It’s been awhile since I last posted, and thought it was time for an update. Ellie ended up not going to college as planned. She is staying home and taking classes online due to the Covid-19 thing that you might have heard about. My first thought when plans changed was, “What about our promise to Malia that she would get her own room this year?” My 9 year old was supposed to take the college student’s room when she moved out. Now what?
Much to my surprise, my 17 year old offered to give up her room and share with her 6 year old sister. Why? I have no idea.
I think she was feeling sorry for me and wanted to help. We all live for these rare moments when our kids surprise us.
Here are a few pics of how the switching of bedrooms turned out. I wish I would have taken some “before” pics, but unfortunately I wasn’t that organized. This all came together rather quickly. So….here are the finished rooms.
Malia’s Room. (this room used to be bright red, blue, and yellow. I wish I would have taken before pictures)
Malia’s vision was “black and white with fake plants”Here is Tabby and Ivy’s new room. Colors chosen were pastel blue, yellow, and pink. All the furniture we already had but was painted new colors. The bunk beds were the largest piece to paint. I also need to remind myself for future that this used to be Mark and my room so all of our furniture and clothing had to be moved before Tabby could get started. Tabby did the entire room from start to finish. Desk area. My favorite part of the room. Photo Collage (one of several)reading corner. notice the lights, fake greens, flowers and paper cranes hung across the ceiling. It looks much cooler in person than in photos.
Having every person in our family of 6 switch bedrooms (except Ellie) was a huge undertaking, but I’m really glad we did it. I will show you Mark and my room in a future post.
Last summer and fall, I felt alive and full of ideas, words, and inspiration to share. My creative well seemed to be filled to overflowing. I started this blog and a Midlife Creative Facebook group. I also put together a gathering for women called The Artists Way for moms. Today, after 5 months of quarantine with my family if 6, no school, no normal activities, and very little alone time; my creative well feels empty. I’ve found myself less motivated, bored, lonely, and lacking new ideas.
As I pondered how to get some creative energy back, I remembered a practice called The Artist Date that meant a lot to me a year ago. An Artist Date, according to Julia Cameron in The Artists Way, is:
“A block of time, perhaps 2 hours weekly, especially set aside and committed to nurturing your inner artist (a.k.a. your inner child). The artist date is an excursion, a play date that you pre-plan and defend against all interlopers. You do not take anyone on this artist date but you and your inner artist.”
This week I was walking a new trail with my kids and we came to a waterfall that we weren’t expecting. I found my inner child giddy with excitement. We continued along the trail and arrived at the most amazing overlook view of the Mississippi River. The first thought I had was of coming back to the spot by myself on an artist date along with a picnic (something fun like sushi), my journal, and uninterrupted time to stay awhile.
Here are some examples of artist dates. Hiking, gardening, taking photos, cooking, kayaking, bird watching, rock collecting, trying out a new cuisine, going on a long drive down a country road, rearranging a room in your house, sitting in a candlelit room, listening to a symphony, browsing for hidden treasures at an antique store or estate sale, walking through a farmers market and taking in the colors and smells, riding a horse, arranging flowers, picking berries, looking at art.
Taking time to notice the beauty around you = an artist date Country drives and giant wind millsMaking and eating a blueberry pie
From my experience, the artist date itself may not hold any magic cures for creative burn-out, but it IS helpful in coaxing the hiding inner artist out into the light. We are all born with a creative nature. There just may be times and places in our lives that we are operating in that creativity more than others. The more you give yourself permission to play, the better your inner artist will feel.
I challenge you to schedule an artist date for yourself. If you have kids, get a babysitter. Don’t talk yourself out of it like I did at first by thinking it’s not important. Another temptation will be to cut the 2 hour time short and sneak in a few errands or some grocery shopping. Keep the time sacred. Just as your date wouldn’t want you to cancel or cut out early to get more work done, your inner creative craves undivided attention from you and doesn’t want to be sold short.
Finding a place you haven’t been before can stir up new ideas
As a mom of 4, working from home during quarantine, I’ve had very little alone time. With fall looking like more of the same, it’s more important than ever to get back to scheduling artist dates as a way of being kind to myself.
How do you take time for yourself? Do you see a difference when you do? I’d love to hear what your idea of the perfect artist date would be?
Who says life ends when you get older? When I turned 40 a few years ago, it felt like my life was ready to start a new chapter.
My first 3 decades were spent keeping others around me happy and believing everything I was told to be true. I had little kids and was learning everything the hard way (the way most moms do the first time around). I worried about every new stage, worried about money, and if my kids were going to turn out, and if I would make it through the next dentist appointment, or urgent care visit, or head lice, or impetigo, or all the other crazy sicknesses kids catch when they leave the house. I still worry about those things and new things that come with the teen years like my kids’ choice of friends, grades, mental health, faith, and sexual identity.
I want my 40’s to be a time of listening and learning from new voices, learning to trust my own voice, and dreaming bigger dreams for myself and those I love. I’m not a risk taker, but have realized that never stepping into new things only bleeds frustration. Trying new things, even if they have flopped, has brought new confidence.
A few things I’ve tried for the first time since turning 40 have been:
blogging
tent camping with the whole family
going to a black lives matter protest
reading books by people of color and LGBTQ affirming authors
teaching piano lessons online
Learning from therapy and a spiritual director
our first family camping trip
Some things on my bucket list are:
20th anniversary trip with my husband
buying a house (we have always rented)
getting a dog
gardening (never had one)
planning a girls weekend with friends
writing a book
Finding other piano teachers to grow Welcome Mat Music
What is something you are hoping and dreaming about? Saying it out loud can help get the train rolling and maybe someone will read or hear your voice and help you with your next steps.
A common question these days on social media is “How are you teaching your kids about racism?” I wish I had an amazing 5 step answer that showed that I am the most woke mom ever, but I’ve got nothing.
I’m a white woman who grew up in a white town, in a white family, going to a white school, and a white church. I was never taught about slavery, lynchings, hate crimes, prejudice, white supremacy, or the genocide of indigenous people. I am an avoider who was raised by avoiders. We didn’t tackle hard conversations, pick fights, or raise our voices (except when we were shouting, “Praise the Lord”.
My life has been sheltered and safe. but the time has come when continuing to live that safe, comfortable life while ignoring the cries of my black, immigrant, and native brothers and sisters shouting “Help us, Please help us!!” is not ok.
Their cries are growing louder. The cries have come in the form of protests, riots, looting, writing, poetry, art, films, and songs of lament. Their cries have been going on for hundreds of years and everytime there is a tragic news story where a person of color is killed or wrongfully accused, we notice for a few weeks and then the white people like me forget and go back to life as usual. Why do we forget? Because we are not affected.
As a white woman, I can’t remember ever having a reason to fear the police or fear being jailed for a crime I didn’t commit. I have not feared that my children would be taken from me. I have not feared that I would be refused a job or house or promotion because of how I look or speak. I’ve never had people pass to the other side of the street when I walk by or roll up their window and avoid eye contact when I pull up beside them at a stoplight. I’ve never felt bullied or targeted by a teacher or worried that I wouldn’t graduate.
When I moved to the city, I began to encounter people of color on a daily basis. My first opportunities were through my kids. I learned that kids are really good at teaching us how to love ALL. My daughter, Tabby, has always been one of my best teachers. I remember her pushing me to call her friend Zaynab’s mom in 4th grade so they could have a play date. Her friend was Somali and her mom didn’t speak much English. Tabby was so persistent and that persistence pushed me out of my comfort zone and into a friendship with this lovely Muslim woman.
I have not done much to teach my kids about racism, but they have surely taught me. The friends my kids have made over the years in Minneapolis and St Paul have opened my eyes to whole groups of people I knew nothing about.
Austin Channing Brown in her book I’m Still Here. Black Dignity in a World Made for Whiteness says, “I need a love that is troubled by injustice. A love that is provoked to anger when black folks, including our children lie dead in the streets….a love that has no tolerance for hate, no excuses for racist decisions, no contentment for status quo.”
After the George Floyd killing, Tabby was the one who pushed me to join her at a protest. She encountered the kind of love Austin Channing Brown speaks of at these protests. She felt the heat and it ignited a spark in her that I am convinced can do nothing but grow. She has come home from these events and shared stories told of unacceptable injustices. Seeing her passion has ignited a spark in me too. We all have a choice to make. Will we engage in this discussion about poverty, race, and immigration, or will we ignore it or deny it?
I am now finally ready to listen and learn from my black brothers and sisters. I’m ready to stop hiding and show up. “Showing up” looks different for everyone, but however looks, I hope it leads to a world where more people start seeing black as beautiful.
From grade school, I learned about the life cycle of the butterfly. From egg to pupa to chrysalis to butterfly. It was explained in such a simple and matter of fact way that it really held no magic or wonder. Then about a year ago, I listened to a radio lab podcast where they described in detail what happens inside the chrysalis. The explanation felt like the re-telling of a miraculous resurrection. This week, the caterpillar to butterfly metaphor was brought back to mind as I was thinking about this season of sheltering at home during Covid-19. Here are some parallels that came to mind.
The caterpillar eats and eats. Remember the book The Hungry Caterpillar by Eric Carle? I feel like the caterpillar during quarantine. Eating, and eating and eating.
Next, the caterpillar sheds its outer layer and becomes a chrysalis. As an outside observer, it appears that nothing is happening inside the chrysalis. Similarly, it can feel like nothing is happening during this pregnant pause of waiting we are in. Waiting for a vaccine, waiting for answers, waiting for work, waiting for freedom. What is happening to our attitudes, priorities, and emotions during the waiting?
Just like the caterpillar, we are undergoing a transformation.
It feels like there is a change occurring in me during this time of pause. It’s hard to explain, just as it’s hard to explain what really happens inside that chrysalis. There is a bit of mystery to it all. What we do know is that each step of the life cycle is necessary, and to speed up the process and rip the butterfly from the chrysalis too early will prevent the butterfly from ever being able to fly.
I want more than anything to fly. I want my life to be a testimony of God’s beauty. I want to shed the parts of me that are not necessary anymore and enter a new phase of life. My hope for myself and others is that we will endure this season and emerge from it transformed – like a crawling caterpillar, to a flying butterfly.
I decided to write a little bit about what our days have been like for the last 3 months.
I remember the first day I became aware of covid-19. Two events I was planning to attend were cancelled on March 13th and 14th. By Monday the 16th, schools and businesses were closed. The grocery store shelves were mostly empty as people stocked up on essentials, canned goods, and toilet paper.
I went to Global Arts Plus to collect the kids’ iPads to begin distance learning. Everyone wore masks and gloves and an eery feeling filled the empty hallways. I brought the kids with me, hoping to see their teachers, but only saw the unfamiliar faces of volunteers calmly communicating log-in instructions on typed papers with barcodes.
As reality set in, there were mixed emotions. The first few weeks seemed like a novelty for my introverted self. We did lots of baking, puzzles, crafts, and sent video messages to family members. We went on nature hikes to new places, enjoyed dinners with all of us around the table, and felt a sense of relief at all the new found “free time”
We began to realize that all our plans for Ellie’s graduation, summer, and possibly college in the fall would have to change.
Every day began to feel the same. When the kids finally surrendered to sleep, I stayed up well past midnight writing or watching Netflix in my “finally quiet time”.
The weeks turned into months and we began to wonder if life would ever return back to normal. Social distancing became acceptable and wearing masks was the new normal. I wasn’t sure what to make of it all. I didn’t have anyone close to me personally affected by covid-19, but I knew that could change overnight just as many things were changing day to day.
I am still not sure what to think of it all. Here are the things I know.
Relationships matter – the people in my life that mattered to me before covid-19 (or whatever trial life throws my way) matter to me just as much now.
Seasons change – just as winter turns to spring and summer to fall, this time in history will change as well.
Healthy things grow – if we lean into the good things we know to be true, we will become stronger through whatever storms we encounter.
Take care, friends. Let me know how quarantine has been for you.
This is for the moms who need a little pep talk today. Sending hugs and cheering you on!
It’s amazing to me the number of mothers who question almost daily whether they are good moms. I’m not talking about moms that are neglecting their kids or phoning it in. I’m talking about rockstar moms who are giving their all every freakin’ day.
The lack of confidence we moms have in our ability to parent, keep a home, and juggle life’s demands is unbelievably high. The overthinking, worry, and comparison that goes on is crazy. Moms are their own worst critics.
Here are some ways I have learned to combat the negative self-talk.
#1. Call to the top of your mind one thing you are proud of right now.
I’m proud that my child made their own breakfast, showed empathy, learned to ride a bike, slept through the night, said they were sorry, made me smile. I’m proud that I returned that phone call, had that hard talk, forgave myself, said no.
My youngest is 6 and oldest is 18. Lots of proud moments.
#2. Don’t compare your weaknesses to another person’s strengths.
Since the beginning of time, moms have been told they need to do it all. In reality, that would be foolish. You will do certain things well and then there will be other things that your friends do better. I am really good at patience, listening, friendships, and teaching. I am not good at house cleaning, decorating, fashion, hair, makeup, or big business. I am also not good at Pinterest or Twitter or exercise or healthy meals or taking supplements or essential oils or team sports or shopping at malls. We would all feel better if we knew and appreciated our strengths and became a cheering squad for others who are different than us.
Eating junk food and wearing strange clothes
#3. Acknowledge how hard parenting is.
Give yourself credit for all the days, months and years you’ve been showing up for your kids. You’ve been there through all the milestones, the sicknesses, the dentist visits, the potty training, the head lice, the bad dreams, the questions, the sleepless nights, the relationship struggles, the disappointments, the unexpected transitions, the birthday parties, the firsts, the lasts….all of it!
You ARE a good mom. I’m here to speak this aloud whether you believe it or not. I hope you understand that you are more than enough. In fact, whether your child acknowledges it or not, does not change the truth. You have poured your life out and the one who made you and made you uniquely YOU is pleased.
Genesis 1:31. “God saw everything He has made and it was very good”…..that includes you, Mom!
We moved to St Paul 8 years ago. I’ve been wanting to recount the story of how we ended up here. I need to be reminded of how God takes care of us.
Our first house in the Twin Cities was an upper duplex rental in South Minneapolis. It was home for 5 years. I slowly grew to love the city after living in a small town up until that point. My oldest announced as we drove onto the freeway into Minneapolis, “I was born to be a city girl!”
Driving on freeways was the biggest change. I found a job teaching piano lessons in St Paul and the short drive from Mpls to St Paul always left me with stiff shoulders and a sore back. I would clench the steering wheel and hold my breathe as I anticipated the dreaded lane changes. For a period of time, when we didn’t have a car and I learned to ride the metro transit, another experience that felt monumental at the time. The city began to feel like our new home. I loved meeting people with different cultures and beliefs than me. I loved trying foods from around the world, experiencing art through museums, theater, and the orchestra.
As we reached year 5 in Minneapolis, we began to run out of money. It was a confusing period in our marriage and job situation and it became clear that it was again time for a change . One thing I’ve realized is that I don’t usually gravitate toward change unless it is forced upon me. Hardships can be the catalyst for making necessary changes.
That whole decision to not renew our lease on the Minneapolis duplex is still a bit foggy to me. It was a very unsettling season that I never want to repeat. My three girls, ages 10, 8, and 1 and I, moved to Marshall, MN to live with my parents while Mark stayed in Minneapolis on a friend’s couch, working a new job in order to save enough money for us to rent a new place that fall.
That whole summer apart ended up being a blessing in disguise. Everyday, we would go on walks, to the pool, rummage sales, and Camden State Park. The extended time with my parents was just what my girls and I needed.
Our goal was to move to St Paul by September so that I could continue teaching piano and the kids could start school. August came and there was no housing in our price range. I spent my days feeling a rising sense of panic as I scoured the internet for affordable rentals for a family of 5.
Finally, near the end of August, I saw a 4 bedroom house for rent pop up on Craigslist. We looked at it and immediately felt a “Yes!” It was the only house I could find even close to what we were looking for. It felt like a miracle.
Looking back, I feel this house was hand-picked for us. The neighbors, the art house down the street, the theater experiences, the schools, and all the places that have become home.
First Easter in St Paul And we added Ivy to our family to make 6!
I know what uncertainty feels like. With Covid-19 looming over us, we don’t know what life will look like a month from now or 6 months from now. I’m glad I can look back on God’s faithfulness in our move to St Paul and all the little and big ways we have been taken care of since then. I have to keep believing the best. It’s the only way through.
How many times did you say or think the word “should” today? Here’s my list.
I should wake up earlier I should not let my kids be watching YouTube. I should not let my kids eat candy. I should make my kids read. I should make my kids do more chores. I should finally work on that website. I should return that phone call. I should start running. I should be more like that teacher I saw online. I should….
These “shoulds” represent external expectations that we have internalized. Everytime we “should on ourselves”, we pile on guilt and shame. We compare our real life to the ideal life we imagine.
Where did this “should” come from? Is it important to me or only important because of how others view me?
Instead of asking what you “should” do, ask yourself “what is most important to me?”
What are your values? Recognize that differences in preferences and approach to life are healthy, even amongst your friend group. Appreciate the people around you and celebrate what they bring to the table. Realize that your friends’ strengths do not need to be your strengths.
Pay attention to the “shoulds” that come into your head today and replace them with “I will” or “I want” or even “I feel pressure to”. Explore your “shoulds” with curiosity. You may just learn that some of them can be discarded or set aside for now.
The news is reporting how difficult this quarantine is for adults who must work from home or not work at all, but what are we hearing about the kids? I have four kids ranging from 5 to 18. They are home. I have been trying to teach piano lessons online in the living room 15 hours a week while the kids fend for themselves. My husband is struggling with the loss of his business and looking for work.
I thought the kids were doing quite well, but tonight the younger two broke down and cried themselves to sleep. They miss school, they miss their friends, they miss their old life full of trips to the mall, arcade, play dates, and parks. I think grief hits us in waves. We think we are fine, and then we’re not. It has not hit me yet. Maybe because I am working so hard to be strong for everyone around me.
The kids are sad and confused. I’m sure the explanations of quarantine and corona virus make no sense to them, especially those younger than age 10.
What are you doing to help your kids deal with disappointment? Have your kids been asking questions about the future? I would love to hear your experiences.
