by Rachel Toalson | General Blog
Christmas this year is a continuation of what is becoming a new yearly tradition that I am calling the Toalson Family Holiday Blitz. Here’s what it looks like:
1. Make a list of all of the gifts we will lovingly make by hand.
2. Schedule a variety of activities we’ll do together as a family. (Look at Christmas lights, go to a Christmas eve service, make Christmas cookies, make ornaments, etc.)
3. Dust off all of the Christmas movies we plan to re-watch.
4. Procrastinate.
5. Finally start working down the list the week before Christmas and try to cram EVERYTHING into 7 days.
6. Bend the rules about how much screen time the kids are allowed to have.
7. Break the rules about how many treats and snacks we are allowed to eat.
8. Rush everywhere and use the word “hurry” at least 500 times per trip.
9. Look incredulously at the children who are now completely off their rockers due to the aforementioned screen time and junk food.
10. Yell and scream at one another.
11. Threaten to take away Christmas at least 3 times.
12. Stay up way too late the 2-3 nights before Christmas playing catch up.
13. Offset the lack of sleep with too much coffee.
14. Offset the over-abundance of crazy with some sweet, sweet wine.
15. Wrap all of the gifts the night before. Estimate falsely the length of wrapping paper required for at least 5 gifts.
16. Oh, and listen to Christmas music the WHOLE time.
We know that Christmas is more than the presents and the movies and the treats and the music. We know about Christmas being a simple time of year when you get to really enjoy the people that you love. I’m not going to write an article here about how we need to do fewer things so that we can enjoy and appreciate what this season is really about, because the truth is, we love a lot of the things on our list. They were born out of a desire to grow closer together as a family and to build familiar and beloved traditions into our year.
The problem is not that there are too many things on our list. The problem is that we’ve made no room in our lives for the important things on that list during the other times of the year.
Let me explain. Our day to day lives feel jam packed. From waking at 5am to crashing at 9:30, only half-an-hour after wrestling the kids into their beds, we feel like there is no breathing room. Any deviation from our strict, regimented schedule and routine seems to set our home and our lives into a tailspin. No wonder we didn’t get any of that stuff done earlier in the year. There’s simply no room for it. Or is there?
The things on the list don’t just represent how we want to live as a family during Christmas, but all year. Making things with our hands… paintings, drawings, poetry, crafts, etc. so we can experience the accomplishment of making something from nothing, and seeing the joy in another’s face when gifts are given. Enjoying special activities together regularly and experiencing things we all enjoy so we can build lasting memories and be reminded that we belong to each other. Bending and breaking the rules every once in a while so that we don’t merely see the structure as a cage that holds us captive, but a rhythm that lays a foundation for the melody we are writing.
In order for us to live into these things we want to be a part of our identity as a family, we have to make them a regular part of our day to day lives. In order to do that, there may some things we need to cut off. I’m adding something to my list this year that I hope will bring new clarity and freedom for our family to become who we want to be. I will make time to take an inventory of our day to day and ask the question, ‘How do these things reflect who we want to be as a family?’ It’s so easy to creep into habits and routines that, while they may have solved a short term problem or issue once upon a time, are no longer serving a purpose. We need to zoom out every once in a while so we can actually see those otherwise invisible things. Maybe this is worth doing more than once or even twice a year.
I hope your Christmas experience is one that brings your family closer together and reminds you of the things that are truly important. I hope you can discover those things you can let go, and are able to see the places where you can recapture who you are as a family. From our family to yours, Merry Christmas!
by Rachel Toalson | General Blog
It’s been a month since I looked forward to bedtime.
Usually this time, 8 p.m. sharp, is a brilliant shining light in the long stretch of a boy-filled day, because it’s the time I finally get to hide away in my room and ignore those non-emergency cries and hang out with my husband or read or just go to bed myself.
But we’ve been potty training twins, and now they’re in a room they can escape from, because how can you successfully potty train a 2-year-old without giving them access to the potty at night?
Bedtime has now become drive-Mama-crazy time.
Because now it’s not just the cries of older boys that come knocking on our door (“I need some pajamas” from the just-turned-8-year-old, who still hasn’t put away last week’s laundry, so his pajamas are buried beneath all those Star Wars books scattered all over his room; a “Where’s my blanket?” from the 5-year-old, because earlier today someone carried it downstairs and decided it was too much work to bring it back up; an “I don’t have a pillow” from the 4-year-old who doesn’t look very well, because there’s a pillow right beside his face).
Now the (maybe emergency? maybe not?) cries of twins have joined the cacophony.
“I need go poo poo in the potty bad, Mama,” they say. (Do they? I just don’t know.)
“I pee pee in my underwear, Daddy,” they say. (We check. It seems to be a threat of some kind.)
“I poo poo. Ew!” (This one brings a mama and daddy running, but it also seems to be an empty threat—at least until the day we decide to ignore it.)
Potty training is challenging, because it’s so dang hard to know when they’re telling the truth or just stalling bedtime.
So, for a while, every time one of those calls came, we let them out of bed to go potty.
Here’s what would happen 99 percent of time.
One twin: “I need go poo poo really bad, Mama.”
Other twin: “Me too.”
Mama: “OK. One at a time.”
I take one twin out of the room to go potty, and on the way there he finds a stuffed frog he didn’t even know he was missing until he saw it, so he picks it up. Then he sees a book he wants to put back on the library shelf and a toy that shouldn’t even be upstairs and a piece of paper he wants to throw in the trash when he (finally, if ever) makes it to the bathroom.
Mama: “Looks like you didn’t have to go so badly after all.”
Twin, shaking his head. “I go bad, Mama.”
Mama: “Then let’s go to the bathroom.”
Twin: “OK.”
Once on the potty, he’ll strain for a few seconds, just to put on a show, and then a little pee trickles out, probably so I can’t say he didn’t have to go, because look, he did, and then he says, “Done.”
Repeat with twin 2.
We caught on to their little game.
So lately, when those cries start coming, we give them one more potty escapade, whatever it may look like, and then we tell them they need to hold it until morning, and we cross our fingers.
I’ve never been a big fan of transitions like these, because they can seem so difficult and never-ending when we’re right in the middle of them, but we’ve had three other boys who prove that someday, maybe weeks from now or maybe (God forbid) months from today, these twins will know and understand the rules, and bedtime will become the sweet time it was meant to be for all parents everywhere in the world.
Transition times will always, eventually, someday, smooth into normalcy.
One of these days, our twins will realize that their I-need-to-potty cries aren’t working anymore, because we just took them five minutes ago, and they couldn’t possibly need to go again already, but for now, they’ll play their game and keep us wondering and hoping and crossing fingers.
For now, I will dread bedtime because it’s no longer rest time.
For now, I will sit in the library recliner instead of lying in my comfy bed, reading in between those reminders for twins to stay in their beds, pacifying myself when I feel like crying that this will not last forever.
Thank God it will not last forever.
by Rachel Toalson | General Blog
Our twin boys are now 2 and a half years old, or 32 months old for those of you who like to count things that way. When potty training them first came up, even with Rachel’s insistence upon using cloth diapers for the twin poop factories (I endorse and encourage cloth diapers by the way… but it does suck), changing diapers still remained a favorable prospect to the idea of potty training twin boys and all of the potential mess and frustration that goes with it. We were in no hurry.
About 6-7 months ago they started showing signs that they might be ready to start trying it out, but we were not ready, and that’s what matters, right? So we ignored the signs and kept the status-quo. Every time we would approach the conversation about potty training, our choice to wait simply came down to the unknown potential of disaster and burn out that we wanted to avoid. There were a few months in there that we tried to set start dates saying things like, “We’ll start after this trip” or “we’ll try it out after school starts.” But we kept finding reasons to wait, even little ones like “I have to go to the grocery store this week, so we should probably wait,” or “The weather app says it might rain so we should hold off.” Finally, we settled on a start date and resolved to follow through.
After plenty of experience with the older 3, we’d learned to employ a strategy that was simple and straightforward. Take them to the potty often, reward and praise success (or good attempts), keep the mop handy, and shame them when they made a mistake. Okay, I’m just joking about that last one. Shaming doesn’t work, unfortunately.
Step 1.
The first step is more complicated and time consuming than we had ever experienced before. For all the hassle of just taking one to the potty, taking two was a little insane. You’ve got to help them take off their pants AND shoes because they want complete freedom of motion while they sit on the potty. You’ve got to set them onto the potty and monitor their hands so they don’t play with the water (we opted for a sitting pee for better accuracy with aim which is HIGHLY important), help them aim everything, EVERYTHING, in the right direction, with your “free hand” guard the toilet paper, help them wipe, put their pants and their shoes back on, and hold them awkwardly as they attempt to wash their hands.
In the meanwhile, the other one has already taken to playing in the toilet water and filling the bowl to the rim with toilet paper. So now you have to wash his hands, and repeat all of the previous steps while using your stretched out leg and foot to block out the first from the toilet area. Not to mention, if there is an accident, now you’ve got to clean that out and get fresh clothes for the offender while he runs around the house, airing out his cheeks.
At first we had a “take them every time they say they need to go” policy, but when they learned that saying “I nee pee pee paw-dee” would get them out of their highchairs and car seats, and prolong the bedtime routine, we had to abandon this approach. It was either that or take them each to the potty 50 times per day.
Step 2.
After you’ve done all of the above, you’ve got to muster the will to celebrate. Don’t worry, that desperation and brokenness you feel can be channeled into mournful cries of praise for your toddler. And then, all of the books say, you should give your child a gift for not polluting the house with his excrement. We give stickers as a reward for a successful potty visit which means we have stickers ALL OVER the house. It’s amazing the things a child will do for a sticker. We wondered if maybe we should start using them for other things like chores, or staying in bed, etc. but ultimately decided we wanted them not to be motivated by gifts, but by their intrinsic values. That’s how it should be for using the potty. At some point, not walking around in your own feces should be its own reward.
Step 3.
Keep the mop handy. And the broom, and the disinfectant, and the stain remover, and the air freshener, and the steam vac, and a local professional cleaning service. Messes will happen. A lot of them. In the beginning there were so many messes. These twins are little poop factories. The sooner you accept the reality that there will be a lot of mess to clean up, the better your chances of not freaking out when they happen in the most inconvenient place and time, in ways that are so vile you shake your head in disbelief and maybe, just maybe, feel a little stirring of pride at what your child is capable of producing. A light-hearted, calm attitude actually speeds the process along. In those moments when you feel they might never get it, find comfort in the thought that they won’t still be pooping themselves (hopefully) when they’re teenagers, and by then you’ll have much, MUCH bigger things to worry about.
Simply put, shaming and stressing out only make things worse. Avoid it at all costs. Drink wine if necessary. Here’s where I try to look at it from my child’s perspective. As an adult, I’ve been successfully pooping in the toilet for so long, I can’t even remember a time when that was actually a skill I was trying to develop. I’m, like, a master at it. Our young children are not. They’ve never done this before. It’s always been taken care of for them. Can you think of a time in your life when someone has been doing something for you that you don’t really know how to do, and then suddenly hands the responsibility of doing it into your inexperienced hands? Learning to use the potty is right there in the middle of tons of other new things our children are trying to learn and understand for the first time. I’m surprised they are not more stressed out. Let’s give them the benefit of the doubt and imagine that this is a monumental challenge that we have been given the privilege of helping them overcome.
It’s also important to note that the ability to “hold it” and use the potty depend greatly on mental and physical developmental milestones. If your child has not yet reached these milestones, they are not ready. You wouldn’t try to make an infant walk… it’s the same thing. Overnight dryness depends on a different set of mental and physical developments and lags behind daytime readiness. Daytime readiness generally occurs between the ages of 24 and 27 months, but can vary from child to child.
I’m happy to say that in a relatively short amount of time, our twins are doing great. There’s still the occasional accident, and taking them both to the potty is still quite a production, but we are able to go out in public, send them to the grandparents, AND we were able to stop using stickers! Hallelujah! I hope our experience and insight gives you some encouragement as you tackle potty training with your little one, or two or three or more.
I just had a panic attack imagining what it might be like potty training triplets. Shudders.
by Rachel Toalson | General Blog
Today chewed me up and spit me back out.
Boys are out of school for Thanksgiving holidays and I am off from work, and it should have been a lovely morning with all the warm and snuggly feelings of holiday weeks, where a mama and boys play games and talk and maybe even brave a Jedi fight with the light sabers we made last weekend for the oldest boy’s birthday.
It started that way, too, for a whole hour.
And then the world started crumbling apart.
Twins answered, “No,” along with a whole string of words that proved their opinions were not the same as mine, every single time I opened my mouth; and an 8-year-old left an explosion of Legos all over the playroom so we couldn’t even walk through the minefield of buttons and droid starships and headless Jedis without stepping on something that punctured our heels; and the 4-year-old pretended like he couldn’t hear me the six times I said, “Please stop touching the Christmas tree,” because he’s enamored with the ornament he and his daddy made last night.
I only got to lunch before I started thinking that I should have just gone to work and I wish there were holiday schools and, my God, what are we going to do this summer, when another baby will join their relentless ranks?
But then it was time for naps and quiet time, and I closed myself in my room, unaware that the worst was to come.
Because there, on my phone, was a text from my mom, about a family from my hometown who lost five of their six children in a house fire this morning, and my heart dropped all the way to my feet.
I didn’t know them, but I could easily be them. And that’s where my mind took me, to a place of unimaginable pain and sadness and loss.
I sat there, staring at words I could not even see anymore. And then I wrote myself into gratitude and whispered it all out loud, into the home that was quiet now, but not for long.
Thank you for sandy-brown hair that all looks the same whether they’ve just woken up or they’re going to bed, because I don’t have to brush it.
Thank you for patches of shampoo they forget to wash out of that sandy-brown hair.
Thank you for sturdy couches that will hold bouncing boys and for furniture arms like floor vaults that prove they could be gymnasts if they wanted.
Thank you for light saber fights that always end in someone getting hurt.
Thank you for water spilled on the floor and the culprit keeping their secret and a victim falling in a hilarious way we will laugh about later. Much later. And for years to come.
Thank you for chocolate smudges across cheeks on the rare occasion they get treats.
Thank you for snotty kisses because they’ve been playing outside all morning with no shoes on and it’s a little cold today and they just wanted to come inside to grin and say hi and love on a mama.
Thank you for big boys sitting in a lap when they’re not really paying attention to what they’re doing.
Thank you for sticky, jam-stained fingers because he likes to take his sandwich apart and eat the peanut butter side first and save the raspberry side for later.
Thank you for all the shoes pulled out of a doorway basket just so they could find flip flops five sizes too big and pretend to wear those.
Thank you for building and taking apart and building again all those Lego Star Wars creations so the pieces are scattered all over the house now, even though we told him it’s hard to build a Jedi Interceptor with that yellow wing missing.
Thank you for chocolate oatmeal the 2-year-olds decide look better in their hair than in their bowls.
Thank you for the same lunchtime story we’ve read together ten thousand times.
Thank you for blue blankets dragged downstairs so they all have to be carried up again for naps, all piled in the arms of a mama who almost trips climbing the stairs because the pile is too big to see over.
Thank you for brothers who love each other most of the time.
Thank you for twin laughs and twin grins and twin plots and twin kisses and twin curiosity and twin defiance and twin snuggles.
Thank you for 4-year-old whine.
Thank you for a baby who keeps me up at night because he likes to stretch and puts pressure on my bladder and is growing big and awkward and uncomfortable with 11 weeks to go.
Thank you for art papers under the table and all over the playroom and upstairs sitting like presents on a table and bed and desk, even though we told them to keep those creations in their notebooks.
Thank you for permanent markers they can always find, no matter how well hidden, and use to their heart’s content before we think to investigate why it suddenly sounds so quiet in here.
Thank you for a table that must be wiped down and a floor that must be swept three times a day.
Thank you for walking on hands and spinning in a circle and front flips on a carpet.
Thank you for toilets that never get flushed and lights that never get turned off.
Thank you for a sink full of dirty dishes.
Thank you for sixteen cups used every day, even though there are only five of us who use them.
Thank you for eight loads of laundry a week.
Thank you for strong wills that don’t take “no” for an answer.
Thank you for emotions that turn a whole world upside down…and then, with the right response, snap a day and a relationship back in place, better than before—because the ones who anger hard and cry hard and explode hard are the ones who love hard, too.
Thank you for shirts used as napkins, even though there’s a real napkin sitting right beside their plates.
Thank you for the “need-to-go-potty” cries from twins that may or may not mean anything, because they’re strapped into their high chairs, and they really just don’t want to be there.
Thank you for laughter that shoots milk out of a nose and mouth into the bowl of broccoli and cheese we haven’t yet dished out.
Thank you for the broken picture frames everywhere you look around the house and the crayon art in unexpected places and the holes in random walls.
Thank you for scooters left in driveways and art notebooks forgotten outside and sidewalk chalk crunching under tires.
Thank you for handprints and footprints on the windshield of a van because boys wanted to be on top of the world and thought the top of a car would be the way to get there.
Thank you for water wasted because twins want to wash their hands 6,000 times a day.
Thank you for a door opening at 4:55 a.m., five minutes before the alarm will chime, because someone had a bad dream.
Thank you for dirt smudges in the bathtub I don’t get to use anymore because half the boys have taken it over and they’re.just.so.dirty.
Thank you for eyes that don’t see all I do to make a home home and the hearts that don’t understand how much I love and all the heads I can smell and kiss when they are lost in sleep.
Thank you for a job that never, ever ends (but may get easier?).
Thank you for naptime. And bedtime. And storytime. And dinner. And silent reading time. And playtime. And lunch and breakfast and the whole long day with boys who make a life brighter and harder and much more beautiful.
Thank you for naming me Mama to all these boys.
I don’t want to change this life, as it is, right now. I know the years will take care of that, but this moment, frozen in time, is full and loud in its wild chaos, and sometimes it drags me fast toward crazy, and sometimes I wonder how much easier it would be if…
But always, at the end of my wish-I-could-do-it-over or longest-in-the-history-of-the-world or easiest-one-ever day, I end with this:
Thank you.
Because family, being a parent, watching boys grow and learn and become, is the best treasure in all the world.
Rachel is a writer, poet, editor and musician who is raising five (going on six) boys to love books and poetry and music and art and the wild outdoors—all the best bits of life. She shares her fiction and nonfiction writings over at her blog, and, when she’s not buried in a writing journal or a new song or a kid crisis at home, she enjoys reading Cormac McCarthy, Toni Morrison, William Faulkner and the poetry of Rilke. Follow her on Twitter @racheltoalson.
by Rachel Toalson | General Blog, Stuff Crash Test Kids say
We’ve got a couple of stories to share with you today:
“I’m Batman!” “I am Groot.”
First, I have become a fan of a YouTube video channel called “How it Should Have Ended” or HISHE for short. They recently put out a video for Guardians of the Galaxy which I showed to our 2 year old twin boys. They really enjoyed it, especially this part:
So they did this for the rest of the day:
Almond Joy Fib
This is a first for Hosea (4). He had just gotten a treat (from his leftover Halloween candy) after finishing his dinner. We watched as he unwrapped and devoured a fun-sized Almond Joy candy bar. I saw him walk over to the trash can, drop the wrapper in and walk back to the table. Apparently, after considering how delicious this treat was and how much he’d really like to have another one, he decided to try something.
Hosea: “Can I have my after dinner treat now?”
Mama: “Didn’t you already have your treat?”
Hosea: “No, I haven’t had one yet.”
Mama: “But we saw you holding the Almond Joy candy bar.”
Daddy: “Yea, I even helped you unwrap it.”
Hosea: “I put it back in the wrapper and put it in the bag.”
Daddy: “Did you really?”
Hosea: “Yea, it’s in my candy bag, so can I have a treat?”
Daddy (Looking down into the bag): “Hosea, I don’t see the Almond Joy wrapper in there. Are you sure you put it back?”
Hosea: “I did put it back, it’s just dark at the bottom of the bag.”
Daddy: I can still see the other pieces. I don’t see it in there.”
Hosea: “Well, I put it back so can I pick another treat?”
Daddy: “I thought I saw you throw the wrapper away in the trash. If I look in the trash will I see it?”
Hosea: “No.”
Daddy (After picking up the empty wrapper from the trash): Here it is Hosea. You’ve already had your treat.”
Hosea: “Ooooh. I put it in the trash and the chocolate fell out into the trash. You can’t see it now. Can I have a treat?”
No treats were awarded after this exchange. We did our best to explain to him in terms he could understand why honesty is so important. You’ve got to hand it to him for staying so committed though.
by Rachel Toalson | General Blog
I am a highly sensitive introvert living in the middle of a crowd.
Here is what my daily overstimulation cycle looks like:
Boy #1 wakes in a bad mood because he stayed up too late trying to finish the Star Wars graphic novel he was reading, and now his foul mood has followed him down the stairs and to the table, where it sits between his brothers and his mad-scientist hair spearing that crumpled-with-grouch brow.
Boy #3 must be carried downstairs because, apparently, his 4-year-old legs don’t work in the morning.
Boy #4 and Boy #5 wait at their baby-gated bedroom door because we have to cage them in or else they’ll wander and destroy all night, and I’m not quite ready to set them loose, since it’s an ordeal just to get them to follow the simple instructions “Go downstairs” and I don’t want all the books pulled from shelves before I’ve even finished changing out of my pajamas.
Boy #3 says he really wanted the blue plate instead of the green one that sits before him.
Boy #4 and Boy #5 say they need to potty before I strap them in a chair (yet another cage for our sanity) and then spend the next eight minutes chattering nonstop about pee pee and toilet paper and flushing a potty and things I can’t really understand.
Boy #2 interrupts the morning devotional to say I forgot to give them all milk. And I did.
Boy #1 races up the stairs, so he can pick out the book he wants to take to school and then forget to put in his backpack because he discovered, upon looking at the walls of his room, that he forgot to hang up one very important poster that must be hung up right this very minute.
Boy #3 needs me to get him some underwear out of his child-locked drawer (locked to prevent emptying all over the room every time they decide to wear mittens and put underwear on their head) because he slept without any last night.
Boy #2 squeezes the toothpaste while trying to open it because his toothbrush, which I already swiped with toothpaste, fell on the floor and now it’s dirty, and his squeezing makes a sticky mess all over the counter, but don’t worry, he’ll clean it up, and he does. With his tongue.
Boy #1 gets the first of a thousand reminders that he needs to finish packing up because we’re leaving in 10 minutes.
Boy #3 needs me to help him find his shoes, which I saw this morning in the basket where they’re supposed to be.
Boy #2 skips from the bathroom with tongue-cleaned countertops into the room he shares with his brother, who is supposed to be downstairs putting on his shoes, so he can more efficiently distract him at closer proximity.
Boy #3 is now whining that his shoes are not ANYWHERE.
Boy #1 is telling me about a dream he had last night while I pick out clothes for Boy #4 and Boy #5, while Boy #2 is telling me I forgot to give them a piece of their Halloween candy at lunch yesterday and they should get two pieces today because of that mistake, and Boy #3 is saying something about how no one will help him and everyone keeps interrupting him.
Boy #3 is yelling that Boy #5 is climbing out of his seat and sitting on his high chair tray.
Boy #4 is screaming because he can’t figure out how to do the same.
Boy #3 is saying we’ll never, ever, ever find his shoes, while Boy #2 is reminding me that I forgot to give him his focus factor vitamin yesterday and why didn’t I give it to him and what if I never give it to him ever again, and Boy #1 is asking why can’t he wear dirty sweat pants from the to-wash hamper to school like all the other boys in his class.
Boy #1 gets his thousandth warning, and I race Boy #2 down the stairs so we can find Boy #3’s shoes and get Boys #4 and 5 dressed and get.out.the.door, even if Boy #1 is still not ready.
Boy #4 is screaming while I buckle him into his stroller, because he wants to do it himself, except it takes him five extra minutes.
Boy #5 fights the dressing because he knows what just happened to his brother, and he screams, too, when I buckle him because he, too, wants to do it himself.
Boy #1 is begging me to help him with his shoes because he “doesn’t feel like tying them this morning” and Boy #2 is talking about how I forgot to let them play outside last night and Boy #3 is lying on the floor whining because he still hasn’t found the shoes that I put right beside him.
Boy #1 must be reminded to get his backpack on the way out the door, and just before I lock the door because we’re finally ready to go, ten minutes late, Boy #2 says I forgot to get him a jacket and I also didn’t give them all their vitamins today and I just have to give them their vitamins before they go to school because they need them so they don’t get sick.
Boy #2 holds to the side of the stroller, waving at all the high school students we pass on our walk, and Boy #1 hangs onto my arm ignoring the world around him because he wants to tell me about this new science experiment he’s going to try when he gets back home today, and Boy #3 falls behind, whining that he cannot go fast uphill on a scooter.
Boy #3 whines that we’re leaving him behind because he’s not moving at all, and he makes a little effort to catch up and then whines that he just can’t do it, see? and I take a deep breath and just keep moving.
It’s only 7:25 a.m. and I’m already exhausted.
About a year ago I read Susan Cain’s book, Quiet, and I learned valuable truths about the introvert’s stimulation cycle, about how overstimulation can leave one feeling fatigued and irritable and anxious, how this is all perfectly normal and fixable, as long as we can recharge with quiet solitude throughout our day.
I don’t think it’s just introverted parents who need this. We all do.
It’s not easy, as parents, to take a time out of our own, to close our bedroom door for just a minute’s peace, to send children outside for the relief of 10 minutes alone. But in all those daily overstimulation pieces of my days, I have recognized the desperate need for space and freedom—because I am a better mama and wife and person for it.
Sometimes the work of self-compassion is the hardest work of all, because children must be dressed and vitamins must be parceled out and toothpaste must be wiped from sticky countertops.
Always, something else begs our attention.
But we cannot offer others the best version of ourselves if we are not caring for ourselves.
Parenting is hard work. It’s world-changing work. It’s sacred work. It’s also never-ending work.
We can only healthily approach the every-single-second raising of all these precious little people if we are resting ourselves.
It’s worth it to find those moments when responsibilities can be set aside and a door can be closed and a lock can be turned without separation guilt, because we find our center again in the calm expanse of solitude.
Our children will be glad we did.
Rachel is a writer, poet, editor and musician who is raising five (going on six) boys to love books and poetry and music and art and the wild outdoors—all the best bits of life. She shares her fiction and nonfiction writings over at her blog, and, when she’s not buried in a writing journal or a new song or a kid crisis at home, she enjoys reading Cormac McCarthy, Toni Morrison, William Faulkner and the poetry of Rilke. Follow her on Twitter @racheltoalson.
