Mentor Moms

Once upon a time, I was young mom with two little boys who was determined to homeschool. A homeschooling mom who was a little older, with kids older and the same ages as mine, invited me to come shadow her for the day. A mentoring relationship was born, one for which I will always be grateful. Mary is no longer homeschooling, but, as our children get older and I find myself trying to navigate the even trickier waters of teens and young adults, she is still a mentor and I am reminded anew how blessed I am to have her.

So, when that mom, who is a writer too, asked me if I would help her hear what women are thinking about mentoring, I was happy to do so. 

Mary Hasson, asks, "I am writing a piece  on "mentor moms,"  focusing on the idea that  momswho are beyond the baby years have time and wisdom to share with their younger counterparts. [Some churches]  have established programs that bring younger moms and older moms together in those kinds of relationships.  In [other churches], these relationships seem to establish themselves more informally or organically.

" I would love to hear from your readers on two points:  If they are younger moms:  Would they be interested in a mentoring relationship with an older mom and, if so, what qualities would they look for? I'd love to hear their stories of moms who filled that role or how they found a mentor.

" For older moms:  Are they open to sharing their time and wisdom?  What do they feel they have to give? How would they begin such a relationship (suggesting it to a younger mom or wait to be asked)? Again, I'd love to hear stories of the mentors in their own lives or how they have become involved in mentoring younger moms (however informally)."

So, have you been blessed by a mentor? Have you reached out to mentor? Do you wish you had a mentor? Do you find mentors in your neighborhood, your parish, online?

You can reply here, in the comments, or you can write to Mary directly at catholicmentormoms@gmail.com.

Let's talk!

Missing

I live in the shadow of an international airport. I see its tower every day. When I drive to soccer, it's on my left; to ballet, it's on the right. When I drive to the grocery store or daily Mass, it's right in front of me. Taunting. Reminding.

How many days until he leaves? How many days until he comes home? How many hours until I make the 17  minute drive, pulling to a stop at the very end of the upper deck, my heart leaping as  I get that first glimpse of him?

This airport is woven into our life. We chose our neighborhood because of its proximity to the airport. We went into this lifestyle with our eyes wide open. I don't have a substantial paying job in this two-income economy. But we do have two incomes. For as long as my children can remember, my husband has worked two jobs.

One job takes him an hour from our home into the heart of Washington, DC every day. He commutes without complaint in a town known for complaining commuters. The other job takes him out of town nearly every weekend to produce live sporting events all over the country. Sometimes, there is a perfect storm and the weekday job requires travel, too. All those sportscasters don't just magically appear on location on South Beach for the Super Bowl. Someone goes there well in advance to make television magic happen. I know him well. He left today. I hear it's going to snow. And snow...

And, so, the missing begins. I remind myself that he is not deployed. He's producing television shows about a football game in Miami.He will work long days, but he will be safe. Two weeks hence, he will come home.

This is our life. There is a constant cycle of coming and going. I don't often write about it because it's probably unwise to publicize it too often in public spaces. [Note to the bad guys: Dad might be gone, but there are three man-boys in this family. They are all six feet tall. Two of them are more man than boy and the third is a black belt in Tae Kwon Do. And we have a very big dog.] Despite the lack of print it receives here, travel is big part of our family culture. And it very much plays into this. "I can't do that" because my husband works very long hours and travels frequently. Conversely, I don't have to do that because my husband works two jobs in order to give me the freedom to focus intensely on hearth and home and family. It is a lifestyle that is not without considerable sacrifice on both our parts, but it is the lifestyle that works for our family right now.

So, we each endeavor to make the best of what we do. We work hard at those survival strategies. Still, sometimes, at the end of the day--quite literally--all there is is the missing. I sleep on his side of his bed when he's gone. At least for the first couple of nights, the pillows still smell like him. I'm sitting there now, wrapped in a ginormous bathrobe with DAD monogrammed on it.

For the next two weeks, I will endeavor to make life run as smoothly as possible, though there will surely be too much on my plate. I will make sure that every child gets picked up and dropped off and, as much as possible, every game will be watched. I will try hard to stay up later than my teenagers and make sure no one is online, on the phone, or watching television because I fell asleep nursing. I will  put dinner on the table every night, despite the temptation to serve cereal in paper bowls. Lessons will be learned, books will be read, tutors will be paid. Children will be tucked into bed and kissed goodnight after prayers are said. 

With God as my helper, I will do it with grace and good cheer. I will do it with gratitude. Because to do so honors the man who works so hard to bring to life his vision for home. But with every breath and every moment, I will miss him. I will miss flirty text messages throughout the day that hint at evening's homecoming. I will miss squeals of glee from tiny girls when they hear his footsteps in the foyer. I will miss the careful dance we do to meet the daily needs of our children together. I will miss meeting his eyes with twinkling appreciation above the melee of our family life. I will miss tracing my finger along his cheek at night before I fall asleep with his strong arms around me. And I will miss slipping out of bed in the morning , knowing that he will gather our baby girl in those arms and sing her back to sleep.

I will be grateful for my extraordinarily generous husband. I will be grateful for these children, this home, this life. And if I find myself in the chaos of my life wishing instead that I were in a hotel on Biscayne Bay, it's only because he is there.

Where I go to Fill my Tank

It’s quiet when I slip into my chair. Quiet. I inhale deeply, drinkingthe lingering scent of incense. I have brought a book with me, but it sits unopened on my lap. I don’t want to read. Instead, I just want to sit here and take it all in. Here is the answer to my oft-repeated plea. Here is strength and grace to live a life of love.

Please read the rest here.

"I'm sorry; I can't do that."

It was a job I loved. Mostly, I worked from home, editing amagazine written for mothers at home, by mothers at home. Though I was one of the youngest women on the staff, I had considerable responsibility and creative license. I loved the writing; I loved the once or twice  monthly meetings in the office. And I was ever so grateful for the wise, thoughtful women who were personal mentors as much as they were professional colleagues.

So, it was with considerable regret that I resigned. I remember the moment of that decision. I had a new baby—my third—and we were camped out on my bed. He was nursing, propped up on my lap as I spread manuscripts into piles all over the bed and reached for them as best I could without detaching. It didn’t take much for the irony to strike.

I was working so hard to promote mindful mothering, to encourage smart women to choose home, and yet here I was shortchanging the most basic of all mothering experiences. I was leaning over my nursing baby to get to my work. I was wedging conversations with my young children between phone calls to writers and publishers. I was making all my editorial deadlines, often at the expense of the relationships under my roof. Some women were able to juggle all that and more with love and grace, but not me. Not well. It was time to acknowledge that I could do one thing well, but not both. There just wasn’t enough of me. I learned to say, “I’m sorry, I can’t do that.”

And I’ve said it again and again in the years since then.

I’m sorry, I can’t speak at that conference, though it would be a dream come true and I’m so honored that you thought of me.  [Y'all please go and tell me all about it.]

I’m sorry I can’t work on that project, though it tickles every creative bone in body.

I’m sorry, I can’t go to the homeschool support group meeting tonight.

I’m sorry, I can’t take that phone call, even though it’s a good friend and a chat would be a nice diversion right now.

Do you know about the rocks, the pebbles, and the sand? Go read it; I’ll wait.

I’m sorry, I just can’t do that thing that looks so good. I have to put the big rocks in first, and I have more big rocks than the average bear.

My son and I had a talk about time management recently and it forced me to sit and evaluate my “big rocks.”

I am committed to a life of prayer.

 I am committed to nurturing a marriage of grace.

 I am committed to raising nine faithful children.

Big, big rocks.

The rest is pebbles. And frankly, there’s not a whole lot of room for sand.

Living commitment to the big rocks is a decision.

Sometimes, as when I left the magazine or an online haven that had been a second home, it’s a big, huge decision.

More often, it’s a series of small decisions, like reading email but not stopping to answer it right away (or sadly, sometimes not ever) or forgoing lots of daily conversation with other women in order to save my words and my heart for the man who comes through the door at night.

Or the God who waits for me to talk with Him.

People often ask “how I do it.”

All too often, the answer is “not very well.”

But those are always the times when I haven’t said it.

“I’m sorry; I can’t do that.”

Daybook

Outside My Window::

::more rain.

I am Listening to::

::my floors. Boy are they noisy! Late at night, when the house is still, they creak like crazy. I guess they are just settling into our home. But my "mama ear" is conditioned to awaken when the floors creak. Heretofore, that meant someone was up and about. These floors have a life of their own. I haven't slept soundly in two weeks.

I am wearing ::

:: boot cut jeans, boots, a blue turtleneck sweater, lip gloss. I'm happy to report that I've been wearing real clothes since my pre-dawn trip to the airport in a monsoon.

I am Thankful For::

::Signing Time and a baby who is clearly delighted to communicate.

I am Pondering:

::"We all have important other things we want to work on. When you come into the kitchen, the thing to remember is that you're going to be there for a certain time. Drop everything else and concentrate on doing the very best you can."  ~Laurel Robertson on how to find the time to invest in cooking.

I am Reading:

::Three to Get Married

From the Kitchen::

::Mary Beth and I have been cooking from the Pioneer Woman's new cookbook. After about three days, I was crying "Uncle!" and reaching for Laurel's Kitchen. PW is a bit too rich for every day. As we cook and talk about cookbooks, we've been down that ol' nutrition rabbit trail. Just what is the optimal diet? Ah, the eternal question.

I am Thinking:

::That when it comes to mothers and children, husbands and wives, there is no such thing as bittersweet. Bitter women cannot be sweet and families need ample daily servings of sweet women.

I am Creating::

::a home. I'm investing my whole heart in the  endeavor. It's well worth it, I think.

On my iPod::

::iBreviary, though I am increasingly frustrated when it doesn't update reliably. I'm thinking about splurging on Universalis.

Towards a Real Education::

::We're working on finishing up some faith notebooks this week.

Towards Rhythm and Beauty:

::I'm preparing for inevitable shift in rhythm that will come with Mike's absence.

::To Live the Liturgy:

::gathering candles and candlemaking supplies in preparation for Candlemas next week.

::I am Hoping and Praying:

:: for my husband, whose workload has suddenly tripled.

In the Garden:

::it's time to peruse seed catalogs.

Around the House:

::The contractor is currently AWOL, with about 400 square feet of flooring left to nail down. La la la la

On Keeping Home:

::I'm so grateful that homemaking is such a creative endeavor and I'm even more grateful that it's a creative endeavor that requires the work of my hands. It's a blessing to be able to create away from desk and computer.

One of My Favorite Things:

::arriving flights

Sarah Annie this week:

::She's signing like crazy all of sudden, much to our delight. I'm sharing her favorite "sign" below.

A Few Plans for the Rest of the Week:

::Hopefully, the contractor will reappear and we will complete this flooring project. Then, we can move back into our home at last.

A Picture Thought I'm sharing:

Touchdown!

Nicky taught her this particular "sign."

Sarah Annie is now a bona fide Peyton Manning fan.