meant and fashioned for me came with two children I had not seen in my dreams.

Loving them and being their mother has brought special meaning to Mother's Day. It has made it a little less simple than I'd imagined it would be, but simultaneously, it's been this huge bonus in my life. God gave me three people instead of just one when I said "I do!" Because they live with us all the time, the lines of definition ease the confusion of common "shared" homes. I get the "Wow, you look good for having a high schooler!" often or the "Oh, how smart of you to give yourself a big break between groups of kids." If I like the woman, I explain. If I think she's being nosy, I just smile and let her think I had Nick in high school (senior year, to be precise). 

Moments after we were married, Jacob asked, "Can I call you Mommy now?" Despite the obvious highs of the day, this one brought me to my knees. 

I had prayed for children. I had prayed for someone to love and share my life with. I had prayed God would help me find the man He had intended for me. I didn't ever expect to get all my prayers answered in one day. Just never occurred to me. 

I love Nick and Jacob with a special love. It's a different love than my love for Ellie. It's more careful, less taken-for-granted, I think. I feel like I borrow them from God, not like they are mine (I know this is false even with Ellie, of course. No child belongs to us, anyway. They are gifts, to be loved and cherished and protected for as long as we're given them.).

But I feel as if they are mine to hug and hope for and protect and guide, but that the returned love is not obligatory. And that makes me want it and work harder for it. They made me a Mother, and for that, I am forever indebted to them. I love you, sweet boys. Thank you for calling me Mommy. xoxoxo

Coloring in the Lines

When I was young (aka, before I married), I thought my life would look like this: 

No joke. The only thing I would change about this picture is the umbrella. It actually needs a better "home" than tilting to one side in that bucket. But you get the idea. Organized. White. Clean. Very, very straight. Lots of labels and striped rugs and cute yellow boots (that weren't actually ever worn). 

I was not a creative kid, nor did I aspire to be. My hardest subject to study was "jazz," at Miss Judy's because its rules were mere suggestions, you turned your feet in not out and if you wanted to wear you hair in a ponytail rather than a bun. . . YOU COULD. Yikes. I doodled in squares, not circles, set goals everyday (that I achieved) and knew that if you worked hard enough and wanted it badly enough, you could be the All-American and get it. 

Then, I got a Diet Coke one day and the whole thing went to pot. This man told me he liked my shoes, the cafeteria lady gave That Man my office number, and we were engaged in three months. I thought he was like me. His scrubs were color coded, his boys' rooms looked like a cute Mini-Museum display, his kitchen was sparkly and there were no magazines littering his island.

After we were married, I found out that had been false advertising. His nanny had been a housekeeper, too. No. Way. So, now, rather than the cute little cubbies and locker room style entry way, my house feels more like this:

Not exactly, obviously, but the operative word above is "feels." And it's my own doing, of course. That whole "not coloring outside the lines" bit is for real with me. And it's a demand and a requirement and sometimes it's exhausting. Today, when hanging some prints in the babies' room, I was trying to hang five across a wall perfectly level. And at some point, I thought "Oh, that's good enough." Ah! I felt like Grover in "There's a Monster at the End of This Book." "What? What did that say?? On the first page. . .what did that say? Did that say there is a MONSTER at the end of this book?" I actually said out loud, "What? What did I just say? Did I just say 'oh, that's good enough?!'" I felt like I'd failed before I'd even started. Oh, Katie, what has happened to you? You've never said that in your life, and now, in hanging nursery rhyme prints, you're thinking it. Un. Accept. Able. 

A friend of mine once told me that after I had Ellie, I'd be so tired I'd let Bonnie (our dog) lick the spills on the floor. I sadly realized then that this close friend of mine didn't really know me, for I'd NEVER allow that to happen. Lysol, blue rag and immediate clean up is complete. 

She was right. Worries me slightly expecting two. However, we are getting another dog weeks before the babies are born, so that should about do it.

I sound like an idiot, and sometimes I feel that way. If only I could live more relaxed, I do truly think I'd be a better mom and a better wife. So I try. I pray for it. And I know someday I'll allow the umbrella to sit sideways and not feel guilty for ignoring it.

 

May Day

So, before the babies come, 

I'm going to read all of Matthew Kelly's books. Not really, but in searching for them today after several of them were recommended during my Bible Study, I couldn't decide which to "tackle" first. Which would be best to grasp before life changes? Building Better Families seems an obvious, sure winner. The Rhythm of Life: Living Everyday with Passion and Purpose would probably feed my more personal interests (and my Dad should totally read this: his two favorite words: passionate and productive. Seems appropriate, yes?). Or The Seven Levels of Intimacy. Maybe I should read this to remind myself that different levels exist and surely one includes middle-of-the-night double feedings. Seems remarkably intimate to me!

Our life in Texas has not been particularly exciting, but I think that's good. We've reconnected with friends and seen family a lot. The boys are adjusting, schools are good and--as I told Steve once is the greatest indicator of "being settled" in a place--I've run into people I know at Target. Thank. The. Lord.

Sweet friends had a brunch for Ellie and me :)

As I sit and think about what a great fighting chance we have of becoming part of this community--like, for real--I marvel, truly, at the stages we're in, all simultaneously. Is this normal? Nick and I had an in-depth conversation at dinner about diocese vs archdiocese. Last night, he and Steve were trying to figure out supply and demand, conservative and liberal, and the differences between communism, socialism and Just Plain Bad Idea. lol. I have to give Steve kudos--he did try very hard to be objective.

Jacob's first spring football game.

And then Jacob right now, lies on his floor, asleep under a quilt and on top of his school uniform, sick from or of something--too distracted even to do his homework. He's the sweetest kid, he's trying. . .I think. And somehow, with a child so different in demeanor and behavior from Steve or me, it's challenging to parent him while being the "best version of ourselves." And I'm pregnant, so I can't drink.

Ellie and Mary, visiting at the boys' school.

And then during Mass today, Ellie tells me she has to go to the bathroom. I'm so excited--this will be "our" chance (I've thought this before).

Me: "Ok, Ellie, please don't go poo-poo in your diaper. Let's run to the potty and, remember? If you go poo-poo in the potty, you get a sucker!" (All in a relatively loud, animated whisper.)

Stinker: "How about you go poo-poo in the potty, and I'll give you a sucker."

It's going to work, and I know it. All of it. Life is so good, and we are so abundantly blessed. We have friends and dreams and possibilities and options. We also live in the great hope that one day Ellie will want to wear panties. 

If you ever start feeling like you have the goofiest, craziest, most dysfunctional family in the world, all you have to do is go to a state fair. Because five minutes at the fair, you’ll be going, ‘you know, we’re alright. We are dang near royalty.’ 

---Jeff Foxworthy