January 10, 2012

Letting go of the plough

January 10, 2012/ molly balint

I admit, that until recently, I was the kind of person who really disliked this trend of "me time". I sort of rolled my eyes and thought, "Give me a break. You are a mother. This is what you do. There is no break. No vacation. No me time."

Like many other (and much less important) things in my life, my approach to motherhood was this: Put your hand to the plough, keep your head down, get the job done.

Yes, you need breaks. Yes, you have your "moments". Yes, you'll rest sometimes. But for the most part "me" has been permanently replaced by the general "we".

It feels like a very honorable stance. To be such a sold-out servant of your family, your husband, your children, your home.

But with each new addition to this growing family of mine, I begin to understand this notion of needing time. The need to rest. There has to be a moment where we peel our cramped fingers from those wooden plough handles, stand up straight and stretch our backs, take our eyes off the ground and look up and feel the warmth of the sun on our face.

This past Fall I had the privilege of taking part in one of Lisa Byrne's classes called Designed for Wellness. Lisa and I had actually spoken on the phone together before I ever thought of signing up for her class. When I was in the throes of my so-far undiagnosed post-partum depression after Birdy's birth, I sought out Lisa's wisdom and counsel as a possible solution to this strange funk I found myself unable to climb out of.

But several months later when our paths crossed again, and I signed up for her class I had different intentions. I took her class this Fall with the plan to lose some weight, learn about healthier ways to cook for my family and start making some healthy changes for everyone.

But what I walked away with from her class was completely differenet than what I set out to learn. While Lisa's class offered insight and information about all the things I hoped, what I didn't realize was how the class would really encourage and push me to look deeper into my own attitudes and perspectives. While there would be outward changes as a result of her class, most of the work was happening internally on my heart and mind. My eyes would be opened to some areas of my life that needed some real attention.

One of those areas, brings me back to my thoughts above. While being the mother of four children (or three! or two! or one!) forces one to need a break every now and then (understatement), I learned as part of working through Lisa's course, that the time I was giving myself and marking off in my mind as "me time", as my momentary break from the duties of motherhood, was actually pretty worthless.

I'd find myself sitting in front of the computer answering emails and sipping on a cup of tea, thinking "Yes. This is my break. This is time I have carved out and earned. This is going to refresh me." But later, when I put my mothering cap back on, I felt no different. There was no refreshment. I felt no more rested or more prepared to face the rest of the day.

I think I walked away from Lisa's class learning a lot more about taking care of myself. And while I still battle the thought that it is so silly for me to even worry about how I'm caring for myself, I'm learning that it is the time I spend for myself that is what allows me to be a better mother, wife, person.

I know this notion is really probably nothing new for many of you. But it was a very eye-opening moment for me. I've since begun to discover what things refill my spirit and refresh me. (FYI: It's not sipping tea and working my way through my inbox.) Some of the things are taking care of my outward self--a haircut regularly, or a long, luxurious hot shower after everyone is asleep and taking time afterwards to paint my nails or put on the good lotion. Asking my husband for a night out of the house and not feeling guilty for needing to get away for a few hours. I'm not high-maintenance. It doesn't take much. But it does take something. And definitely more than what I was doing before.

These ideas are all kind of wrapped up in one of those New Year's Resolutions floating around in my head. To remember to tend to myself now and then. And to continue to discover what things truly refresh. And I hope you'll be encouraged to take a few moments to discover and invest in the things that refresh you as well.

**I promise I'm not working for Lisa... :) But through this course I feel like we've become good friends and she's someone I can count on for sage advice and wisdom. She has a new Designed For Wellness class beginning on January 16th. And once you join a session of her classes, you become a lifetime member of the site and are welcome to join in any other session thereafter. I whole-heartedly encourage you to consider it...**

December 12, 2011

7 Tips for taking a perfect family Christmas card photo

December 12, 2011/ molly balint

1. Take your photograph when your children are well-fed and rested. (Not right after church when the baby is looong overdue for a nap and everyone's low-blood sugar is resulting in impatience and grumpiness.)

2. Make sure your husband is well-fed. (Because you'll need his help to wrangle babies, arrange children, shoo chickens, and hold ponies. And if he's hungry {see above}, he'll give up on your perfect holiday photo shoot way too quickly.

3. Find a clean, white pony to add something unique and meaningful to your family's photo. (Preferrably not one that was rolling in her muddy field just as you are all walking outside to take pictures.)

4. Make sure your children are well-groomed and bathed. (or else they'll be wearing handknits in all the pictures to cover up)

5. Drain all tubs of standing water. (Because you know the baby will find them. And while you're directing the brushing of the pony and making sure noone gets stomped on by the same nervous pony, the baby will find the water and be up to her elbows in it before you turn back around.)

6. Lock in the chickens. (They distract the photographer.)

7. Remember that one of the things you love most about your family is that it's big, crazy and chaotic. But every once in awhile, you get a glimpse of almost-perfection. And there among the five hundred wacky outtakes, there'll be one that captures just that.

November 08, 2011

A warmer heart

November 08, 2011/ molly balint

I've got a new sidekick when it comes to morning chores.

I can't even utter the word "outside" unless I have her completely bundled. Otherwise, I'll be attempting to dress, shoe and bundle a baby squirming and wailing at the mudroom door, eager to break free from her indoor jail.

Some days, we can't even be bothered with shoes. I'm lucky if I can get a sweater over her head and a hat secured under her chin before she's pushing through the door.

She often brings her morning banana. I try not to think about where and how many times it is dropped. And what bits of dirt and whoknowswhat that cling to it. Or which animals she's offered a lick before taking another tiger-sized bite off the end.

Instead of lugging her on my hip, we've discovered the garden cart makes a pretty convenient way to trek back and forth to the chicken coop.

I put her on the concrete pad in front of the coop while I work.

She sits in the pile of chicken feed like it was a sandbox created just for her. The hens eye her cautiously, pecking around her, as she tries to feed them from her chubby palms. This must be why the hens follow her around so closely. They know she offers food.

I collect eggs, check on the babies, freshen up water, and throw clumps of soft, fresh green grass into their pen.

When we cross back over the little wooden bridge on the way home, she is thrilled by the water running under our feet. I'm amazed at her ability to perch on the very edge of the bridge, crouched down, babbling at the water. I miss that kind of flexibility and balance. She's telling me a lot of things about that little stream. I talk back to her like I understand every word.

Eventually, I convince her there's more to see on the other side of the bridge. But before she hits that slippery, muddy patch, I swoop her up and plop her back in our farmer's stroller.

Her favorite friend blocks our path with a croquet ball in her mouth. A leaf dangles from her lips. She's relentless.

If I'd let her, she'd stay out here all day. The only way I can coax her back inside is to bring the dog and a small furry kitten with me. She finally follows, waving goodbye to the crowd of animals gathered around her, like the queen of the animal kingdom.

I peel off layers, wipe her runny nose and notice her muddy sleeper-feet. And she's gone again. Disappearing into the belly of the house. Following the dog. Calling for her sisters. And I'm left to hang up sweaters, shove hats back in the basket and pry the barn boots from my feet.

The house feels warmer now than it did when we first set out this morning.

So does my heart.

September 13, 2011

that's a lot of crazy awesome

September 13, 2011/ molly balint

I'm really excited to share with all of you something that has been in the works for a few months now. The lovely ladies Kristen Chase (Motherhood Uncensored, CoolMomPicks) and Meagan Francis (The Happiest Mom) asked me to join them in the launch of a new idea.

Both mothers of a larger than average brood (4 or more to be exact) they wanted to create an online resource for the modern, larger family. So whether you are a mom of many kiddos, or maybe you see yourself going down that path in the future (and you want someone to talk you out of it. KIDDING. ) , or maybe you just want to stop on over and see what we're up to, I hope you'll come checkout 4 Kids or More.

I'll be covering Learning & Education with a little crafty thrown in for good measure. And Steph from Adventures in Babywearing and Lylah from WriteEditRepeat, will be writing and sharing their experiences as well.

I'm looking forward to being part of this great resource--most selfishly because I'll finally be able to gather all these experienced mothers in one place and learn from their wisdom. How do I deal with 9 going on 16? Do you take them all to the grocery store? Do you ever see the end of the laundry pile?

With 22 kids among us all, that's a lot of crazy awesome. So come on by and say hello and see how we manage with our happy-oftentimes tired-hands full.

September 11, 2011

the new calm

September 11, 2011/ molly balint

Last Tuesday marked the Offical First Day of homeschool for us.

I love the start of a new school year in the same way I love January first. The fresh start. Time to make new plans, new resolutions. Time to get organized and simplify. (An excuse to buy a new calendar, moleskine and favorite pens .)

But last Monday, as the "first day of school" loomed ever closer, I was a crazed madwoman. I felt this pressure to have everything in place before the Big First Day. I needed every detail worked out and decided. I needed to have every paper copied, every hole punched, every note read.

On top of that, I needed my house to be perfect. Clutter gone. Floors mopped. Floorboards wiped. Closets cleaned out. Every speck of laundry washed, folded and put away. (that never happens.) One would think I was preparing for a real estate open house, or perhaps, to have the queen for tea. A tea in which she also happened to open every closet door and inspect under my bed.

No, silly, it's just the first day of school.

I don't know where it was coming from, but there it was--a suffocating feeling that this was my last chance to get everything together. That if it wasn't done by bedtime Monday, it was doomed to never be accomplished. Ever. Apparently my life, as well as my ability to accomplish any mothering task outside of the classroom was somehow going to cease the moment I slipped back into my teacher-mama clothes.

But then, hallelujah, in a moment, sitting on the edge of the tub watching a chubby baby splash carelessly in the bubbles, it struck me. That this craziness was nonsense. Big time. That I needed to move forward at my own pace. That I needed to find MY rhythm. Our rhythm.

I've often heard it said (okay, really only once, but I remember it often) that when a person starts their own business they must prepare themselves for the fact that it takes a good five years before they really have their feet under them.

And I've always found myself applying the same logic to homeschooling.

Last year, I wholeheartedly jumped in to a curriculum that was going to give me the structure and discpline that I felt our days so desperately needed. I wanted someone to tell me exactly what to do. I wanted a plan and a vision. I wanted to get on a path and systematically walk my way down it.

This year because of budget and because of the way that path seemed to go up a really steep hill at the end, and we got really tired and burned out, I decided to bag it.

Instead, I consulted a good friend who knew me and my children and my needs pretty well. And who also happened to be educated and gifted in curriculum design.

And late one night I sat in her little school room, at a tiny little kid-desk, and together we hammered out my year and figured out what seemed to fit just right.

But what fits even more, is the sentiment behind everything we're doing. It's the new calm.

That first day, we just jumped in. Instead of feeling the tug of the clock, we tackled bedrooms and laundry before we opened any books. It felt good to work to the hum of the washing machine running upstairs. And the sloshing of the dishwasher from the pantry. Instead of feeling the push to tackle lessons in every subject, I just let it be. We did Math, until Math was done. We read, until we didn't want to read anymore. When we got hungry, we ate. When it seemed like a good time to go check the pony, she did. When there was an itch to practice piano, we scratched.

It's funny, how much we got accomplished. How nice the day felt. How good it is let go. How comfortable it is to seek out our rhythm versus some contrived and conceived pressure from who knows where.

If only I would learn this lesson I apparently need to learn multiple times in this parenting journey. That so much of this happens naturally. We don't have to work so hard at it. Yes, it's work. But we're doing it. Naturally. There's goodness and learning and priceless, indespensable moments and experiences happening in every single day. Homeschool mom. Public school mom. Private school mom. It doesn't matter. It's happening for all of us.

It's the trusting enough to let go. It's the freedom to find your own rhythm. It's the new calm. It blows through every day, if we'll only take a moment to feel it brush against our cheek.