Mother

Prevent

Posted on by Lauren

I remember. 

I wish I could but I never will forget the supreme loneliness I felt as a child. 

And I suppose that is why, as an adult, I feel so committed to seeing children.

Physical presence is not enough. 

Neither is saying “I care.” 

It’s action. 

Before I took the pills that landed me in the hospital, before I stood on the edge of the balcony threatening to jump, I cut myself as a way to ease the pain. 

I was 12 years old. 

So, when my daughter exhibits signs of distress, 

I take her seriously. 

When minimal interventions (intentional time together, changes to routine, etc.) fail to work, I take action: therapy, medication. 

Prevention is not easy

But it sure is preferred to regret. 

My God

Posted on by Lauren

There are no sick days for mothers. 

A day of rest guarantees a day’s worth of extra work for the future. 

Never was this any clearer than when Elizabeth was six months old. 

My body had given up. 

I had spent the summer with all four girls at home while Emmett was at work. 

They were ages 6, 4, 2 and newborn. 

Elizabeth was “failure-to-thrive”. Not gaining weight, vomiting and crying constantly with eczema covering her body and we couldn’t figure out why. 

I was down twenty pounds, eliminating foods in a desperate attempt to continue breast feeding my last baby, only to find out later that the avocado I was surviving on was one of her FPIES (Food Protein-Induced Entercolitis) triggers. 

My back completely gave out and I was incapacitated in a chair watching friends and family trying to substitute for me: Laundry, meals, diapers, playtime, housework. 

It was laughable to think I had attempted to manage all of that on my own. 

I finally agreed to hire the help my husband had been encouraging me to get for months. 

I felt foolish staying at home and hiring someone to help complete my unpaid job but once she arrived, I was free to be a more present mother and enjoy my children rather than just survive them. 

Six years have passed and the nanny days are long over but mothering isn’t and I’m realizing, never will be. 

What happens when mom gets sick? 

It’s a lonely feeling. 

As a mom, I’m always anticipating my family’s needs but when sick, I’m still having to direct the show from bed. Appointment reminders, meal tips, boo-boo kisses and bedtime tuck-ins. 

Things only a mom knows of her own kids. 

I suppose that is what led me to pray to my heavenly father tonight. 

To ask him to take care of me when I’m feeling overwhelmed and neglected. 

No, there are no sick days for mothers. 

But it’s nice to know there’s someone always ready to embrace me. 

My God. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Gone

Posted on by Lauren

I was 21 when he broke my jaw. 

And honestly, I’d been waiting for it as a reason to leave. 

Never mind the years of emotional abuse. 

A broken jaw was a concrete, valid excuse to leave. 

I packed my bags and got a new apartment assigned, while he was in class.

The police arrived as he tore my belongings from my car. 

All I’d ever wanted was for someone to promise me forever.

But I quickly realized the commitment wasn’t worth the cost. 

Today, I visited the dentist for another cavity on the other side of my mouth. 

The one I’ve learned to chew on, the last twenty years. 

Gone, but not forgotten. 

Gone, but never the same. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

The Gift of Time

Posted on by Lauren

It’s a well-known fact that we have a tendency to over-correct.

I just wonder how many of us recognize when we are doing it. 

I did when it came time to create the annual “Gift of Time” envelopes for my girls. 

A few years ago, in an effort to guarantee one-on-one time with mom or dad, I gifted each girl a stack of 12 envelopes- one for each month. Inside, a card with an activity they could choose to do with just mom or dad- no sisters. 

We were drowning with the responsibility of caring for our health-challenged youngest, not to mention juggling four young kids. The Gift of Time ensured we got that one-on-one time with each daughter. 

But, year-after-year, it turned into expectation. 

When they opened the envelope and it was a trip to the library or a bike ride, instead of the bowling alley or putt-putt, they were crestfallen. 

I realized I was creating presumptuous monsters, instead of appreciated moments. 

So, I’ve paused. Reevaluating. 

Sure, I want that precious time but at what cost?

I spent my adulthood wishing I’d had a closer relationship with my mother, when I was a child. 

But what if my children rely too much on their parents to feel satiated?

Is it possible that I’m setting them up for failure? A childhood so idyllic, it’s difficult to replicate? Is that a crime?

I’ve parented long enough to become comfortable in the gray- the not knowing the next step. 

Instead of forcing my choice, I watch and wait. 

The Gift of Time. 

Nothingness

Posted on by Lauren

“Sit down, it’s Sunday.” My husband encouraged. 

“But if I do,” I explained “things won’t get done.”

“There’s always something to do.” 

I looked around at the smudges on the walls I’d been meaning to scrub, the tiny toys under the living room furniture and that dead moth that’s been trapped inside our family picture frame for literal years. 

I’d changed five sets of sheets, scrubbed two bathrooms and vacuumed but the list never ends.

One of my friends shared a photo of her rewriting worn recipe cards and I remarked, “How do you find the time?” She suggested that perhaps it was the two less kids.  

Maybe so. 

Or maybe I just need to slow down. 

Life in perpetual motion is never dull but also exhausting. 

Where’s the time to appreciate the exquisiteness of nothingness?

So I sat and ate my new box of girl scout cookies wondering all-the-while if that moth would fully decompose before I took the time to remove it. 

Maybe so. 

Clearly, I have more important nothingness to do. 

I captured this man soaking up the sunshine on my fortieth birthday trip to Savannah, GA. Perhaps I could learn a thing or two from him!

Aurora Mae Turns 12

Posted on by Lauren

12.

Here you are, baby girl. 

On the precipice of teenage-hood and totally not looking forward to it. 

I get it. 

You were 11 days overdue and never wanting to leave has been your MO. 

I have a recording of you crying about going to college when you were just 6 so it’s nothing new. 

You are a creature of comfort. 

Your bed, your hair, your charisma, the softest. 

In addition to a slew of Taylor Swift themed gifts, I also presented you with a copy of articles I’ve written in your honor over the last eight years. 

You wept in my arms over the article I wrote about my own mom, What I Want You to Know

Because you felt the same about me. 

And it dawned on me. 

Mothers and Daughters are forever. 

You may be 12, 

But we are forever. 

Camille Vaughan Photography – 2020 -all four girls tried on my wedding dress.

Badass

Posted on by Lauren

Everyone warned me of teenage daughters. 

Maybe they forgot that I used to be one. 

I’m not afraid of the road I’ve already traveled, 

Even if it looks different, these days. 

It’s hard, 

But our needs are the same. 

Recognition, empathy and encouragement. 

I love that my tweenage daughter appreciates music and novels. 

I love that my tweenage daughter cares about matters outside of herself.

I love my tweenage daughter’s courage and fearlessness. 

And yes, I love knowing I fostered that. 

She’s a badass. 

Holiday

Posted on by Lauren

“Do we need a holiday to celebrate motherhood and friendship?” she asked. 

Our friendship group had spent weeks back and forth, trying to find a date to connect.

“Not at all,” I explained “just a good excuse to force us to make plans!”

And here I am tonight.  

Six months since my last date with my husband. 

It seems silly to leave the house when we spend the majority of each day with one other.

Why pay a sitter and restaurant when we can cook at home for less?

But tonight, when we passed the new Wave Park development at the oceanfront, I gasped at the change. 

Then, we guffawed at a palm tree clearly reaching for the sunlight. 

I settled and exhaled. 

So this is what it was like to fall in love. 

17 years this May we bonded over beach volleyball and fish tacos at this very dive bar. 

I remembered. 

And I felt alive. 

No, we don’t need a holiday. 

But it sure is a good excuse to make plans. 

Wild Ride

Posted on by Lauren

I wish this story had a happy ending. 

Halfway through the day, it did.

And then reality set in and instead of my nicely wrapped package with a bow, I got the messy masterpiece that is parenting. 

You see, before Christmas I grappled with whether to get my children a Nintendo.  

I never had one as a child and was always jealous of other families. 

I imagined our family playing Mario Cart and Sports. Modern bonding. 

And while that has happened, my concern over screen addiction has also come true. 

So yesterday, I put it away.  

The Nintendo, the iPads, all of the screen games took a little vacation. 

And while they moaned first thing this morning, they also quickly launched into building a fishing boat made out of giant magnatiles, complete with wooden blocks taped to refrigerator magnetic gears, used as the fish they caught.  This boat even had a toilet made out of a cardboard box, so it was legit.

We played Hungry, Hungry Hippo, they painted rocks and even reenacted “ski school”. 

All was well until just before dinner time when the Hanger (hungry anger) set in and they lost. Their. Shit. 

Without screens to distract from their impending starvation, they melted down exclaiming, “THERE’S NOTHING TO DO!”

“Well, then. I’ll just burn the house down.”  

“That seems a little extreme, mom.” 

Yea? So does your so-called starvation. 

But I digress.

Parenting is hard, y’all. 

I’m 12 years into this business and many days I just don’t feel like doing it anymore. 

I keep stumbling and getting back up. It’s thankless and sacrificial and consuming. 

It has taken so much out of me, out of us parents, as individuals. 

And yet, still I know that it has given us more. 

Our children have humbled, inspired and taught us. 

And I suppose in place of a happy ending, I instead recognize that the falls, missteps and exhaustion are all part of the journey. 

And what a wild ride it is.

Matter

Posted on by Lauren

I am not a winning Coach.

The loss this weekend shattered me when, with good intention, my husband commented of the other team, “They were coached well.” 

They were. It was the God’s-to-honest truth. 

Their coach was intentional, level-minded and strategic. 

His girls performed to his expectations without much fanfare. 

Meanwhile, I’m looking my worst player in her eyes and telling her I see her. 

I see her insecurities, worry and anxiety. 

I know she doesn’t feel good enough and at the end of the day, I want her to feel, she’s more than good-enough. She’s her best. 

It’s me. 

I see me. 

I was never good enough and all I ever wanted was for someone to tell me I was.

I am not a winning coach. 

But to someone, I matter. 

They matter.