Parenting

Mindfulness

Posted on by Lauren

My friend Harper recently came to visit. 

She’s single, doesn’t have children and lives alone in a great apartment in Brooklyn, NY. 

I admit, sometimes I dream of switching places. To eat at restaurants frequently. To have a well-paid professional career. To do whatever I feel like doing during my free time without others dictating the limitations. 

But my husband and I have been having conversations about the Buddhist principal: Want What You Have. 

Instead of “I have to take the kids to gymnastics.” It’s, “I get to take the kids to gymnastics.” It’s a simple word change but it’s latent with meaning: I’m lucky enough to have children. My children are fortunate to have a body that can perform gymnastics. I can afford a car to drive them and so much more. 

So the other night, after I cooked dinner and set it on the table to a critical crowd, “Ew! I hate chicken.” “Mom, if I eat that I’m going to choke.” Emmett looked at me with a twinkle in his eye and said, “But Lauren, you GET to cook them dinner.” 

We both burst into a fit of laughter. 

Because as grateful as we are for this life we’ve created together, as much as we do want what we have, we also recognize that it’s not always easy. It’s a constant juggling of his needs, my needs, their needs and our needs, as a family.

I allow myself to daydream of takeout, uninterrupted movies, and a wide-open schedule while simultaneously practicing mindfulness. Taking a moment to enjoy my surroundings- be it our front yard, the beach, or our rowdy kitchen table. I know these are “the days” and I GET to be their mom. I want what I have. 

But I’m still going to visit Harper in New York and practice mindfulness there, too. 

Forgiveness

Posted on by Lauren

It’s been 51 days since I’ve had a sip of alcohol. 

I’ve gone longer- four pregnancies to be exact. 

But this time is different because I’m doing it for myself. 

Alcoholism and addiction directly impacted my childhood. 

I’ve been in therapy since I was 15 years old and while I have always been aware of my vulnerability, I’ve denied facing the beast. 

Specifically, as a mother, I’ve sacrificed so much already for my children: my body, my decision to eliminate foods to continue nursing two of my babies with severe food allergies, my career as a teacher and sometimes, my sanity! 

Those things were short-term but at the time, my sacrifices felt enormous. So, I stubbornly clung to getting lost in alcohol as “my right”. My time to unwind. My time to escape reality and soften the edges of my frustration. 

I didn’t drink often- maybe once a week or every 10 days- but when I did, I couldn’t stop. One, became two became 10 and I would spend the next day hiding how sick and full of shame I was. 

Rinse. Repeat. For years. 

Until June 3rd when I woke sick again and hit rock bottom. 

I fell to my knees, crying for God to help me. To give me the strength to forgive myself and heal. 

I called a friend whose husband had shared his sober testimony a year earlier. She heard my sobs and truly saw me in my rawest moment. I felt her strength through that phone and knew I would be okay. 

I haven’t looked back. 

I feel free from the demon’s tightening grip. 

I feel proud and so hopeful for the time I have left to be fully present and sober for my husband and children. 

They deserve the best of me. 

And so do I. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Inside Out

Posted on by Lauren

Was I the only one with tears streaming down my face while watching Inside Out 2 in the theater this morning?

I’m not sure but sitting next to my four daughters, this movie really hit home- particularly in reference to our 12 year-old. 

Those who know me personally know how attentive I’ve always been of our daughters’ feelings. As a child who often felt misunderstood, I know how important it is for my girls’ feelings to be validated, seen and explored, instead of ignored. 

Spoiler alert: the climax of the movie occurs when the emotion Joy realizes that she can no longer simply dismiss undesirable memories and power forward through main character Riley’s puberty ignorant of the arrival of new emotions anxiety, embarrassment, ennui and envy. The lesson that struck deep in my heart was that there was no turning back to the way things were before. Instead, Joy recognizes her need to include the new emotions in order for Riley to feel secure with her true self. It’s a hard pill to swallow- that we can’t just keep acting like everything is fine and BE fine. That when we try to fight anxiety with denial, it only grows. We must learn to live with, around and through it. 

Watching my child struggle with growing up has broken my heart into tiny little pieces. I want to fix it for her; the embarrassment the rejection, the shame she feels. And like Joy, I can’t. I watch helplessly as she struggles, knowing that there’s no other way than through. 

And yet, the overwhelming emotion I left that theater with was pure and true gratitude. As hard and ugly as witnessing Aurora’s journey to adulthood is, it’s also such an incredible privilege. I have been given a gift- this opportunity to empower and encourage my child. I walked away with more empathy than ever for my daughter and the desire to hug her as long as she would allow. Forever and ever. Inside out. 

Camille Vaughan Photography

Brave

Posted on by Lauren

I only knew to ask because I had already lost someone to suicide. 

Every story is different. 

But the common theme is, 

No one ever saw it coming. 

So, how do we change it? How do we help?

We courageously ask:

Have you thought of ending your life?

It’s a terrifying ask because we don’t want to hear the answer I heard:

“Yes. Last month.”

All I could think is Thank God I didn’t wait a minute longer to tell this person:

You’re not alone. 

We are not giving up on you, even when you give up on yourself. 

It takes bravery to ask and for them to answer. 

It’s June now, but May we all be so brave to ask.

Just ask.

Known

Posted on by Lauren

Aside from the 37 hour labor, 11 days past her due date, she really was almost too easy, as a baby. She was 16 months before she walked; instead, she happily sat on any surface and entertained herself with her surroundings- be that toys, people or pine straw. 

I should’ve known.

It was 30 hours into labor when my midwife looked at me and announced: 

“This is not your story to tell.”

Time stopped. My heart stopped. My tears flowed. 

Aurora had two cords wrapped around her neck at birth, delaying her arrival for good reason. 

My midwife looked me dead in my eyes to tell me when to push, when to pause and suddenly, urgently, when, with a roar, to give it my all. 

From the beginning, my daughter and I have challenged one another. 

Now, the tween years- the ones everyone before me has warned of. 

I fruitlessly planned for Aurora’s birth. 

I refuse to plan for these next days. 

Instead, I meet her where she is, each day. 

Just like her birth, it’s not easy. 

It never was. 

We cry, we argue, we admit our mistakes and we hug. 

It’s exhausting and rewarding. 

My girl has been stubborn from the beginning. 

But with good reason. 

It’s her story to tell. 

Not mine. 

I should’ve known. 

Camille Vaughn Photography

Break

Posted on by Lauren

She was uncharacteristically angry. Snapping at her sisters with venom dripping from her teeth. 

Emmett and I looked at one another, eyes wide, silently wondering, “What in the actual hell?”

We chalked it up to stress before a big gymnastics meet. Perhaps she was feeling anxious. 

But her seething anger seeped from every crevice until finally, I took her aside and asked, “What is going on?”

And that’s when the dam of tears broke. She broke. 

“I’M SAD ABOUT OREO!”

Ohhhhhhhhh. Yes. This makes a lot more sense, now. 

6 family members. 1 loss. 

So many different coping mechanisms. 

Those that grieve obviously and openly (me). 

Those that grieve and move forward.

And those that bury and try to cope without ever fully addressing it. 

“Harper, trying to contain your grief without openly releasing it is like trying to contain your exploding slime. It will find its way out of its container.”

I encouraged her to write but she didn’t want to. “It will make me sad.” 

But you already are sad. 

Days later, she finally relented. 

She put on the sad music and allowed herself to get washed away in the flood of anguish that is losing a beloved pet. 

It’s too soon to know how much it helped but a writer myself, I know it couldn’t have hurt. 

6 family members. 1 loss. 

So many different coping mechanisms. 

We break. 

Unstoppable

Posted on by Lauren

Don’t doubt me. 

Don’t you for a second Count. Me. Out. 

You only fuel my drive to prove you wrong. 

So lives the soul of my second daughter. 

Walking at 11 months, this child has been intent on besting her big sister from the start.

She has had something to prove since she was born.

She puts in the work and shames those who don’t. 

Harper has a drive I, her mother, envy. 

She wants it bad and she will do whatever it takes. 

Cautiously, I calm her intensity. 

Reminding her that she has an entire life, she cannot imagine, ahead of her. 

Yes, you can. 

No, you don’t HAVE to. 

You can, but you don’t HAVE to in order to survive. 

If you want it bad enough, there’s no doubt: its yours to claim. 

But never to prove anyone else. 

Only for yourself. 

You are unstoppable. 

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

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.